The rain had stopped, but the terrace still smelled of wet earth and jasmine. Neha stood by the railing, watching the last droplets fall from the clothesline. She heard his footsteps before she saw him—slow, hesitant, unlike the confident lawyer she knew in courtrooms.
"Dhire dhire," he began, then paused, searching for words. "That's how it happened, isn't it? You didn't burst into my life. You just... seeped in." Dhire Dhire Aap Mere -From Baazi- -Udit Naray...
She wanted to be angry. She had rehearsed a dozen fiery speeches in the shower. But standing there, with his eyes holding the same rain that had just washed the city clean, the anger melted. The rain had stopped, but the terrace still