Mihir stood in his room with his kurta still damp around the cuffs, arms braced against the wooden sill. The temple bells had long stopped ringing but a strange feeling still echoed in his chest, an aching hum that wouldn't quiet down. Mihir dragged a hand through his damp hair and letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He remembered how she flinched at the thunder and how her hands found him without any thought, just instinct.
And how his own body that betrayed him had stilled not from resistance. He hadn't pushed her away and he didn't even tense, instead he stood there, holding the girl whose last name still made his jaw clench and whose family he would gladly go to war with. Mihir turned away and his steps deliberate were and almost angry. He looked at his reflection and something had changed in him.
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