The monsoon had arrived early in the hills that year, and with it, came a storm Rihan hadn’t prepared for—Diya.
She stepped into the villa’s warm glow, rain clinging to her like a second skin. Her eyes scanned the living room with casual curiosity, then stopped the moment they found his. The air changed—tighter, heavier. Charged.
“Rihan,” she said, letting his name linger on her lips like it meant something more than just a greeting.
He stood from the couch slowly, as if pulled by an invisible string. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I wasn’t sure I would,” she replied, slipping out of her wet shawl. Her blouse clung to her in the most maddening way, and Rihan’s throat went dry. “But something told me… I should.”
The fire in the hearth crackled, but it wasn’t the only heat in the room.
They hadn’t seen each other in months—not since that weekend in Goa that ended with half-spoken words and unspoken promises. Diya had walked away with a teasing smile, and Rihan had tried not to read between the lines. But here she was, drenched in rain and mischief.
He poured her a glass of wine, fingers brushing briefly when he handed it over.
“I remember this wine,” she said, sipping. “You opened it the night we danced under the stars.”
“You mean the night you disappeared before dawn,” he replied, voice low.
Diya smirked, circling him like a flame that knew its power. “You never asked me to stay.”
Rihan’s jaw tightened. “Would you have?”
She stepped closer, close enough for him to smell the rain in her hair. “Maybe,” she whispered. “If you’d kissed me like you meant it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick with all the things they hadn’t said.
He reached for her hand, pulling her gently into the circle of his arms. She didn’t resist.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmured near her ear.
“I know,” she said, smiling as if she could feel every thought he’d tried to bury. “You’re not that hard to read.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, their faces barely inches apart. “Why didn’t you come after me, Rihan?”
“Because I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice raw with honesty. “That if I touched you again, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Diya’s breath hitched. Her wine glass tilted slightly, forgotten. “And now?”
“Now,” he whispered, leaning in, “I don’t care.”
His lips brushed hers—a barely-there kiss that said everything. She responded with a soft sigh, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.
They moved together in slow, careful steps toward the couch. Not rushing. Not speaking. Just feeling.
He cradled her face as he kissed her again, this time deeper—slow and unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve of her mouth. Diya melted against him, her hands exploring the breadth of his back, the rhythm of his heartbeat.
She pulled away just long enough to whisper, “You feel different.”
“I am different,” he replied, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
Thunder rumbled outside, but it only seemed to echo what was building between them. Diya’s fingers played with the collar of his shirt, teasing, trailing.
“You waited for me,” she said, almost in awe.
“Every damn night.”
Her eyes softened, the flirty mask slipping. What lay beneath was desire, yes—but something deeper. Something dangerous.
She leaned in, her breath brushing his neck. “Then don’t waste tonight.”
Rihan didn’t need more permission. He kissed her again, this time with a hunger that had simmered for too long. Diya responded in kind, her body arching into his, each movement a silent conversation.
There were no more doubts, no more second-guessing. Just skin, warmth, and the rhythm of two people finding their way back to each other.
The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the windows like applause for a scene too private for the world.
Later, as they lay wrapped in each other, the fire burning low, Diya traced invisible shapes on his chest.
“You know,” she whispered, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
He looked down at her. “Why did you?”
“Because I was tired of pretending you were just a memory.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Good. Because I plan on making you unforgettable.”
She smiled against his skin, content in a way that felt dangerous.
And just like that, under a stormy sky and the soft glow of firelight, Rihan and Diya rewrote the ending that had once escaped them—this time, with no one walking away.