The Fire and the Frost
593 Words
It started with rain.
Not the kind that whispers gently over roofs, but a storm that rolled in from the hills like a warning. The sky darkened by midafternoon, heavy with unspoken words and unwept grief. Workers had retreated, barrels sealed, baskets covered. Only the olive trees stood tall—unbending, unbothered.
Anindya remained in the field, beneath a stone arch at the edge of the vineyard. She liked the sound of storms. They reminded her of home. Of monsoon seasons and mango trees. Of moments where time paused, and the world listened.
She didn’t expect him to find her there.
But of course, he did.
⸻
“Everyone’s gone,” Maximilian said, stepping under the arch.
His white shirt clung to him, soaked. Raindrops slid down his face and into his collar. His hair was darkened, disheveled. But his eyes—his eyes burned through the storm like ice that refused to melt.
Anindya didn’t move.
“You should go inside,” she said.
“So should you.”
She looked at him, tired of the circles, tired of the tension. “Why are you here?”
The question hung in the air, louder than thunder.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice rough. “Maybe I came to forget. Maybe I stayed to remember. But you—” He paused. “You confuse me.”
She laughed, bitter and soft. “Is that a crime now?”
“No,” he said. “It’s unbearable.”
She turned fully now, facing him.
“I didn’t come here for you,” she said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t ask for your gaze.”
“I know.”
“And yet—” she stepped closer, eyes lit with fury and fire— “you look at me like I’m something you deserve.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The rain poured harder.
Anindya’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I am not yours to claim, Signor Beaumont.”
And then, suddenly—finally—his restraint cracked.
⸻
He reached for her.
Fingers threading into wet hair. Mouth finding hers with the kind of hunger born from weeks of silence, of stolen glances and unsaid truths. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision—fire meeting frost. Her hands pressed against his chest, as if to push him away.
She didn’t.
She kissed him back.
Not out of surrender—but defiance.
The rain roared around them, drenching everything, baptizing the moment in wildness. His lips moved against hers like a man starved, and she matched him, breath for breath, pulse for pulse.
But then—she broke away.
Slapped him.
Hard.
⸻
His head turned from the force of it, but he didn’t step back.
Her chest heaved. Her eyes flamed.
“I am not something you take just because you want to.”
“I didn’t plan to,” he said, voice low. “But wanting you doesn’t feel like a choice anymore.”
Her mouth parted, stunned.
He stepped closer—not to touch her, but to look her in the eyes.
“I’ve kissed women,” he said. “But I’ve never kissed truth until now.”
Silence thundered louder than the storm.
Then she turned and walked into the rain—shoulders straight, spine tall, heart shaking.
And Maximilian stayed behind, still tasting her on his lips. Still burning.
He had been a man made of winter.
But now…
Now there was fire in his chest.
And it had her name.
- Writer
