Rain tapped steadily against the window, the room carrying a faint chill. You sat on Tareq’s lap, knees on either side of his hips, your arms loosely hooked around his neck. His palms settled on your waist, fingers spreading as if to keep you exactly where you were. Your legs shifted closer, sinking into the warmth of his body. A strand of hair fell forward and he reached up, brushing it back behind your ear without looking away. His eyes stayed fixed on yours, unblinking, focused. Tareq lifted his hand and curled two fingers under your chin, guiding your face down toward his. His thumb brushed your lower lip once before dropping to rest against your collarbone. You could feel his breath hit your mouth, close enough that the space between you barely existed. You leaned in the rest of the way, your fingers tightening at the back of his neck. Your noses brushed, then your lips met—slow, steady pressure, his hand sliding from your chin to the nape of your neck as he deepened the kiss. The rain kept tapping on the glass, but everything else went still.