The monsoon rains poured heavily outside, drenching the garden and sending a cool breeze through the open balcony doors. you stood near the railing, watching the droplets race down the glass panes, your fingers wrapped around a warm cup of chai. The scent of wet earth mixed with the cardamom in your tea, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

A heavy presence settled behind you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against an unyielding chest. "You’ll catch a cold," Vikrant murmured, his voice thick with authority and something deeper—something possessive.

you sighed. "I like the rain."

His grip tightened. "I don’t like you falling sick."