Kohinur lay sprawled across the couch, blanket twisted around her like a barricade. Her limbs were sore, her mind buzzing, and yet… there was no escaping the pull of Rahan's presence. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with an expression that combined triumph, amusement, and something darker—something she couldn't quite name.
"Do you plan on moving anytime soon, or shall I prepare a mattress beside the couch?" he asked smoothly, voice low enough that it made her shiver despite herself.
"I… I don't need a mattress!" she protested, sitting up hastily, cheeks flushed. "I just need… a moment!"
Rahan's smirk widened. "Ah, yes. A moment. One of the most precious things in the universe. But moments are fleeting… especially when I'm around."
Kohinur groaned, rolling her eyes, but secretly her heart thumped faster. He had that effect—every word, every look, every slight motion seemed calculated to make her react, to test her limits.
"Alright," Rahan said, stepping closer, the floor creaking beneath his weight. "Lesson two: Anticipation."
"Anticipation?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes." He circled her slowly, gaze scanning her like a predator evaluating its prey. "You must learn to anticipate what I want before I ask. Timing… instinct… attention. These are vital for survival."
"Survival?" she repeated incredulously. "You mean… for living with you?!"
"Precisely." He stopped in front of her, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed hers. "Failure… is… unpleasant."
Kohinur crossed her arms stubbornly. "I refuse. I will not anticipate. I will… just… react normally!"
Rahan raised an eyebrow, voice dropping to a silky murmur. "Ah, but normal is boring. Chaos is… inefficient. And inefficiency… displeases me."
She sighed dramatically, leaning back. "I'm already married to you. Can't I just… be?"
Rahan tilted his head, studying her, brown eyes glinting dangerously. "Being… is a start. But… perfection… requires effort."
With a sudden sweep, he grabbed a pen from the table and held it out. "Demonstrate focus. Take this, and… write what I will say, exactly as I say it. No mistakes. No hesitation."
Kohinur blinked. "You… what?"
"Write," he said sharply. "Precision is key. Copy me."
Rolling her eyes, she picked up the pen, trying not to fidget under his intense gaze. His instructions came fast, sharp, precise. She stumbled over a word, and his lips curved into a satisfied smirk.
"Ah… hesitation," he whispered, leaning dangerously close. "I feel it. You're human. But that… cannot continue."
Kohinur's face flushed. "I'm… not… human," she muttered, then immediately cursed herself for the lie, knowing he'd notice.
"I see… defiance," he said softly, almost caressing her ear with the edge of his words. "Delightful. But temporary."
The afternoon drifted into a bizarre blend of silent exercises, writing drills, and "observation periods" in which Kohinur had to remain seated while he moved around the room, testing her attention. Every glance, every breath, every tiny movement was noted, weighed, cataloged.
By the evening, Kohinur's patience had frayed to a thread. She flopped dramatically onto the couch, arms splayed. "I give up!" she cried. "I'm not cut out for this!"
Rahan crouched beside her, one hand on the couch's edge, the other brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Ah, but giving up… is merely the first step toward improvement."
She scowled. "Improvement? You mean… brainwashing!"
He chuckled, the sound low, almost intoxicating. "No… training. But perhaps… the distinction is… subtle."
Kohinur huffed, attempting to push herself away, but Rahan's hand moved, gently but firmly holding her wrist. "Stay," he murmured. "No movement. No escape. Just… presence."
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed—just him, just the warmth of his hand, the impossible intensity of his gaze. Kohinur stiffened, caught between irritation and something thrilling.
Finally, he released her, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "Lesson complete… for today. But remember… tomorrow awaits."
Kohinur groaned, burying her face in the couch cushions. "I… hate… you," she mumbled, though her ears burned and her heart betrayed her words.
Rahan's laugh, soft and low, filled the room. "Hate… is merely another form of attention. And I… require it… as much as compliance."
Kohinur peeked from behind the cushion, eyes narrowing, suspicious. "That… doesn't sound healthy."
"Healthy?" he whispered, leaning closer. "I'm… exceptional. My methods… are… precise."
She flinched slightly, realizing just how close he'd moved, the intensity radiating off him. A flush of both fear and anticipation rose in her chest.
And then—he stepped back, his smirk widening dangerously. "Rest now… little fawn. But remember… the next lesson… will be… unavoidable."
Kohinur swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the couch. "Next lesson?" she asked, voice trembling between curiosity and dread.
"Yes," he said softly, almost reverently. "The lesson you cannot… escape. The lesson of… your own heart."
She froze. Her stomach twisted. His words hung in the air, dangerous, tantalizing, teasing. Something unspoken lingered, thick and magnetic.
Kohinur didn't realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled shakily, the couch suddenly feeling too small, too close, too charged.
And in that instant… she understood. Her life had irrevocably changed. The awkward, chaotic lessons were only the beginning.
And Rahan… Rahan was only getting started.