The storm had passed, but the air was heavier than before.In the morning, Janis carried himself the same way he always did—calm, collected, his laughter echoing in small bursts that could make me forget the weight in my chest. But beneath that warmth, there was something I could no longer ignore: a wall.
Not made of words, not of distance, but of something unseen.
Every time I reached for his essence with my sukma, I felt it. A vibration, low and steady, like the hum of a locked gate. He was guarded—not only by his own silence, but by something older, stronger.
It wasn't coincidence. It wasn't luck.Janis was not just any man.
The first time I noticed it was on the 28th night of the lunar cycle.We had been together all day, walking along the shoreline, the moon rising silver over the ocean. My heart ached with longing; I wanted him, body and soul. I reached for him, pressing closer, lips tracing his skin.
But he stopped me.
Not harshly—his touch was tender, his gaze soft—but firm enough to halt me."Not tonight," he whispered, almost as if apologizing."Why?" I asked, hurt prickling my voice.
His eyes flicked toward the moon, then back at me. For a second, I saw something flicker in those gray depths: fear, or perhaps reverence."On nights like this, the body should rest. The spirit should guard."
It sounded strange, almost ritualistic, but he said no more. He only kissed my forehead, pulled me into his arms, and held me until sleep claimed us.
Yet I did not sleep.Because that night, I tried again to summon my sukma, to pierce his silence.
And what I found shocked me.
The moment I slipped from my body, drifting toward his, I was met with resistance—not from him, but from something else.
Shadows circled his form, but they were not dark. They glowed faintly, like silver threads woven into armor. Figures loomed behind him, faceless but powerful, their presence ancient. Guardians. Protectors.
The closer I came, the stronger the force became. My essence shuddered, fragments of myself scattering as though warned to turn back.
And then I heard a voice.Not his voice, but something that resonated through him.
"This soul is not yours to claim."
The force hurled me back into my body. My chest heaved, my skin damp with sweat though the room was cool. Beside me, Janis stirred, his hand twitching as if he had felt my intrusion even in sleep. His brow furrowed, but he did not wake.
The next day, I watched him differently. Every gesture, every silence, every half-smile seemed to carry hidden meaning. His strength was not only physical, not only emotional—it was spiritual.
Janis was protected.Janis was chosen.
And yet, there were cracks.
Despite his barriers, despite his guardians, I had seen the truth in fragments: the child, the woman, the divided heart. His armor was not impenetrable. He had secrets, and those secrets bled through in his restlessness, in the way he sometimes stared too long at the horizon, as if waiting for something—or someone.
I realized then that my sukma raga alone might never bind him.But desire is patient.And vengeance is creative.
That night, as the moon waned and the 29th day arrived, I lay beside him in silence. He did not touch me, though I could feel the weight of his longing pressed down by discipline. His self-control was unnatural, as if trained by something beyond human will.
I traced the lines of his face in the dim light, memorizing him.The man who could resist not only me, but even himself.
And in that resistance, he became even more dangerous.
Because if he could hold back under the spell of love, of touch, of desire, then what else was he capable of resisting?
Still, I whispered to myself a vow:If Janis thought his guardians, his rituals, his silence could shield him forever, he was wrong.
I would find the crack in his armor.And when I did, I would slip through—not to love him, but to own him.