The rain had started hours ago—soft at first, a gentle drumming on the balcony tiles—but now, it poured with reckless abandon, soaking the city in silver. Ayesha stood by the French windows, fingers tracing lazy circles on her wine glass, watching the streaks of lightning kiss the sky.
Behind her, the low hum of old jazz played from the speaker—something sultry, smoky, just like the mood in the air.
“Still afraid of storms?” Dhruv’s voice cut through the rain, deep and teasing.
She turned slowly. “Only when I’m alone.”
He raised an eyebrow as he stepped closer, the candlelight flickering across his face. “Lucky for you, you’re not.”
Dhruv wasn’t supposed to be here. This was supposed to be a quiet night—books, wine, maybe a long soak in the tub. But then he’d texted: *”Rain like this deserves company.”* And she hadn’t said no.
How could she?
There was something about Dhruv. The way he looked at her like he was always on the edge of saying something wicked. The way silence with him felt louder than words.
She watched as he picked up her half-finished glass, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact.
“You always do that,” she said, stepping toward him, voice low.
“Do what?”
“Act like everything in the room belongs to you.”
His lips curled. “Maybe it does.”
Ayesha felt a flush creep up her neck. She hated how easily he did this—how he turned everyday moments into electricity. There was always a pull between them, like gravity had a personal stake in keeping them close.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, brushing past him toward the kitchen island, letting her shoulder graze his just slightly.
He followed. Of course he did.
“Flattery isn’t needed when the truth is this obvious,” he murmured, now standing too close behind her.
She reached for a strawberry from the bowl, but he was faster—fingers brushing against hers as he took one first. Then he held it out, right at her lips.
“Still sweet?” he asked, eyes locked on her mouth.
Ayesha didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned forward, took the berry with her lips—slowly, deliberately—her eyes never leaving his. The fruit burst between her teeth, juicy and tart.
“Still sweet,” she whispered, licking the corner of her lip.
Dhruv’s eyes darkened just a shade, his breath a little heavier. For a second, the only sound in the room was the jazz and the rain.
“I should go,” he said suddenly, though his feet didn’t move.
“You should,” she agreed, stepping closer, close enough to smell the faint citrus on his skin. “But you won’t.”
Their eyes met. And in that look—silent, smoky, charged—was everything: the lingering glances, the half-finished texts, the nights spent wondering.
Then, without warning, he reached up and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, voice a husky whisper.
Ayesha smiled, slow and knowing. “Maybe I do.”
And just like that, the air between them cracked open. He leaned in—slowly, giving her time to stop it—but she didn’t. She tilted her chin just slightly, enough to meet him halfway.
Their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, like they’d been waiting for this moment in a thousand different ways. His hands slid to her waist, fingers pressing gently, anchoring her to the heat between them. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, closer still, until there was no space left—only sensation.
The kiss was everything they hadn’t said.
The thunder outside rolled low and distant, like applause.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Ayesha rested her forehead against his.
“You always take your time,” she murmured.
Dhruv chuckled, his thumb tracing slow circles on her back. “The best things,” he said, “are worth waiting for.”
She looked up at him, eyes half-lidded. “Then what happens now?”
He paused, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Now… I make sure you never fear storms again.”
And as the lightning lit up the room once more, they disappeared into the rhythm of the night—where the rain kept its secrets, and so did they.