14-06-2025, 01:51 AM
Monsoon Clouds and Unspoken Fire
The sky over Hyderabad had been smudged gray all afternoon.
The city moved slower under the thick, humid air—as though it knew what was coming.
By early evening, a warm breeze had started to sweep between the apartment blocks, scattering leaves and tugging gently at clotheslines.
Abhi stood at his window in flat 203, watching the clouds churn low and heavy.
His mind was elsewhere—rooted in that morning, in the feel of Meghana's waist beneath his fingers,
In the slow intake of her breath when he touched her.
The memory had stayed with him like heat after a fever.
Lingering.
Making him restless.
The first thunderclap rolled in—not loud, but enough to stir him.
Without overthinking it, he grabbed his hoodie and climbed the stairs to the terrace.
The moment he opened the door to the roof, a gust of air hit him—warm, alive, carrying the smell of oncoming rain.
And there she was.
Meghana
Meghana stood at the edge of the terrace wall, facing the sky.
Her hair was down tonight, wind-blown and wild.
She wore a soft black tank and gray leggings that shimmered slightly in the dim light, clinging to her every line.
Her silhouette was carved against the storm, tall and fluid, like she belonged in it.
He froze.
She turned before he could speak. “You come to watch the clouds too?”
“I think I came because I couldn’t sit still,” he admitted.
She smiled, stepping back from the wall.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Right before they break.”
A pause passed between them—like thunder held in a breath.
The sky over Hyderabad had been smudged gray all afternoon.
The city moved slower under the thick, humid air—as though it knew what was coming.
By early evening, a warm breeze had started to sweep between the apartment blocks, scattering leaves and tugging gently at clotheslines.
Abhi stood at his window in flat 203, watching the clouds churn low and heavy.
His mind was elsewhere—rooted in that morning, in the feel of Meghana's waist beneath his fingers,
In the slow intake of her breath when he touched her.
The memory had stayed with him like heat after a fever.
Lingering.
Making him restless.
The first thunderclap rolled in—not loud, but enough to stir him.
Without overthinking it, he grabbed his hoodie and climbed the stairs to the terrace.
The moment he opened the door to the roof, a gust of air hit him—warm, alive, carrying the smell of oncoming rain.
And there she was.
Meghana
Meghana stood at the edge of the terrace wall, facing the sky.
Her hair was down tonight, wind-blown and wild.
She wore a soft black tank and gray leggings that shimmered slightly in the dim light, clinging to her every line.
Her silhouette was carved against the storm, tall and fluid, like she belonged in it.
He froze.
She turned before he could speak. “You come to watch the clouds too?”
“I think I came because I couldn’t sit still,” he admitted.
She smiled, stepping back from the wall.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Right before they break.”
A pause passed between them—like thunder held in a breath.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)