That evening, rain finally came—gentle and steady, like the kind that begged for warm socks and soft music. Aira stood by the kitchen window, watching droplets race down the glass while her thoughts swirled just as fast.
She was falling for Imran.
It wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be harmless. Safe.
Just a weekend of pretending.
But with every look he gave her—every accidental touch that lingered a second too long—the lines were getting blurrier. Her heart no longer understood where the act ended and where *he* truly began.
Behind her, Imran entered the kitchen, barefoot and holding two mugs of tea.
"You disappeared," he said gently, offering her one of the cups.
"Needed air. Or… whatever this counts as," she gestured at the rain.
He leaned against the counter beside her. "You've been quiet all day."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stared at the storm outside.
"I've always liked the rain," she murmured. "Makes things feel slower. Softer."
He tilted his head, watching her. "You're not scared of it?"
"No. It's the *sunshine* that scares me. People expect everything to be perfect under bright light."
Imran was quiet, sipping his tea.
Finally, he said, "I know what you're doing."
She looked at him.
"You're trying to protect yourself," he continued. "Because if you admit this feels real… then you have something to lose."
She flinched.
He wasn't wrong.
"I've been hurt before, Imran," she said softly. "And I'm scared this is just… something temporary you'll forget when we go back to the city."
He placed his mug on the table and turned to face her fully.
"You think I could forget you?" His voice was low. "Aira, I've never met anyone like you. And believe me, I tried not to fall for you. I thought pretending would help me keep my distance. But then… you laughed, and it sounded like home. You looked at me like I mattered. And suddenly, I didn't want to pretend anymore."
Tears welled in her eyes.
He stepped closer, his presence calm and grounding.
"I know this wasn't part of the plan. But maybe it's something better."
Her breath caught.
Imran reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Say something."
She shook her head slightly, eyes glistening. "I'm afraid."
"So am I," he whispered. "But I'd rather be afraid *with* you than safe without you."
Aira couldn't stop the tear that slid down her cheek.
Imran gently wiped it away.
And then, slowly—so slowly it felt like a dream—he leaned in.
Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, questioning, real.
No pretending.
No audience.
Just two people, standing in a quiet kitchen with stormlight all around them, letting go of everything except what they felt.
When they pulled away, Aira looked up at him.
"I don't know what this means," she whispered.
"It means we stop acting," he said. "And start trying."
She nodded, heart racing.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
But inside, something new had begun to bloom.