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Whispers of the Rain

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The rain fell in silver sheets outside Aarav’s high-rise apartment, the glass walls blurring the city into a watercolor of lights. Inside, the air was thick with unspoken words and the heady scent of wet earth drifting in from the open balcony. Meera stood by the window, her white kurti clinging to her curves, soaked from the sudden downpour. Her hair was dripping, strands plastered to her flushed cheeks. She looked like a dream — wild, free, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Aarav crossed the room in two strides, his heart pounding. He had fought this pull for weeks. But tonight, the monsoon had washed away every barrier between them. Without a word, he cupped her face in his hands. Her breath caught. Their eyes locked — a silent conversation, an asking of permission — before their lips met. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, exploring. His hands tangled in her hair, while hers fisted in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. The taste of her was intoxicating — a mix of...

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