Not Just A Hug





The cool breeze of February passed through my hair, turning my nose ice cold. I shivered a little, immediately regretting my decision of not putting on any jacket.

 

Standing by the edge of the parapet, I was impatiently waiting for him to come. It was usual for him to keep me waiting, I had even complained to my mom about the same. I checked my phone for missed calls, there were none.

 

“That’s it,” I murmured. Frustrated, I was about to leave when I heard sneaky footsteps approaching me.

 

As he came closer, my heartbeats rushed faster.

 

I had resolved to not let him convince me easily this time, yet his enamor left an inexplicable impact. His mere touch on my dew-stained shoulder let the butterflies inside my tummy dance freely.

 



I turned around, facing him. His face was vaguely visible, but moonlight somehow made him look prettier than ever. I kept looking at him while his gaze pierced through mine. He opened his arms, timidly yet adorably. I couldn’t resist the urge to get closer to him. I stepped forward and hugged him. Our bodies collided and felt completeness like never before. It was our first hug; after a week of being married to each other, my husband had finally hugged me, though shyly.

 

Firsts are usually awkward, but ours wasn’t. It had made us fall in love with each other, instantly; but deep enough to keep falling in love everyday, consistently.

 

“By the way, you were angry and weren’t supposed to talk to me,” he winked and tightened his grip around me.

 

“No, how can I ever do that?” I winked and hugged him back tighter.

 


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