The monsoon had arrived in Mumbai like a whispered secret—slow at first, then suddenly undeniable. Sundeep leaned against the railing of his apartment balcony, the smell of wet earth mingling with the sharp scent of petrichor in the air. The city below flickered with reflections of neon lights on damp asphalt. And then came the knock.
Three gentle raps on his door.
He didn’t need to check. He already knew.
Samera.
She stood there, damp curls clinging to her cheeks, a storm in her eyes that matched the one behind her. Her dress—black, silky, sinfully clinging—left little to the imagination and everything to desire. Water dripped from her shoulders, and a smirk danced on her lips.
“You took your time,” she said, stepping inside without waiting.
Sundeep arched an eyebrow. “And you came uninvited. Again.”
She turned, slow and deliberate, surveying the room with casual elegance. “You always leave the door unlocked when you’re hoping I’ll visit.”
He hated how well she knew him. Or maybe he loved it. He couldn’t decide.
“Tea?” he offered.
“Only if you make it with that cinnamon you hide on the top shelf,” she teased, kicking off her heels and curling her toes into the plush rug. “I like a little spice.”
He chuckled and headed to the kitchen. “You like a lot of things you shouldn’t.”
“Mm,” she hummed. “That’s what makes life interesting, Sundeep.”
They spoke like that—half banter, half foreplay. It was their way. Always dancing on the edge of something dangerous.
As he handed her the tea, their fingers touched—barely—but it sent a jolt up his spine. She noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked to his, daring him to look away first.
He didn’t.
“Rain suits you,” he said.
“Everything suits me when I’m with the right company.”
Bold. Unapologetic. Samera was a wildfire wrapped in velvet. And Sundeep? He was the idiot who kept bringing kindling.
They sat on the couch, the rain tapping at the windows like a secret trying to get in. She curled her legs beneath her, letting the hem of her dress slide just enough to catch his attention. He pretended not to look. She knew he did.
“Sundeep,” she said softly, setting her cup down, “Why do you always act like you’re in control when we both know you’re not?”
He looked at her, lips slightly parted. “Maybe I just like the game.”
She leaned closer. “But what if I stop playing?”
His voice dropped. “Then I’d have to start chasing.”
A pause. Thick with heat and unspoken thoughts.
Samera’s hand reached out, brushing a raindrop from his collarbone. Her fingers lingered, tracing the line of his neck, then pulling back like she hadn’t just set fire to every nerve in his body.
She stood. Walked to the window.
“Come here,” she said.
He followed.
Outside, the rain fell in silver sheets, blurring the lights of the city. She placed her palm against the glass, and he mirrored her, inches from her back. The space between them was magnetic, unbearable.
“You ever wonder,” she whispered, not turning, “what it would feel like if we stopped pretending?”
His breath caught.
Every time you walk in, he wanted to say.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in, lips grazing her shoulder, a kiss so featherlight it felt like a confession.
Samera turned then, slowly, until their faces were inches apart. Her eyes searched his—soft now, vulnerable in a way that broke his heart a little.
“Sundeep,” she whispered, “I didn’t come here because of the rain.”
“I know,” he said, voice low.
“I came because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
And with that, the tension shattered—not with fire, but with gravity. He reached for her waist, pulling her closer, and their lips met like a promise delayed too long. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t violent. It was heat simmering after a slow burn.
Her fingers tangled in his shirt. His hands found her back. And still, they said nothing. Because the rain said enough.
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, she exhaled a shaky breath.
“I should go,” she said.
“You won’t.”
“No. I won’t.”
And just like that, the storm outside faded to a hush.
But the one between them? That had only just begun.