The café lights dimmed gently, casting a warm glow over the polished tables and the faint aroma of coffee lingering in the air. Outside, the city was already draped in night, the streets quieting down.
Rudra rose first, his tall frame moving with the calm, measured precision he carried everywhere. Ayaan followed, soft footsteps brushing against the floor.
As Rudra reached the door, hand on the handle, a small tug stopped him. Ayaan's delicate fingers had caught the sleeve of his long coat. He looked down, eyes bright yet gentle.
"Text me when you get home… goodnight," Ayaan said softly, his voice carrying warmth, concern, and something unspoken that made Rudra pause.
For a fraction of a second, the world outside—the office, the empire, the fearsome reputation—fell away. Rudra turned, dark eyes locking on the soft smile that belonged only to him. His usual tone, sharp and commanding, softened.
"I will… thanks, and… goodnight," he said. The words weren't clipped. They weren't measured. They weren't the Rudra everyone else knew—the man feared by employees, respected by business partners, untouchable even to his family.
These words carried something more. A whisper of warmth. A rare acknowledgment of care. A touch of intimacy that belonged solely to this quiet moment, in this small corner of the world.
Ayaan's smile deepened slightly, as if he sensed the shift, even if he couldn't name it. Rudra adjusted his coat, straightened, and walked out into the night, leaving a faint trace of warmth behind—one that lingered in the café long after the door clicked shut.
Alone, Ayaan let go of the sleeve and breathed out softly, eyes following the retreating figure. And somewhere, in the quiet, Rudra's words replayed in the stillness—soft, uncommon, and entirely his own.
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Rudra opened his car door and slid inside, the night air brushing against his coat. The city lights shimmered off the polished hood, the streets unusually quiet.
"Rudra!"
The voice made him freeze, just a fraction. He glanced up — Ayaan, standing at the edge of the sidewalk, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and nervous.
Before Rudra could react, Ayaan reached him. His hand found Rudra's, warm and soft. Rudra's dark eyes flicked to the hand holding his — steady, trembling slightly — and for a heartbeat, he felt something he rarely allowed himself: shyness.
Ayaan hesitated, then bent slightly, careful and almost ghostly, and pressed forward just enough to give him a light, fleeting hug. Rudra's chest tightened, his usual composure wavering. The warmth of Ayaan's body, the softness of the touch, left him momentarily unsure.
"Take care," Ayaan murmured, pulling back slightly, letting the embrace linger a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, almost flustered, he released Rudra's hand and darted back toward his café, cheeks burning, movements quick and nervous.
Rudra remained seated, hand lingering where Ayaan's had been, gripping the steering wheel slightly too tightly. His usual calm, icy demeanor felt off balance. He exhaled slowly, trying to regain control, but found himself strangely aware of the warmth left behind.
He's… so sweet. So warm. And… I can't stop thinking about it, Rudra admitted silently, shyness prickling at the edges of his mind. The realization made him stiffen slightly, dark eyes glancing down at the empty street.
Even for Rudra Malhotra — feared, untouchable, commanding — a soft hand, a ghostly hug, and a shy smile could leave him exposed. Quietly, awkwardly… human.
The night remained calm, the streets still. And yet, in the corner of his mind, Rudra's thoughts lingered stubbornly on the boy who had just run back inside, leaving him both flustered and… wanting more.
To be continued....