Arjun stepped inside, and the door closed behind him with a quiet thud. The candle flickered, casting golden shadows on Nandini’s soft brown skin. She stood still, heart racing, chest rising with every breath as thunder rolled in the distance.

“Nandini,” he whispered, voice low and thick, “if you don’t want this, just say the word.”

But she didn’t. Her eyes met his, unflinching.

She reached for his shirt, fingers trembling but sure, peeling it off his wet frame. Rainwater slid down his chest, and she watched the way the candlelight played on his skin. His hands cupped her face gently, reverently, before brushing her lips with his. The kiss was tentative, tasting of rain and restraint. Then she deepened it, surprising them both.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as his hands traced the curve of her back, slowly untucking her saree. The fabric fell away with a whisper, pooling at her feet, revealing her bare skin beneath—modest but boldly unhidden. He stepped back for a moment, just to look at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed.

She flushed, not from shyness, but from the heat of his gaze. He took her hand and led her to the bed. The world outside vanished—only the sound of the rain and their rising breaths remained.

He kissed her collarbone, slowly, then lower, his mouth trailing down her body with aching attention. She gasped when his lips met the soft swell of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipples until they hardened. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her legs parting instinctively as he moved lower.

When he slid his hand between her thighs, she moaned softly—wet, aching, ready. His fingers teased her folds, spreading the slick heat as he kissed her stomach, savoring every inch. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth.

Nandini arched off the bed, her body trembling as his tongue found her most sensitive spot. He licked her slowly at first, then faster, reading her breaths, her moans, her whispers of his name. Waves built inside her—tight, desperate—until she shattered beneath him, crying out, clutching his shoulders.

He rose, eyes dark with hunger. She reached for him, pulling him down, undoing the last of his clothes.

“I want to feel you,” she said, voice hoarse with need.

And he gave her what she asked for—slowly, deeply, fully.

Their bodies moved in rhythm, skin to skin, heart to heart, as the rain washed over Bhubaneswar like a blessing. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper. Every thrust, every kiss, every breath felt like a piece of her was waking—no longer just a quiet girl with a dream, but a woman claiming her own fire.

When they came together, it was with whispered names and trembling limbs. And afterward, he held her in the candlelight, their bodies still humming.

Outside, the storm softened. Inside, a new one had just begun.