Bombay was bleeding rain.

The city breathed differently when it poured—

The scent of mitti after the first monsoon kiss,

a mix of wet dust and old secrets.

Footpaths shimmered, lovers huddled under shopfronts,

and engines howled through puddles like wild dogs chasing hunger.

But amid the chaos,

she rode like silence wrapped in danger.

Saanvi Kapoor.

Not a drop of hesitation on her.

Black leather hugged her curves,

raindrops tracing lines down her zipped-up jacket and tight-fitted pants.

Her boots splashed through water with a wild rhythm,

and her grip on the throttle screamed:

she didn't slow down for anyone.

Between her thighs?

A matte black Ducati Panigale V4, purring like it had tasted sin.

A beast only a woman like her could tame.

The city may have been asleep...

but she was wide awake, burning the roads,

carving poetry into asphalt.

Luxury cars parted like the sea.

Even the Rolls-Royce near Carter Road honked once, then backed off.

Because you don't challenge a woman like that.

Not when she rides like the rain obeys her.

But one man didn't step back.

A jet black Audi Q8 didn't give way.

She cut too close.

Her tyre kissed his mirror.

The Ducati halted with a dramatic screech—

inches from the driver's side door.

Wipers moved.

Raindrops blurred the glass.

Then the window rolled down.

And he saw her.

Eyes like rebellion.

Lips like temptation.

Face like a dare.

She didn't speak.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't even take off the helmet.

Just revved once.

And sped off.

She vanished into the storm.

Her tail light blinked once before disappearing around a curve.

He sat behind the wheel, fingers tightening around the steering.

"She touched my car."

"Usne gaadi nahi, ego pe chot maari hai."

He chuckled.

And then floored the accelerator.

The Audi roared to life.

Slicing through rain. Cutting across lanes.

He chased her like madness follows lust.

She rode like she had the map of every curve etched on her palm.

Her bike glided past honking cabs, muddy potholes, and panicked drivers.

He didn't lose sight for a second.

Then, at a sharp U-turn near Carter Road,

he saw his opening.

He accelerated hard, overtook from the left—

and slammed the Audi to a stop right across her path.

Tyres screamed.

Water splashed.

Her Ducati skidded but held firm, halting just inches away from his bumper.

The rain poured harder now.

She stayed seated for a second, breath steady, head tilted.

She pulled off her helmet slowly.

The kind of slow that isn't shy.

It's calculated. Confident.

Like she knew he was watching.

Like she wanted him to.

Rain kissed her face.

Wet strands of black hair clung to her cheeks.

Eyes lined with kohl.

Lips red like sin.

And Aryan? He forgot how to blink.

"Kya maal hai..."

he muttered under his breath —

low enough to not reach her ears,

but loud enough to echo in his own head.

She stepped off the bike — slow and sharp, like a blade being drawn.

Boots splashing in a puddle.

Back straight. Chin up.

They stood face-to-face under the rain.

No honks. No sound.

Just them, and thunder cracking like sexual tension in the sky.

She crossed her arms.

"You always block women in the middle of the road,

or is this your way of begging for attention?"

He smirked.

"Only when they almost scratch my 90 lakh car.

And look that good doing it."

She tilted her head, smiling faintly.

"You should thank me.

Gaadi pe nahi, attitude pe brake lagaya maine."

He stepped a little closer — not touching, just hovering.

"Name?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

Just took one step closer too, eyes narrowing.

"You drive with your ego.

I ride with no fear.

That scares you, doesn't it?"

He looked her dead in the eyes.

"You don't scare me, sweetheart."

She smiled again.

But this one was cruel.

Sweet. Sharp. Slap-shaped.

And then—

THAPPAD.

Right across his cheek.

Loud enough to cut through the rain.

He blinked. Once.

She leaned in close, her breath hot against his jaw.

"I AM NOT YOUR SWEETHEART"

She walked back to her Ducati.

Straddled it.

Revved once — hard.

And sped away, leaving tyre marks in his lane and fire in his gut.

Aryan touched his cheek slowly...

"Naam toh nahi bataya.

Par thappad ka taste expensive laga."