The rain had started without warning, as it often does in spring in New York. There was a distant rumbling of thunder as Mila crossed the street, her heels clicking loudly on the wet pavement. As the clouds opened up completely, she entered a narrow bookstore.She hadn't expected anyone else to be there, especially her.Aiden was leaning comfortably on the poetry shelf, wearing dark jeans and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was slightly disheveled by the wind, which seemed intentional. When the bell above the door rang, he looked up and his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile."Still running from the weather?" he asked.Mila blinked, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. It had been three months since she'd last seen him—three months since their brief, fiery affair had ended in silence.“You always knew how to find me,” he said coldly, wiping the water off his coat. “Even when I wasn’t trying.”“I wasn’t looking,” he said, stepping closer. “You went back into my story.”The air tightened between them.Mila’s eyes fell to his lips. She remembered how they clung to her skin, how they whispered poetry into her neck. She had tried to forget him. God, she had tried. But no one could match his fire, his unspoken understanding, his touch that made her feel both cherished and incomplete.“I thought you had moved to L.A.,” he said, passing her, running his fingers over the spines of old books. She felt him following her, close but not touching.“Yeah. For a while.  Why I liked…” He stopped.She turned. “Tell me.”She looked him in the eyes. “Why I loved you.”The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward—it was electric. It was like the lightning that flashes when it wants to kill.Mila leaned on the shelf, arms folded. “You disappeared, Aiden. No calls. No goodbyes. Just disappeared.”“I was scared. It felt so real. It happened so fast.” She breathed. “But you haunted me. Every song, every scent. Even the rain reminded me of you.”She bit her lip. Her body missed him in ways her mind didn’t want to. The way his hands explored her, patient and hungry. Late nights tangled in her sheets, her legs draped over his back. Whispered promises. Fires they couldn’t put out.And yet, it wasn’t just the sex. It was how he looked at her. Like she wasn’t just beautiful — she was magnetic. Untouched and perfectly put-together.“You broke my heart,” he said softly.“I know. And I’m back to fix it again — if you let me.”There was a pause. The storm outside grew louder, as if echoing in her chest.She reached out and touched the side of his jaw with her fingers. He didn’t move. He leaned into her touch like a starved man.“You still want me?” she asked.“Every night. Every dream. Every heartbeat.”Then he kissed her.It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was everything she’d been holding back. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, and he pulled her close, holding her hips as if she were the anchor to a world that keeps drifting.They returned to the shadows between the shelves, laughter caught between breaths. His mouth found her neck, his hands caressing her again. Her dress lifted as she leaned into him, and he picked her up as if she weighed nothing, pressing her gently against the shelf.The books fell. She didn’t care. All that mattered was her warmth, her mouth, her voice muttering his name like a prayer.When they finally broke apart, breathless and red, the storm had subsided to a drizzle.Mila rested her forehead against his. “So now what?”“Now,” Aiden said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “we’ll stop running away. From the weather. From each other.”She smiled, that slow, sultry twist of her lips he remembered well. “And maybe pick a better place than the poetry section?”He laughed. “Okay. But I don’t regret a second.”They stood there, tangled in each other, hearts reconnecting, no words needed.Because sometimes, love doesn’t need a grand gesture.Sometimes, it just needs a second chance—and a little rain.Let me know if you want a sexier version, a fantasy twist, or a different tone!

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