The clock struck midnight, but Riya was wide awake.
The soft hum of the city below her 15th-floor apartment had long faded into the background, replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat—steady but louder than usual. She stood by the window, her silk robe barely tied, a glass of red wine in her hand, and a storm brewing behind her eyes.
That’s when the knock came.
Three slow, deliberate taps.
She didn’t need to check the peephole. She already knew.
Ayaan.
She hesitated—only for a second—before unlocking the door.
He stood there, rain-drenched and dangerous, in a black shirt that hugged him like a secret and eyes that knew far too much. He didn’t smile. He never did when he was like this. He just looked at her, like she was the answer to a question he’d never dared ask out loud.
“You’re late,” she said, voice low, teasing.
“You’re glowing,” he replied, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
The door clicked shut behind him, and with it, the rest of the world vanished.
Ayaan walked in like he belonged—because once upon a time, he did. The chemistry between them hadn’t faded with time or distance. If anything, it simmered stronger now, aged like the wine in her hand.
Riya sipped, watching him as he peeled off his jacket, droplets of rain dotting the hardwood floor. “Rough night?”
His eyes met hers. “You tell me.”
The tension crackled—charged and silent.
She turned away, facing the glass wall again, city lights reflecting off her skin like candlelight. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You called,” he said simply.
She did. A text with just two words: *Still awake?*
And here he was.
Ayaan moved closer, each step quiet, deliberate. He stopped just behind her, his breath brushing the back of her neck.
“I missed this view,” he murmured.
Riya didn’t turn. “The skyline?”
He chuckled softly, his voice grazing her like velvet. “Not exactly.”
Silence. Heavy. Intimate.
She could feel the warmth of his body even with the space between them—just inches, yet infinite with anticipation. She hated how easily he unraveled her with nothing but presence.
“You’re not staying,” she said, more to herself than him.
“Did I say I was?”
She finally turned to face him. “Then why are you here, Ayaan?”
He stepped closer. “Because I can’t stop thinking about that night.”
Her breath caught.
“That night” was never spoken of. Not in words. Only in glances and unspoken truths. A night of laughter, tension, a touch that lingered too long… a kiss that tasted like goodbye.
“You disappeared,” she whispered.
“So did you,” he countered.
Their eyes locked, old wounds flickering beneath new desire. The past tugged at them, but the present was louder.
“I didn’t think you’d still want me,” she confessed.
Ayaan leaned in, brushing his fingers lightly along her arm. Her skin erupted in goosebumps.
“I never stopped.”
His hand found her waist, resting there—not pulling, not claiming. Just… waiting.
Riya leaned into him, letting her forehead touch his chest, his heartbeat thudding like war drums under skin.
“I hate how you make me feel,” she whispered.
“Alive?” he asked, lips barely above her hairline.
“Exposed,” she replied.
Ayaan lifted her chin gently, their faces inches apart. “Then let me cover you—with everything I’ve been holding back.”
He kissed her—not with hunger, but with reverence. Slow, like he was mapping every memory their mouths had ever missed. It was the kind of kiss that made promises no one dared say aloud. The kind that changed the air in the room.
Her arms circled his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair. The wine glass slipped from her hand, landing softly on the carpet below, forgotten.
They moved together without speaking—like two storms merging, inevitable and electrifying. He trailed his fingers down her spine, her body arching into him instinctively. Every touch was a question. Every breath, an answer.
When he lifted her onto the edge of the kitchen counter, she didn’t resist. Her robe parted just enough to hint at everything he couldn’t stop thinking about—and still couldn’t fully see.
He didn’t need to.
Ayaan wasn’t here for what was visible. He was here for the fire behind her eyes, the heat in her silence, the ache between her words.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured, gripping his shirt.
“I know,” he replied, voice low, rough. “But you invited me in, remember?”
She pulled him closer. “Remind me why.”
He smirked. “Because no one touches your mind the way I do.”
“And my heart?” she asked softly.
His smile faded. “That’s what I came back for.”
The air shifted—desire melting into something deeper. They held each other longer this time, slower, their silhouettes dancing with shadows and city light.
Outside, the rain began to fall again.
Inside, they found shelter in each other.
Not promises. Not forever.
Just *now*—and all the electricity it carried.