The rain had started just as the power went out.
Alamin stood by the window, the faint orange of the streetlight barely cutting through the storm’s breath. Behind him, the soft click of a teacup echoed in the dimness. Rokiya leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” she teased, eyes glinting like firelight in the shadow.
He turned slowly, his silhouette tall, calm. Dangerous in the way only a man who knew what silence did to a woman’s thoughts could be.
“I told you to come over because I missed you,” he said, stepping closer. “The storm’s just… a beautiful coincidence.”
Rokiya’s laugh was soft, disarming. “You always say the right things.”
Alamin’s eyes swept over her. She was barefoot, her long shirt just brushing her thighs. Casual. Comfortable. Tempting in all the ways she didn’t realize—or perhaps did. Her hair was damp from the rain, strands curling at her temple.
He took another step.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He was in front of her now. Close. Too close.
His voice dropped to a hush, “Then why do you look like you’re ready to run?”
Her breath caught, betraying her calm. She tilted her chin, refusing to give him the upper hand. “I’m not running.”
“Good,” he said, reaching past her to place his tea on the counter—but he didn’t move away. “Because I don’t plan to let you.”
The silence buzzed between them, thick with unspoken things.
Her fingers brushed his wrist. Barely. But the electricity of it pulsed up her spine.
“You always do this,” she whispered, voice suddenly serious. “Come in with your charm, steal the air from the room… and then leave me wanting.”
Alamin’s jaw flexed. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then his hand came up, slow, deliberate, brushing a damp curl away from her cheek.
“Maybe I’m tired of leaving,” he said. “Maybe I want to stay this time.”
Rokiya’s pulse stuttered.
She’d known men who said things like that. Beautiful lies dressed in silk. But Alamin… he looked at her like she was the first sunrise after a long winter. And he had never touched her without intention.
The air between them throbbed with restraint. Every breath was heavy, every movement calculated.
She reached up and rested her palm on his chest—steady, strong, warm.
His heartbeat answered hers.
“You talk like you mean it,” she said.
“I do.”
“Then show me.”
Alamin leaned in slowly. Not kissing her—*not yet*. Just close enough that she could feel the ghost of his breath on her lips, taste the storm in the air between them.
He held her gaze. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
She didn’t.
Their lips met—soft at first, testing. Then with a hunger that had simmered too long.
It wasn’t reckless. It was patient. Like they’d both dreamed this moment a thousand times and were afraid rushing it would break the spell.
His hand slid to the small of her back, her body melting into his. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding herself.
Somewhere, thunder rolled again, and the windows shook.
But the storm outside was nothing compared to the one igniting between them.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the dim light.
Rokiya laughed softly, breathlessly. “Now that’s the kind of silence I can get used to.”
Alamin smiled, brushing his thumb across her jaw. “It’s just the beginning.”
She didn’t argue.
Instead, she reached for his hand and led him gently through the flickering candlelight, into the quiet heart of the house. The air was thick with jasmine and rain.
And somewhere behind the closed door, the night bloomed into something unforgettable.