**Chapter 27: The Storm That Broke the Silence**
The rain outside pounded against the window like a restless drum, matching the beat of Aanya's heart. London's sky was heavy, grey, and blurred with shadows, mirroring the confusion inside her.
She hadn't meant to call him. But she was all alone in her appartment as Kiara went to meet her parents.
She hadn't even realized her fingers had dialed his number until his voice—familiar, low, warm—filled her ear.
"Arjun?"
"Aanya?" A pause. "Is everything okay?"
She didn't answer. Not at first.
But then the silence spoke for her.
"Where are you?" he asked, softer this time.
"Home."
"I'll be there in ten."
---
She should've hung up.
She should've told him not to come.
But instead, she paced the small flat she rented near campus, heart racing. It wasn't like her to reach out. Not after everything. But the stress of the day—classes, deadlines, the growing pull in her chest—had worn her down.
When the doorbell rang, she froze.
Then, slowly, she opened the door.
He was soaked. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest, droplets trailing down his jaw.
But his eyes…
They were only focused on her.
"You called me," he said, as if confirming it was real.
Aanya stepped back, wordlessly letting him in. He walked past her, pausing in the living room. His presence changed the air around her. Like always.
She closed the door. But it didn't feel like shutting him out.
It felt like shutting the world out.
---
"I didn't mean to call," she said finally, arms crossed, avoiding his eyes.
"I don't care," he replied quietly. "You did."
She turned to him then. "That doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't it?"
"You're doing it again," she said sharply. "Twisting things."
"No," he said, stepping closer, his voice low. "I'm just tired of pretending you don't feel it too."
"Feel *what*?"
"This," he said, and before she could step back, he was right in front of her. "This pull between us. You think I can't see it?"
"I don't want this," she breathed, her voice faltering.
"But you called me."
"I was weak."
"So be weak again," he whispered.
His hand came up, fingers brushing her damp cheek from earlier tears she didn't realize had dried. She tried to move away—but didn't.
"Aanya…"
She looked at him then. And what she saw wasn't the controlling man she'd married. It wasn't the possessive Arjun who shadowed her every step.
It was the man who carried her books to class, who took notes beside her in silence, who gave her space without abandoning her.
And for the first time in months—maybe ever—she *wanted* to see what was behind that stubborn, broken heart of his.
But the fear lingered.
"You hurt me," she whispered.
"I know."
"You tried to cage me."
"I know that too. I was scared. I still am."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I love you," he said, like a truth he had been aching to say for years. "Even if it's the only thing I've done right."
She closed her eyes, pain and longing warring inside her.
"I should ask you to leave," she whispered.
"But you won't," he said, voice low and steady.
And before she could respond, his lips found hers.
---
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't soft.
It was desperation and fear and hunger bottled for too long, now spilling into every touch.
Her hands pressed against his chest—not to push him away, but to feel the heartbeat pounding beneath. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her closer, as if afraid she'd vanish.
Their mouths met again and again, heat rising, breaths mingling.
"I hate that you can still do this to me," she murmured between kisses.
He lifted her chin. "Then stop me."
But she didn't.
Because some part of her had always wanted this. Not the pressure. Not the marriage. But *him*. Vulnerable. Real. On his knees for her without ever saying so.
Her fingers reached for the hem of his wet shirt, tugging it off. It hit the floor with a soft thud.
Then her own clothes followed—slowly, hesitantly—until they stood facing each other, raw and exposed, physically and emotionally.
He moved gently now, like he understood that the fire between them needed to be handled with reverence.
When he kissed her again, it was softer. Deeper.
They tumbled back onto the bed, limbs tangled, breathless.
Hands roamed. Lips traced old memories.
And in that fleeting moment, Aanya let go of the anger. The fear. The doubts.
She let him in.
And Arjun? He worshipped every inch of her like a prayer he never thought he'd get to say again.
---
After, she lay with her head on his chest, silent. The room was dark except for the streetlight's faint glow through the curtains. Their bodies were still tangled, warm beneath the sheets.
She should've felt guilty. Confused.
But what she felt was… full.
And that scared her even more.
Because what if this was temporary?
What if she woke up tomorrow and hated herself for it?
"What are you thinking?" Arjun asked softly, fingers brushing her shoulder.
"That I shouldn't have let this happen."
He stiffened—but didn't pull away.
"And yet," he whispered, "you did."
She looked up at him. "Don't read too much into it."
He nodded, eyes unreadable. "I won't. If you don't."
They fell into silence again, but this time, it was heavy.
Not with regret.
But with a terrifying possibility.
That maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something neither of them could control.
---
**[End of Chapter 27]**