The doors slammed shut, sealing the chaos of the storm outside. Inside the car, the silence was haunting — broken only by the soft sobs escaping Meera's trembling lips.
She was shivering. Violently.
Her soaked dress clung to her like ice, her teeth chattered as she hugged herself, sinking into the farthest corner of the seat, knees pulled up like a child lost in a nightmare.
Abhimanyu turned toward the front.
"Heater," he snapped at the driver. "Full fucking blast. Now."
The driver didn't say a word — just obeyed, hands trembling slightly from the tension radiating through the car.
Abhimanyu glanced back at Meera.
Still shaking. Still crying.
Still trying to pretend she was strong.
But her body betrayed her — twitching with cold, breath hitching with hiccuped sobs, her mascara running in messy streaks down her flawless face. Her bare arms were purple from the cold.
"Meera," he said, softly at first.
She didn't respond.
She just looked outside. At nothing. At no one.
Abhimanyu swore under his breath.
And then, without asking, without waiting — he moved.
He scooted closer to her, reached out, and pulled her into his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around her trembling frame.
She flinched.
And then, panicking, she tried to push him away, her fists hitting his chest with weak, uncoordinated swats.
"Stop it—don't touch me—why are you—"
"Cut it, Meera," he said sharply, tightening his hold. "I'm not trying to hold you. I'm trying to warm you. You're shaking like you're about to pass out."
She froze at the authority in his voice.
But she was still crying. Still gasping.
"I-I'm not weak," she stammered through hiccups. "Don't treat me like I'm some fucking—"
"You're not," he cut in, softer now. "But even the strongest people fall apart sometimes. Especially when they're cold. And drunk. And heartbroken."
Her body tensed against his. But she didn't move.
His blazer fell over her like a blanket. His body heat surrounded her, firm and still, like an anchor in a sea she was drowning in.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered into her hair.
She didn't respond. But her sobs got softer.
"I saw you," he continued. "On that bench. Sitting like the whole world forgot you. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe."
She sniffled.
His thumb moved slowly, gently over her damp shoulder.
"No matter how mad I am at you, Meera… I'll never leave you out there alone."
She looked up at him then, broken, searching, her lips parted.
And for a moment… she stopped shivering.
————————————————————
The car pulled into the long, stone-paved driveway of Abhimanyu Rajput's estate. No words had been exchanged on the ride back—only silence, heavy and loud in its own way, wrapping around the pair like a second storm. Meera lay curled into his chest, still shivering, still soaked. Abhimanyu didn't let go. Not once.
Outside, Raina and Tanvi were already waiting, their expressions tense with concern. As soon as the car door opened, warm air from the house brushed against the icy tension inside. Without a word, Abhimanyu stepped out, still holding Meera close, his blazer soaked through from her wet body. Tanvi stepped back as he passed her. Rehna opened the front door wider.
"She's burning cold," Abhimanyu muttered to Raina in clipped urgency, his jaw tight.
"We've heated the tub," Raina whispered back. "Room's ready."
He walked straight up the marble stairs, past the dark hallway, and into his bedroom—the one place no one had been allowed in years. But for her, it had always remained open. Just unspoken.
The bedroom was aglow with dim amber lights, and a soft fire flickered in the corner. Steam slipped beneath the slightly ajar bathroom door.
Abhimanyu nudged it open with his foot and stepped inside.
The tub gleamed—already filled with warm water laced with herbs and soothing oils. The scent of eucalyptus and sandalwood hung gently in the air.
He gently placed Meera on the ottoman beside the bath. Her teeth were still chattering. Her eyes were glazed over, half-lidded, but she didn't resist. Not anymore. Her hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the blazer still draped around her.
Abhimanyu crouched before her. For a second, he just watched her—her cheeks flushed from cold, her eyes raw and puffy. A drop of rainwater slid down her jaw.
Without a word, his fingers moved to the back of her dress.
He unclasped it gently. Slowly. Respectfully.
There was no heat in his touch—only carefulness. A gentleness he didn't often show. He peeled the soaked fabric from her shoulder, and she let it slide off.
She didn't meet his eyes. Her hands gripped her thighs, knuckles white.
As the last piece of clothing dropped to the floor, he took a moment. Let the silence settle again.
Then he lifted her into his arms once more.
Her skin was freezing against his, but he didn't flinch. He only held her tighter.
He walked to the edge of the bathtub and gently lowered her into the steaming water. She winced at the contrast—her body resisting the warmth before slowly easing into it, breath hitching in her throat.
A soft sound escaped her lips—half a gasp, half a sob. Her head tilted back, hair fanning into the water, eyes still closed.
The warmth seeped slowly into her bones, chasing away the sting of the rain. Meera let her eyes drift half-shut, feeling the water lick away the chill that had wrapped around her since that park bench.
Her breathing slowed, but the shivering still came in small, stubborn tremors. She didn't speak, only let herself sink further into the heat.
Then, with effort, she lifted one trembling hand from the water. It hovered for a second before settling lightly on his thigh.
Abhimanyu's gaze flicked to her face instantly.
Her lips moved, but no words came—only that look. That silent, vulnerable look.
He understood.
Without hesitation, he rose, stepping forward. His arms slid beneath her knees and back, the movement slow, deliberate, as if he feared she might break. She weighed nothing in his hold, her body limp against his chest.
Water dripped from her skin, warm against his forearms as he carried her out of the bathroom.
On the ottoman, a thick towel lay ready. He set her down gently and began to wrap her in it, cocooning her completely. She didn't resist when he rubbed the fabric along her shoulders, arms, and hair, drawing out the damp.
Her fingers brushed his wrist once—light, almost unconscious.
He didn't meet her eyes. He just kept working, until he was satisfied no trace of the cold remained.
Then he reached for one of his T-shirts—black, soft, worn—and slipped it over her head. The fabric fell loose, swallowing her small frame. She smelled faintly of him now—woodsmoke and leather.
He lifted her again and laid her on his bed.
The blanket was thick, already warm from the heating pads beneath it. He tucked it around her tightly, the way one might shield something precious.
Only then did he straighten, strip his own soaked clothes away, and change quickly.
When he returned, she was lying curled on her side, her knees drawn in. Still shivering.
He slid in behind her without asking.
His arm came around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. His other hand found hers beneath the blanket, fingers intertwining without thought.
Her breathing hitched once. Then again.
"Bas…" he murmured low against her damp hair. Enough…
The warmth between them spread slowly, the heat of skin against skin working deeper than the blanket ever could.
Her trembling eased—not entirely, but enough that her body melted back into his.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
But the way his hold tightened ever so slightly around her said everything he wasn't ready to put into words.
And in that silence, she finally let herself close her eyes.