The rain had slowed to a whisper by the time they reached the villa.
No one said a word during the drive back. Yash talked the entire time—about the storm, the market, some joke the shopkeeper made—but Ansh barely heard a syllable. His mind was stuck in the shed. In that breathless moment. In her.
Riya hadn't looked at him once.
Not in the car. Not as they entered the villa. Not even when their fingers brushed briefly as he handed her the house keys Yash had tossed him.
It was like the moment hadn't happened.
Except it had.
And it was still happening inside him.
He took a long shower, letting the hot water scald the ache from his skin. But the steam couldn't clear the fog in his mind. He dried off, dressed, and walked back into his room, only to find it suffocating. Small. Too quiet.
Just like the shed.
Outside his window, the rain had returned—soft now, gentle taps against the glass. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching as if remembering her touch.
He shouldn't have held her like that.
Shouldn't have leaned in.
Shouldn't have wanted her the way he did.
But gods, he did.
He turned on his side. Tried to focus on the pattern of the rain. The rhythm of his breath. Anything but her.
The house had quieted. Yash's voice had faded into laughter and then silence. It was past midnight now.
And then—
A soft knock.
Ansh froze.
It was so faint, he thought he imagined it.
But then it came again.
He sat up. Heart thudding. Bare feet on the cold floor. He walked to the door slowly, his hand shaking as he reached for the knob.
He opened it just a crack.
And there she was.
Riya.
Wrapped in a soft shawl. Hair damp at the ends. Her eyes were downcast, her lips parted like she'd been holding in breath since she left him.
She looked up.
And the moment their eyes met, the air snapped taut between them again—like a string pulled to the point of breaking.
"I couldn't sleep," she whispered.
Ansh stepped aside. She entered without a word.
She didn't sit. Didn't speak. She just stood near the window, watching the rain with arms crossed tight across her chest.
He stood behind her, unsure. Watching the way her shoulder blades moved beneath the thin fabric of her shawl. The way she breathed shallow and quick, like she was barely holding herself together.
"I thought you wanted to forget," he said quietly.
She turned to him slowly. Her eyes shimmered.
"I did," she whispered. "But I can't."
She stepped closer. One step. Then another. Now they were close enough that he could feel her warmth. Her breath. The storm outside had nothing on the one inside the room now.
"I don't know what's happening to me," she confessed. "I've spent years trying to hold myself together, and now... you look at me like you see through me."
"I do," Ansh said. "Maybe that's the problem."
They stood like that, heartbeats crashing against one another.
And then—
Her hand lifted.
Fingers brushed his chest.
Just once.
Before she dropped it and stepped back.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered.
He nodded. "I know."
But neither of them moved.
She lingered at the door, hand on the knob, hesitating.
If he said one thing, she'd stay.
If she turned just once, he'd stop her.
But she didn't.
And he didn't.
The door opened. Then clicked shut.
And Ansh stood there, trembling, with her scent still in the room and his lips still aching from a kiss that never came.