The rain was falling hard outside.
Thunder cracked above the office building as the night settled deep. Most employees had already left, but Zafar and Zoha remained. There was a silence in the room, broken only by the soft clicking of keys and the occasional rustle of paper.
Zafar stood near the wide glass window of his office, watching the rain pour down the city like a curtain hiding the world.
Behind him, Zoha typed quietly, working on his weekly reports.
"You should go," he said suddenly, not turning around.
"I will. Just finishing this page," she replied softly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Do you like the rain?"
She looked up, surprised by the question. "Yes. It reminds me of my parents."
He turned to her then, curious.
"We used to go out during the first rain every year," she continued, a smile ghosting her lips. "Just to feel alive again."
Zafar walked toward her slowly, stopping just in front of her desk.
"I haven't liked the rain in years," he said quietly. "Until today."
Their eyes met.
There was a pause—a long, unspoken moment stretching between them. Something electric. Something dangerous.
"You don't have to be afraid of love," she whispered, not knowing where the words came from.
He stepped closer. His presence was overpowering, intoxicating.
"I'm not afraid of love," he said darkly. "I'm afraid of needing someone again."
Zoha stood up, chest rising with every breath. They were inches apart now.
"I won't break you," she said.
His eyes burned into hers. "But I might break you."
Then, without warning, his hand brushed her face—gently, reverently—like she was something he didn't believe he deserved to touch.
"I don't want to feel this," he murmured, "but I do."
The air between them grew heavier with silence, filled with all the things they couldn't say.
And in that silence, he leaned closer—so close their breaths tangled.
But then—
Ezra's soft cry echoed through the monitor.
Zafar froze.
Reality snapped back in place.
He took a step back, like he'd just walked off a ledge. "You should go home."
Zoha swallowed her heart back into her chest and nodded. "Yes. I should."
Outside, the rain hadn't stopped.
Inside the car, as she sat alone, Zoha pressed her fingers to her lips—not because he'd kissed her.
Because she felt like he almost kissed her soul.
And that… was more dangerous.