The city was alive with the muted hum of midnight — distant horns, the faint rhythm of rain, and the occasional whisper of wind that brushed against the glass windows of Jay’s high-rise apartment. Inside, the world felt smaller, warmer… and infinitely more dangerous.
Jay stood by the balcony, a glass of wine in his hand, watching the rain streak down the glass. He didn’t hear the soft footsteps at first — only the shift in the air when she walked in.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Rashmika’s voice was low, almost teasing. She stood in the doorway, barefoot, her hair loose and slightly tousled, wearing a silk robe that seemed to catch every stray glimmer of light.
Jay turned, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Wasn’t trying to. Nights like this… they’re meant to be felt, not slept through.”
Rashmika smiled, stepping closer. “And here I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Why would I avoid you?” His tone was calm, but there was something in his eyes — something unspoken, something that had been building between them for weeks.
“You tell me,” she said, tilting her head. “Every time we talk, you keep it light. Playful. But your eyes…” She let the thought trail off, as if daring him to complete it.
He didn’t. Instead, he handed her his wine glass. “Taste.”
Her fingers brushed his as she took it, the contact subtle yet electric. She sipped slowly, the deep red staining her lips for a moment before she set the glass on the table.
“That’s nice,” she murmured.
Jay stepped closer, his presence almost brushing against hers. “Not as nice as the company.”
The air tightened. She looked up at him, and for a second, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them — the faint sound of rain, the warmth of their breath, the quiet hum of something dangerous just waiting for permission.
“You’re doing it again,” she whispered.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you already know how this night ends.”
His lips curved into the faintest smile. “Maybe I do.”
Her heartbeat quickened. She told herself to step back, to keep it safe, but her feet didn’t listen. Instead, she closed the space between them until she could feel the warmth radiating off him.
“Then tell me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “how does it end?”
Jay’s hand moved, slow enough to let her stop him if she wanted — but she didn’t. His fingers found a loose strand of her hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. “It doesn’t end,” he murmured. “It only begins.”
The words lingered in the space between them. Rashmika’s breath caught. She felt the pull — the one she had been resisting for far too long.
“Jay…” she started, but he interrupted, his voice quiet, steady. “You’ve been waiting for me to say something. I’ve been waiting for you to stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”
Silence. Heavy, charged, intoxicating.
Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “And if I stop pretending?”
He leaned in, close enough for his breath to graze her skin. “Then I stop waiting.”
The tension between them broke, but it didn’t vanish — it deepened. She could feel the faintest trace of his touch on her arm, his fingers trailing lightly, almost teasingly, as if every movement was a question and an answer all at once.
The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the windows, but neither of them looked away. His hand found hers — warm, certain — and their fingers interlaced with the kind of inevitability that made her wonder why they had waited at all.
“You know this changes everything,” she whispered.
“Good,” he replied. “I don’t want things the way they were.”
The room felt smaller now, the air thicker, their breaths in sync. They didn’t need to rush. The night was theirs — slow, deliberate, and full of unspoken promises.
And somewhere between the rain’s rhythm and the heat in their eyes, Jay knew one thing for certain — this was only the first chapter of something neither of them could walk away from.