Chapter 11: Stormy Nights

Back in class, Rose tried to stay focused, but her thoughts kept drifting to Henry—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her like she was the only one in the room. She shook her head, mentally snapping herself back to the present. Exams were just around the corner—she had to concentrate.

By 5 p.m., lectures ended. Exhausted, she headed home, took a quick shower, and slipped under the duvet. The ache of the day settled into her bones. Henry had texted earlier, saying he had something to handle after class. He'd finished earlier and hadn't dropped her off. That small absence lingered in her thoughts.

As she lay there, eyes closed, still thinking of him, she felt the mattress shift gently beneath her.

Her eyes flew open.

But instead of fear, a wave of calm washed over her.

"Henry?" she whispered.

He sat beside her, smiling softly. "Hey," he murmured, before leaning in.

The kiss that followed was deep, urgent—charged with the longing they'd both bottled up all day. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, and she responded with equal intensity, her fingers sliding to the back of his neck like she needed to hold on to something real.

His lips trailed down to her neck, and her soft moans spurred him on. His hand slipped under her shirt, fingers brushing over her bare skin, causing her to tremble beneath his touch. He reached for her breast—

Rrrring.

The sharp sound of his phone shattered the moment.

"Damn," he muttered, pulling away with visible reluctance. He answered with a clipped, "Okay," then ended the call.

Turning back to her, he brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "Do you mind coming over to my place? I've got something I need to sort out. Might take all night."

Rose nodded without hesitation.

Soon, they were at his apartment. Henry led her to the guest room she'd be staying in, kissed her lightly on the temple, and disappeared again to handle whatever it was that had pulled him away.

The rain came later—heavy, relentless, echoing against the windows and roof like a rhythm only the night understood.

Henry returned late, drenched and quiet. After a quick shower, he knocked softly on her door.

"Yes. Come in," she said.

He stepped inside, walked over to her bed, and kissed her forehead. "What did you eat?"

"Noodles," she replied, studying him. "And where were you all night?"

He hesitated for a beat too long. "Had to help a friend. Family drama. Took longer than I thought."

A lie.

She could feel it in the way he avoided her gaze. But before she could ask more, he slipped beneath the duvet beside her, drawing her into his warmth.

The cold air from the storm wrapped around them, pushing them closer.

His breath teased her skin. His hands found her waist again, and the tension between them surged—heavier, deeper now. The kisses returned, slower, lingering. Clothes shifted. Whispers turned to moans.

They gave in—to everything they'd been holding back.

That night, under the sound of rain and heartbeats, they made love for the first time.