white death bed

Author’s P. O. V.

Kabir opened his eyes but with a building headache; he looked around as he held his ahnd.

“Zoya chai,” (tea) he said in his sleepy voice as he held his head in his hands; he heard the clicking of vessel as he looked up.

Zoya kept his tea on the side table but something was wrong; he saw white; she was wearing white. The color she hated; the color she never wore in her entire life; she was wearing white.

He glanced up only to see her wearing a white salwar kurti with a bandage on her head. He frowned as she walked out of the room; then it clicked to him; last night he striped her out of her clothes, just not clothes but as well as self-respect.

He drank the tea in hurry and walked out of the room; his breakfast was lined up on the table like every day but Zoya was not in the kitchen working like every other day.

Kabir bite his lip as he looked around for her; he coughed a few times looking around for her; he wihsed to say sorry; he should not have done what he did.

Th