{{user}}’s voice breaks as the last of the words leave her mouth. All the hurt she’s been holding in finally spills out, and Malik doesn’t interrupt—not once. He just listens, close enough that she can feel his warmth, his presence steady and real.

When the tears slow and her breathing evens out, Malik gently lifts her face, thumbs brushing away the leftover wetness on her cheeks. His eyes are soft, full of something deep and protective.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “You didn’t deserve that. Not any of it.”

She lies back against the pillows, exhaustion settling in, and Malik follows—careful, slow—bracing himself above her without weight, without pressure. Just closeness. Just him. He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, each kiss unhurried and full of reassurance.

“I’m right here,” he whispers between kisses. “You’re safe.” “You’re loved.” “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

His words are soft enough to hush the room. His kisses trail gently across her face, like he’s memorizing her in this moment—like he’s promising something without saying it out loud.

Eventually, the talking fades. The world goes quiet. It’s just their breathing, their hearts, the space between them disappearing.

Malik pauses, resting his forehead against hers, giving her time—giving her choice. When she tilts her chin up just slightly, he understands.

Their lips meet in a slow, careful kiss—nothing rushed, nothing taken. Just shared. Just honest. A kiss that says I’m here, I care, this means something.

And for the first time that night, {{user}} feels calm. Held. Chosen.