The sky over Kolkata darkened slowly, thick clouds rolling in with a mood of their own. Mampi stood by the tall window of her apartment, watching the wind tease the curtains like a lover’s fingers. A storm was coming. But the storm inside her had already arrived hours ago—when Jashim said he was coming over.
She wasn’t dressed for company. A loose shirt fell just below her thighs, her damp hair dripping water from her recent shower. She told herself she didn’t care. But her fingers had lingered just a little too long near her collar when buttoning the shirt. She’d left the top two undone. On purpose.
The bell rang. Once.
She didn’t rush. She walked slowly to the door, every step deliberate, as if each one teased him from the other side. When she opened it, Jashim stood there—rain-spattered, hair damp, a knowing smile playing at his lips. He didn’t even say hello.
“Am I too early?” he asked, voice low and slightly amused.
“You’re late,” Mampi replied, tilting her head. “But I’ll allow it.”
He stepped in without breaking eye contact. She shut the door behind him. The sound echoed—like a secret being sealed inside.
Jashim shrugged off his jacket, the wet fabric clinging to his arms. Mampi’s eyes didn’t miss the way his shirt clung to his chest, the raindrops tracing slow, sinful paths down his collarbone. She walked past him, the soft sway of her hips unmissable.
“Want coffee?” she asked over her shoulder.
“That depends,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “Are you going to pour it… or tease me with it?”
Mampi chuckled, opening the cabinet. “Depends on how thirsty you are.”
Jashim leaned against the counter, watching her every move like a predator eyeing his prey—but with patience, and hunger. His gaze burned into her back, especially when she reached up, stretching. The hem of her shirt rode up just enough to tempt imagination.
“I didn’t come for coffee,” he said finally, voice like smoke curling through the air.
She turned, mug in hand. “Then why are you here?”
He stepped closer, slowly. “Because you left that message.”
Mampi bit her lower lip. “That message only had three words.”
He was inches from her now. “Still kept me up all night.”
The tension between them sparked like static. She handed him the coffee, fingers brushing his—deliberately slow, skin grazing skin. Jashim didn’t break eye contact. Neither did she.
“What do we do with all this… waiting?” she asked, eyes dark with questions she didn’t say aloud.
He took a sip, eyes never leaving hers. “You could start by telling me what you really want.”
Mampi stepped even closer, her fingers now resting lightly on his arm. Her voice softened, turned silkier.
“I want a storm,” she whispered. “Not the one outside.”
Jashim set the mug down with quiet care. His fingers found her waist, brushing just enough to make her inhale sharply. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
“You sure you can handle that?”
She turned her face, her lips nearly brushing his. “I’m not afraid of thunder.”
He smiled. “But lightning leaves a mark.”
“Good,” she breathed, her palm pressing lightly against his chest. “Maybe I want to remember it.”
In that suspended moment, neither moved, yet everything shifted. The air between them crackled with a tension so thick it nearly had form. There was no rush, no reckless leap. Just slow-burning gravity pulling them closer—one heartbeat at a time.
The first kiss wasn’t desperate. It was careful, exploring, asking and answering all at once. Her hands slid up his neck, curling into his hair. His arms wrapped around her waist, firm but not possessive—like someone who knows his place was right there and nowhere else.
Outside, the rain lashed against the windows. But inside, it was warmth, skin, breath, and longing wrapped in silk and shadows.
They didn’t speak much after that.
But their silence said everything.