The storm outside was wild, dancing against the windows of Ruhan’s family’s old hilltop bungalow. The scent of rain and wet earth filled the air, rich and intoxicating, much like the tension between him and Rehena.
She stood by the fireplace, barefoot, wrapped in his oversized sweater — one she had stolen hours ago without asking. It hung off her shoulders, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone and a hint of bare thigh beneath. Her hair was damp, clinging to her skin in dark, silken strands.
“You always watch me like that,” she said without turning. Her voice was low, playful.
Ruhan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, lips curled in a smirk. “Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to remember something you shouldn’t.”
“I’m trying to forget,” he said, stepping closer. “But you make it hard.”
Her laughter was soft, nearly lost in the crackle of the fire. She finally looked at him, her eyes dark and glinting, daring him.
“You were the one who said we should stop,” she reminded.
“And you agreed.”
“I lied.”
Ruhan stopped just a breath away from her, the air between them thick, heated despite the cold storm outside. He could feel the pulse in her throat even before he touched her — but he didn’t. Not yet.
“You think I didn’t notice?” he murmured. “The way you keep testing me… the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching…”
“I wanted you to break first,” she whispered.
He chuckled, low and rough. “Dangerous game.”
“And yet…” Rehena moved closer, until her chest brushed against his. “Here we are.”
They stood like that for a moment, barely touching, bodies humming with unspoken promises. The only sound was the rain beating on the rooftop and the slow, deliberate rhythm of their breath.
“Why now?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Because I’m tired of pretending,” she said simply. “Tired of pretending I don’t think of you when I shouldn’t. That I don’t burn when you so much as glance at me. That I don’t want to be ruined by you.”
Her words sliced through the restraint he had wrapped so tightly around himself.
Still, Ruhan hesitated — not from fear, but from reverence. As though touching her now would make everything real, irreversible.
“I don’t want to ruin you,” he said. “I want to worship you. Slowly. Completely.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide with the ache of wanting. “Then what are you waiting for?”
His fingers brushed her cheek, then trailed down the side of her neck, drawing a shiver from her lips. She tilted her head ever so slightly, giving him more — silent permission wrapped in surrender.
And he took it.
He kissed her — not gently, not desperately — but with the kind of purpose that had been building for years. The kind of kiss that said *this is what I’ve been craving in the quiet moments when I thought no one would ever see me again.*
Her hands were in his hair, his arms around her waist, the fire roaring behind them. Time slipped, dissolved. Her sweater slipped lower, and his shirt bunched under her grip, but they weren’t in a rush.
This wasn’t a collision.
It was a slow unraveling.
Every touch was a question. Every gasp, an answer.
When he lifted her, she clung to him without hesitation, legs wrapping around his hips like they belonged there — like they had always belonged there. He carried her to the old couch, setting her down like she was something precious, not fragile.
They didn’t speak for a long time.
Only the storm talked, outside and within.
When the silence broke, it was her voice again — husky and sweet, teasing him like always.
“So… you’re not going to pretend anymore either?”
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her jaw, a slow trail to her ear. “No, Rehena. I’m going to show you, over and over, exactly how much I’ve been pretending.”
And in the flickering shadows of that old bungalow, as the rain fell harder, their truths spilled — bold, unashamed, and completely tangled in each other.