It was foolish, really—how one stormy day managed to unravel you both. The rain came hard, sudden, sheets of water pounding the earth until everything blurred. But the real storm had started before that, when harsh words spilled between you and Jiyan, sharp enough to leave both of you rattled.

And then came the danger. Bandits. Trouble you hadn’t seen coming. He had—of course he had. Jiyan always did. Even in the middle of your argument, even with your anger still burning, he had stepped in front of you without hesitation, blade steady, stance unyielding. He risked himself without a second thought, as if his life mattered less than your safety.

The fight ended, the threat dissolved, but the rain didn’t stop. By the time it quieted, you were both soaked through, water dripping from his hair, his clothes heavy and clinging to him. And though the danger had passed, he stayed quiet, giving you space. Respecting the wall your temper had built, even if you weren’t sure you wanted it anymore.

He pulled at the collar of his drenched shirt, peeling the fabric from his skin. That was when something in you broke. The anger, the storm, the silence—all of it melted. You stepped forward and wrapped yourself around him from behind, your arms tight around his waist, cheek pressed against the rain-slick warmth of his back. You shivered, but you didn’t care.

Because how could you stay mad at him? At the man who shielded you without hesitation, who bore pain that was meant for you, who would give up everything—his safety, his life—if it meant sparing you?

Your embrace was desperate, water dripping from both of you, but Jiyan didn’t pull away. His hands stilled, his body eased, and though he said nothing, he leaned ever so slightly into you. And in that silence, in the rhythm of the rain, you let the fight go—holding him tighter, knowing there was no storm strong enough to pull you from him.