The tension didn't break. It tightened.

After Riaz fired Sana, things shifted inside the walls of R Enterprises. People walked more carefully, spoke in whispers when Aashika passed, and dared not linger too long outside the CEO's office.

And Aashika? She tried to pretend it was fine.

That his eyes didn't follow her like a shadow.

That her heart didn't leap every time he called her "Aashi" in that voice.

He never stops saying her name like it's the only thing that saves him. 

That the box with the earrings wasn't tucked away in her bedside drawer like a secret burning her fingers.

Late evening. Most of the office had cleared. Rain tapped against the glass like impatient fingers.

Aashika sat in the conference room, finishing reports Riaz had asked her to revise. The door was slightly ajar. She didn't notice him at first—only felt the air shift when he entered.

"Working late," he said quietly.

She didn't look up. "Fixing numbers you didn't like."

He moved closer, but not too close.

"I like a lot of things," he said. "Just not when they're messy."

She shut the file. "Then you should really stay away from me."

That made him pause.

Then, slowly, he walked to her side of the table. Their eyes met. Her breath faltered.

"You think you're a mess?" he asked.

She stood, suddenly defiant. "We had something years ago that we never named. Maybe it was friendship. Maybe not. You left without a goodbye. Then you show up, change my life again, and now I'm supposed to what? Fall at your feet?"

"No," he said, voice low. "You're supposed to look at me like you used to."

"I don't remember how I used to look at you."

"Then let me remind you."

He reached for her wrist gently, pulling her closer. Her breath hitched.

"Riaz," she whispered.

"I waited too long for this."

His hand cupped her cheek. His thumb traced her bottom lip. She trembled but didn't pull away.

Then he leaned in.

The kiss was not gentle. It was desperate, aching, like years of silence collapsing into heat. Her hands gripped his shirt. His arms locked around her waist, pulling her against him.

It wasn't sweet. It was raw.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, she didn't open her eyes right away.

He rested his forehead against hers.

"You still feel like home," he murmured.

She opened her eyes slowly. "You still kiss like a storm."

"Then don't run from the rain."

She laughed—a soft, broken sound—and pressed her lips against his once more.

This time, slower.

This time, a promise.