The storm had rolled in faster than expected, sweeping over the city with a growl of thunder and sheets of silver rain. Khushi stood beneath the small canopy outside Imran’s apartment building, arms crossed, slightly trembling—not from cold, but from anticipation.
She hadn’t planned to see him tonight. In fact, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. But something about the late-night texts—the kind laced with teasing ellipses and a charm that curled around her spine—had weakened her resolve.
The door buzzed open before she could knock.
He was already waiting.
“You’re soaked,” Imran murmured, leaning against the doorframe, his voice like warm honey on a winter night.
“And whose fault is that?” she shot back, stepping inside, trailing puddles as she moved past him. The scent of cinnamon and sandalwood lingered in the air. Or maybe it was just him.
Imran closed the door slowly, watching her as if she might disappear if he blinked too long. “You didn’t have to come.”
“No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But I wanted to.”
There it was—that pause between them. Heavy, charged. The kind of silence that crackles louder than thunder.
Khushi reached for the towel he handed her, dabbing her damp cheeks and collarbones. Her top clung to her skin a little too closely, outlining the delicate curve of her shoulders. His eyes followed every movement like a moth drawn to flame.
“You always do that,” she said softly, her back to him.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like you already know how the night’s going to end.”
Imran chuckled, deep and slow. “Do you want me to stop?”
She turned around, her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No. That’s the problem.”
The room felt smaller somehow, like the walls had leaned in to hear the rest of their conversation.
Imran stepped closer, and she didn’t move. He brushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear, fingers lingering longer than necessary. “You’re dangerous when you let me close, Khushi.”
“And you’re a fool for thinking I’d let you.”
“But you did,” he said, his hand now grazing her jaw, thumb resting beneath her chin. “Again.”
She tilted her face toward him, breath hitching. “This doesn’t mean anything, you know.”
“Then why does it feel like everything?”
His words fell between them like slow drops of rain. She hated how easily he slipped under her skin, how his nearness made the air around her feel too tight, too hot.
Khushi took a step back, just to breathe. “You always talk like you’re writing poetry. Do you practice that in front of the mirror?”
Imran smirked. “Only when I imagine you listening.”
The tension curled around them again—sweet and sharp, like the first taste of dark chocolate. She walked to the window, watching the rain paint streaks on the glass. He followed, careful not to crowd her, but close enough for the warmth of his presence to be felt.
“You know this isn’t just flirtation,” he said behind her.
“I know,” she whispered. “That’s what makes it dangerous.”
Their eyes met in the reflection on the glass—hers, defiant and glowing; his, dark and unreadable. The space between them sizzled.
Imran moved first. He didn’t touch her—not quite. Just his breath near her shoulder, his voice close to her ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
She didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead, she turned to him, slowly. “Why do we always end up like this?”
“Because we don’t pretend,” he said. “Not here. Not when it’s just us.”
She touched the edge of his collar, fingers trailing the line of fabric as if mapping uncharted territory. “Then stop pretending now.”
He reached for her waist, his touch light, reverent, as though she might break if held too tightly. But it wasn’t gentleness that defined the moment—it was hunger. The kind you feel in your chest. In your bones.
They stood there, inches apart, every breath laced with everything unsaid.
“Imran…”
“Hmm?”
“If you kiss me now, I won’t leave tonight.”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
His lips met hers with the kind of ache that only builds after too many nights apart, after too many almosts. It was a kiss that spoke in promises, in apologies, in all the things they could never say aloud.
Time folded.
Rain fell.
The city vanished.
And in that quiet, hidden corner of the world, Imran and Khushi lost themselves again—not in lust, not in chaos—but in something far more dangerous.
Something real.