Siri's POV
The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle, its rhythmic patter creating a soothing backdrop that wrapped around us like a lullaby. The moment lingered in the air even after we gently pulled away from the embrace, our bodies no longer touching but our hearts still impossibly close. I could still feel the shape of him around me—his arms folded protectively at my back, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath near my ear. It clung to me like a memory I didn't want to let go of.
The terrace, slick and glistening under the dim golden glow of the lights, felt like a place suspended outside time. The air smelled of wet earth and jasmine—earthy and sweet, grounding yet intoxicating. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then fell silent, as if even the night had paused to catch its breath.
Bhargav's eyes found mine again. His lashes were still wet, tiny droplets clinging like delicate glass beads. His hair clung messily to his forehead, and the curve of a soft, sheepish smile tugged at his lips.
"It's getting late," he murmured, voice hushed and careful, like the hush after a prayer. "We should head back. You might catch a cold."
I should have agreed. But I tilted my face upward instead, letting the final few drops of rain fall onto my skin like blessings. They slid down my cheeks and jaw, mixing with the faint traces of salt I wasn't sure were from the rain or my own eyes.
"I don't want to go yet," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the halo of light that danced over the rooftop puddles. "I love the rain—it feels like the world is pausing just for us."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and affectionate, like he didn't want to break whatever fragile magic we'd stumbled into. "You and your poetic lines," he said, shaking his head gently. He stepped closer, reached out, and tucked a soaked strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that slowed time. His fingers were cold, but his touch still made my skin tingle.
"You'll get sick if you stay out too long," he added, his voice softer now, but the concern in it ran deep.
I smiled, more to myself than him. "Maybe. But it's worth it."
He looked at me then—not like a boy trying to figure out what to say next, but like a man trying to remember every detail of something precious. His eyes softened, and for a second, something raw and unguarded flickered across his face. A silent echo of everything we weren't saying.
I didn't tell him what I truly meant: This is the first time I've felt this close to you without any fear or doubt. Please don't let it end yet.
Bhargav exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding something in, and then gave me that look—half frustrated, half defeated by affection. "Alright," he said finally, drawing out the word like it cost him a fight with himself. "But just a few more minutes."
"Deal," I whispered, my lips curling upward despite the wet chill.
We stood shoulder to shoulder, wordless and still, as the drizzle softened further into a mist. The air around us buzzed, not with sound but with feeling—quiet confessions wrapped in silence, tension laced with yearning. The sky above had turned from dark steel to something smoky and restless, as if it too didn't want this moment to end.
My shoulder brushed against his, and neither of us moved away.
"You really love the rain, don't you?" he asked suddenly, as if trying to understand a part of me he hadn't dared to before.
"I do," I said. "It makes everything feel softer. Even the pain."
His brows drew together slightly, and he looked down at his shoes like he was thinking too hard. "I never liked it much," he admitted. "Rain always felt...lonely to me. Like the sky was crying and no one noticed."
I turned to him, surprised by the honesty in his voice.
"But tonight…" he continued, hesitating. "Tonight, it felt different."
"How so?"
He looked at me, a flicker of something playful in his eyes but weighed with sincerity. "I noticed."
The words were simple. But the way he said them—it felt like a bridge being built between us.
Eventually, his hand brushed against mine, hesitant at first, like he was testing the current between us. Then, slowly, his fingers laced with mine—carefully, reverently, like it was the most fragile promise he'd ever made.
We walked down the stairs together, our steps slow, our soaked shoes slapping softly against the cement. Each echo was a quiet rhythm, like our own little heartbeat in the dark.
I didn't let go of his hand, not even when we reached the last step. He didn't either.
At the door to his room, he paused, his grip loosening slightly but not pulling away just yet. He looked at me again, that familiar light in his eyes that always made me feel seen and undone.
"Get some rest, Siri," he said softly. "And don't think too much, okay?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He lingered for one more second before finally letting go of my hand. As he turned to walk away, he gave me one last glance over his shoulder—and then he smiled.
It wasn't the cocky smirk he used to wear when he was trying to win an argument. Nor was it the guarded, polite smile he used when others were around. No, this one was different.
It was slow, uncertain, almost bashful.
It was the kind of smile you give someone when you're falling and hoping they're falling too.
And in that moment, he didn't look like the Bhargav everyone else knew—the confident, aloof boy with walls built high. He looked like a boy again. Vulnerable. Giddy. Beautifully unsure.
That smile carved a path into my heart I didn't know existed.
"My turn now," I whispered to myself as he walked away, the words a quiet vow to keep trying—to reach for him, to love him slowly and without fear.
And somewhere deep inside me, I knew: something had shifted.
Forever.
To be continued...