Chapter 40: The raw confession

Sanlang had never believed in fate.

Coincidences, maybe. A series of events aligning by pure chance, a path unfolding without divine intervention. But this?

This was something else.

He hadn't expected to see Noor tonight—not here, not like this.

He had been filming a new campaign for one of her companies, a contract arranged through his agency, and he had assumed Noor wouldn't be directly involved. Yet, there she was, standing at the far end of the set when the cameras stopped rolling, watching him with that same unreadable expression.

A coincidence, they had both agreed. Nothing more.

Then another coincidence—they were staying at the same hotel.

And now, the third.

Sanlang stood outside his door, the keycard still clutched in his fingers, staring at Noor as she unlocked the door directly across from his.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. The hallway was dimly lit, the golden glow from the sconces casting soft shadows across her face. Her long, dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, slightly tousled from the breeze outside. She looked impossibly composed, as always, but there was something about the way she stood there—silent, still—that made his pulse quicken.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Sanlang exhaled slowly, forcing a smirk. "This is getting ridiculous."

Noor blinked, then gave the faintest tilt of her head. "What is?"

Sanlang gestured between their doors. " Whatever you want to call this."

Noor's lips curved in something almost resembling amusement. "Or perhaps it's just probability. Hotels have limited rooms."

Sanlang let out a dry chuckle. "And yet, somehow, out of all the rooms in this place, you're right in front of me."

Noor's gaze didn't waver. "Is that a problem?"

Sanlang studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "Not a problem. Just... interesting."

Noor hummed softly, as if acknowledging his words without truly agreeing.

He should go inside. He should.

And yet, his fingers remained frozen on the keycard, unwilling to swipe.

Noor, still unreadable, regarded him for a beat longer before turning toward her own door.

Then, without looking back—

"Goodnight, Sanlang."

His grip on the keycard tightened.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Not even close.

---

Sanlang sat on the edge of his bed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

This was ridiculous.

A coincidence.

And yet, he was hyper-aware of the fact that Noor was just beyond the wall.

Was she asleep? Still awake? Was she thinking about their meeting on set?

Was she thinking about him at all?

Sanlang exhaled sharply, standing. His shirt was already unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up from the long day, but he suddenly felt suffocated, restless. He walked to the balcony, pushing the sliding door open for fresh air.

And then—

His breath caught.

Noor was standing on her balcony.

She turned at the sound of the door, eyes locking with his under the soft glow of the night sky.

Sanlang swallowed. "Couldn't sleep?"

Noor held his gaze for a moment before replying, "No."

Her voice was softer now, the usual sharp edges dulled by the late hour. The wind brushed against her hair, causing a few strands to fall across her face. Without thinking, she tucked them behind her ear, a simple, thoughtless motion—

But Sanlang's eyes traced the movement like it was something forbidden.

He inhaled sharply, gripping the railing. "You should get some rest."

Noor tilted her head. "So should you."

Sanlang let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I don't think I can."

Noor watched him, her expression unreadable as ever, but something in her silence made his chest tighten.

Sanlang leaned against the railing. "Tell me something, Noor."

She remained still, waiting.

"What is it that always lingers in your thoughts..something distant yet visible ?"

The question was out before he could stop it. He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes, but she masked it quickly, her expression smoothing into something controlled.

"That's a dangerous question," she said softly.

Sanlang smirked, but there was no humor in it. "And why is that?"

Noor studied him, then exhaled, turning her gaze to the city beyond. "Because questions like that lead to answers people aren't ready for."

Sanlang took a slow step forward. "And what if I am ready?"

Noor finally looked at him again. There was something different in her gaze this time—something not quite cold, not quite warm. Something else.

Sanlang's pulse thundered. "Noor."

She didn't move. Didn't retreat.

But she also didn't answer.

Sanlang let out a breath, his grip tightening on the railing. "Do you ever think about me."

Silence.

Then—

"You're persistent," Noor murmured.

Sanlang huffed a laugh. "You have no idea."

The wind shifted again, carrying the faintest hint of her perfume—clean, soft, something entirely her. It curled around him, feeding the restless hunger coiling in his gut.

He could end this. He could say goodnight and walk away, pretend this moment never happened.

But he had never been good at pretending when it came to Noor.

"Noor," he said again, softer this time. "If I crossed this balcony right now, if I stood in front of you—"

Her gaze flickered.

Sanlang's breath shallowed. "Would you let me?"

The air between them stretched, pulling tight, dangerously thin.

Then, Noor—

She turned away.

Sanlang's chest ached.

But just as she was about to disappear inside, her voice drifted back to him.

"Go to sleep, Sanlang."

He exhaled sharply, a quiet, bitter laugh escaping him. "You always do that."

Noor paused. "Do what?"

Sanlang stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Close the door before I can step through it."

For a long moment, Noor said nothing.

Then, quietly—

"I wouldn't close it if there was never a door to begin with."

Sanlang stilled.

When he looked up, Noor was gone.

The door to her room shut with a soft click.

Sanlang stared after her, jaw clenched, his hands tightening at his sides.

She's slipping.

She felt it, too. He knew it.

And next time, he wouldn't let her walk away so easily.

---

Sanlang had made up his mind.

No more doors closing in his face. No more unanswered questions.

Tonight, he wasn't going to let Noor disappear into the shadows.

And so, an hour after their encounter on the balcony, he found himself standing in front of her door. A bottle of whiskey in one hand, two glasses in the other.

His heartbeat was steady, but there was something dangerous in his veins—a fire, a need, an ache that had been simmering for far too long.

He knocked once.

Silence.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the door opened.

Noor stood there, still dressed in white, her long hair cascading down her back. Her expression was unreadable, but her dark eyes flickered over him—the bottle, the glasses, the set of his jaw.

She didn't ask why he was here.

She already knew.

Sanlang leaned against the doorframe, his smirk lazy but his eyes sharp. "I figured since we're neighbors, we might as well share a drink."

Noor remained still, then slowly tilted her head. "I don't drink."

Sanlang chuckled. "Of course you don't." He lifted the bottle slightly. "But I do."

A beat.

Then, Noor exhaled, stepping aside.

She didn't invite him in. But she didn't stop him either.

Sanlang took that as permission.

---

He poured himself a drink first, the rich amber liquid catching the dim light of the room. Noor stood by the window, her posture composed, watching him with quiet curiosity.

He downed the first glass in one go.

Poured another.

Noor still hadn't spoken.

Sanlang leaned back on the couch, exhaling slowly as the warmth of the whiskey spread through his chest. He tapped his fingers against the rim of the glass, his gaze locked onto Noor.

"You always do this," he murmured.

Noor's brows lifted slightly. "Do what?"

"Watch," he said, tilting his head. "Like you're studying me. Like you're waiting for something to happen."

Sanlang smirked, taking another sip. "Do you know what's funny?"

"I doubt it's actually funny," Noor replied dryly.

Sanlang let out a soft chuckle. "No. It's tragic, actually." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I spent months thinking about you. Obsessing over you. And now that you're right here, in front of me..."

His voice dropped lower.

"I still can't have you."

Noor's fingers twitched slightly, but her voice remained steady. "You speak as if I belong to someone."

Sanlang exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "That's the thing, Noor. You don't belong to anyone."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"And that drives me insane."

Noor studied him for a moment, then slowly walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away. "You should sleep, Sanlang."

Sanlang tilted his head, eyes dark. "And if I don't want to?"

Noor's expression didn't change. "Then you'll regret it in the morning."

Sanlang huffed a breath. "Oh, I already regret plenty of things."

His gaze flickered down her frame, slow, deliberate. When his eyes met hers again, something heated and unspoken crackled between them.

Noor didn't move. Didn't flinch.

But she wasn't unaffected.

Sanlang downed the rest of his whiskey and stood abruptly, closing the distance between them.

Noor remained still, watching him with unreadable eyes.

Sanlang reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek longer than necessary.

"Noor," he murmured, voice husky.

His breath hitched.

His pulse thundered.

Then—

He moved.

Pushed her back—gently, at first. But then, the alcohol and frustration took over, and his grip on her arms tightened as he backed her against the wall.

Noor's breath hitched, but her gaze remained steady. Unwavering.

Sanlang's chest rose and fell heavily. "Tell me to stop."

Silence.

Noor's lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.

Sanlang's grip tightened.

Then—

A crack of thunder in the distance.

The moment snapped.

Sanlang blinked, the haze lifting slightly.

Sanlang had always been good at controlling himself.

Tonight, however, control was a foreign concept.

The whiskey burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire Noor ignited in him. The moment she had let him into her room, something in him had snapped. The careful walls he had spent months building crumbled under the weight of his desire, his frustration, his *need*.

Noor stood before him now, calm and poised, while his world spun. He could feel the alcohol in his veins, making everything sharper, more intense.

And Noor—

She was standing too close.

Or maybe he was the one who had moved closer.

His head was light, his body heavy, but his hands—his *damned* hands—were restless. They twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her, to feel her, to *confirm* that she was real and not just another one of his torturous fantasies.

"Noor," he murmured, his voice rough.

She sighed. "Sanlang, you need to rest."

But rest was impossible when she was standing there, when the silk of her robe moved like liquid every time she shifted, when her scent—clean, subtle, intoxicating—filled his senses and drowned him completely.

Sanlang reached out, fingertips grazing the back of her hand.

Noor stilled.

Encouraged, he moved higher, tracing the delicate bones of her wrist, then up to her forearm, his touch slow, hesitant. As if he was testing a boundary.

His breath turned ragged.

He stepped closer, lifting his other hand to skim along the curve of her shoulder. The silk was cool beneath his fingers, a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin.

"Noor," he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly. "Why do you do this to me?"

Noor inhaled softly. "I haven't done anything, Sanlang."

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "That's the worst part."

His fingers trailed up, brushing against the side of her neck, feeling the delicate thrum of her pulse beneath his touch. He could hear his own breathing, too loud, too uneven, but he didn't care.

His thumb traced the curve of her jaw.

Then—he leaned in.

Closer.

His nose ghosted over her cheek, then lower, his lips barely brushing the skin just below her ear. His breath was hot, uneven.

"You're in my *head*," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "Every damn night. Every time I close my eyes, it's you."

Noor remained still, her hands at her sides. Not resisting, but not reciprocating either.

Sanlang didn't stop.

His lips skimmed lower, past the curve of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat.

Then—he groaned.

Low, deep, *desperate*.

His knees nearly buckled as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, as if trying to *consume* her.

"Noor," he moaned, voice muffled against her skin.

His hands slid to her waist, gripping, clinging, *begging*.

She was warm. Soft. Everything he had imagined and more.

And *God help him*, he was *burning*.

His body pressed flush against hers, and there was no hiding the evidence of his desire—the heat, the hardness, the *ache* that had been tormenting him for months.

Noor inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching against his chest, as if debating whether to push him away.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let out a slow breath and murmured, "Sanlang."

It was not a warning.

It was not a rejection.

It was *gentle*.

Sanlang groaned again, his grip on her tightening. "You don't *understand*," he rasped. "You *own* me, Noor. Completely. And you don't even care."

His fingers flexed, his body pressing harder against hers, but then—

His breath hitched.

His entire body tensed.

The adrenaline, the alcohol, the sheer intensity of the moment crashed into him all at once.

And suddenly—

Everything went dark.

---

Sanlang woke to laughter.

Loud. *Unforgivable*.

His head *pounded*.

His body *ached*.

And worst of all—he felt *warm*.

Too warm.

Sanlang groaned, turning onto his side, only to freeze when he caught a *faint* whiff of something familiar.

Jasmine.

His body went rigid.

His mind *screamed*.

*No. No, no, no—*

"Oh, *look* who finally decided to wake up," a voice drawled.

Sanlang's stomach *sank*.

Maya.

That meant—

"Sanlang," another voice chimed in, far too *smug*. "Rough night?"

Zeyla.

*Kill me now.* He told him in his head as he brows furrowed and a rush of crimson creeped up his ears.

Sanlang opened one eye, barely managing to glare at the two women standing near his bed.

Maya was holding a tray of tea and fruit. Zeyla was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"I hate both of you," he croaked.

Maya sighed dramatically. "And yet, we're the ones bringing you breakfast."

Zeyla smirked. "I'd be grateful if I were you. Noor *specifically* asked us to check on you."

Sanlang's breath *caught*.

*Noor.*

A violent flash of memory surged through his mind—his hands on her waist, his mouth against her throat, the way he had *moaned* her name like a *fool*.

*Damn it, what did I do?*

Maya hummed, placing the tray on the nightstand. "Honestly, I've never seen you drink that much before. I mean, sure, I've seen you tipsy, but last night was... something else."

Sanlang forced himself to sit up, his heart *pounding*. "...How much do you know?"

Zeyla's smirk deepened. "Enough to be entertained."

Sanlang exhaled *slowly*.

*That means they don't know everything.*

Thank *Goodness.*

Maya grinned. "Noor left early this morning, but she told us to make sure you didn't die from self-inflicted suffering."

Sanlang pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course she did."

Zeyla raised an eyebrow. "She also said to remind you to 'take better care of yourself.'"

Sanlang groaned.

Maya laughed. "You *really* must have embarrassed yourself if Noor was feeling generous enough to *care*."

Sanlang *definitely* hated them.

Zeyla sighed, standing. "Well, we've done our duty. Try not to ruin your dignity again."

Sanlang buried his face in his hands. "Leave."

Maya patted his shoulder. "Eat your breakfast, lover boy."

Sanlang *groaned louder*.

Maya and Zeyla finally left, their laughter echoing down the hall.

Sanlang fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

His heart was still racing.

His body still remembered the way Noor had felt against him.

And worst of all—

He had no idea how she felt about it.

-----