The rain outside had turned fierce, drumming against the glass as if urging something inside to give in.
Adhirath stood by the door, one hand resting on the frame, his gaze fixed on her. Sanvi looked up, startled at first — then still. The air between them seemed to tighten.
He crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, his shoes quiet against the worn floor. When he stopped, he was close enough to see the raindrops still clinging to her hair, the faint tremor in her breath.
“You forgot this,” he said softly, setting the forgotten file on her desk. His fingers brushed hers — just barely — but the touch landed like a confession neither of them meant to make.
She didn’t move her hand away. For a heartbeat, maybe two, they simply stood there — both pretending it meant nothing, both knowing it did.
Her eyes met his, steady and unsure all at once. “It’s late,” she murmured.
“I know,” he replied. But he didn’t step back.
And when thunder rolled again, it sounded almost like an answer to everything they didn’t dare to say.
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