The moment the heavy car door closed, the chaotic sound of the rain became a distant hum. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of expensive cedarwood and leather. Ayesha sat stiffly, her hands clutching her bag, feeling the dampness of her clothes against the plush seat.
"I... I'm getting your car wet," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Ryan didn't look at her. He started the engine, the dashboard lighting up with a soft blue glow. "It's just a car, Miss...?"
"Ayesha," she replied.
"Ayesha," he repeated her name slowly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. "And I am Ryan. Now, where do you live?"
She gave him the address of her small apartment in the suburbs. As the car glided through the rain-slicked streets, Ayesha couldn't help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharp, and his hands on the steering wheel looked powerful yet calm.
"Why did you help me?" she asked suddenly, her curiosity overcoming her shyness.
Ryan stopped at a red light and finally turned his head. His dark eyes met hers, intense and unreadable. "Maybe I just didn't like seeing someone standing in the rain without a fight. Or maybe," he paused, his gaze softening for a split second, "I felt like I had met you somewhere before."
Ayesha's heart skipped a beat. She was sure they had never met, yet there was something strangely familiar about the way he looked at her.
As they reached her building, Ryan handed her a small card. "Take this. If you ever find yourself without an umbrella again, call me."
Ayesha watched as the taillights of his car disappeared into the dark, rainy night, her mind racing with questions about the mysterious man who had just entered her life.The silence inside the car was thick, almost heavy. Ayesha tried to shrink into her seat, feeling acutely aware of how her wet, cheap cotton dress looked against the premium leather of a car that probably cost more than her ten years' salary.
"You're shivering," Ryan noted, his voice low. Without waiting for a response, he reached into the back seat and handed her a charcoal-gray cashmere blazer. "Put this on."
"Oh, no... I'll ruin it. It's too expensive," Ayesha stammered, her teeth chattering.
Ryan's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. "I don't care about the clothes, Ayesha. I care about the person inside them right now. Put it on. That's an order."
Reluctantly, she wrapped the blazer around her shoulders. It was warm and carried the scent of him—a mix of expensive cologne and something like cold rain. It felt like a protective shield.
"I live in the old block of the North Suburbs," she whispered.
As the car glided through the city, Ryan began to speak again, his tone a bit softer. "What were you doing out so late without a car or even a phone to call a cab?"
"I was working overtime at the cafe. My phone battery died, and I thought I could catch the last bus, but the rain had other plans," she replied, looking out at the blurred neon lights of the city.
Ryan glanced at her. There was something about her honesty that felt refreshing in his world of lies and corporate greed. "The rain usually reveals what people try to hide. Tonight, it showed me someone who doesn't know how to give up."
When the car finally stopped in front of her dilapidated apartment building, the contrast was sharp. The sleek car looked like a black diamond in the mud.
Ayesha started to take off the blazer, but Ryan stopped her with a hand on her arm. His touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through her. "Keep it. You'll need it to get to your door."
He handed her a minimalist black card with only his name and a number embossed in silver. "Ryan Thorne. If your boss troubles you for being late or if you ever find yourself under another storm—call me. I don't help everyone, Ayesha. Consider yourself lucky."
Ayesha stood at her doorstep, clutching the oversized blazer, watching his car disappear into the mist. Her heart was no longer just cold from the rain; it was racing with a heat she couldn't explain.