Author's POV

Mercan was standing under the tin beside the old woman, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted lightly with flour. The warmth of the earthen stove wrapped around her, steam rising from a pot that smelled of onions, herbs, and something comforting she couldn’t name.

“Like this,” the old woman instructed gently, guiding Mercan’s hands. “Slow. Let the dough feel you.”

Mercan smiled, looking at her. “It listens better than most people.”

The old woman laughed, a soft sound with warmth. “Ah. Then you’ve lived.”

Outside, Ateş was stacking wood with the old man. The wind tugged at his shirt, cooled the back of his neck, but he barely noticed.

His focus stayed sharp, his movements controlled, each log placed with care. The old man spoke slowly, telling stories that did not demand answers, but Ateş’s attention drifted more often than he liked.

His eyes kept moving toward the window.

Mercan.

She was laughing softly now at something the old woman had said, her head tilted, hair loosely tied, sleeves rolled up as if she belonged there. The sight unsettled him more than it should have.

Ateş paused. “I am listening.”

The old man smiled. “Not to me.”

Ateş did not respond.

The old woman’s voice carried through the open door then, warm and firm. “Breakfast is ready. Both of you, come inside before the wind decides to be unkind.”

Meanwhile, Mercan stepped toward the doorway, wiping her hands, and stopped when she saw Ateş standing there already, closer than she expected.

For a brief second, neither of them moved.

“You smell like smoke,” she said lightly.

“You smell like food,” he replied.

Her lips curved into a soft victorious smile. “That sounds like a fair trade.”

They sat at the table together, the old couple across from them, plates warm, steam rising softly from the food as if the house itself was breathing.

The wind hummed outside, brushing against the windows, but inside there was an easy calm that Mercan had not realized she missed until it wrapped around her.

She picked at her food at first, tasting slowly, then looked up with mild surprise. “This is really good.”

The old woman smiled proudly. “Food tastes better when it is shared.”

Mercan nodded. “That explains why I never learnt to cook like this when I am alone.”

Ateş glanced at her plate. “You cooked this?”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Is that hard to believe?”

“You do not look patient enough,” he said calmly.

She scoffed. “That is rich coming from someone who looks like he argues with furniture.”

The old man laughed, a deep sound that filled the room. “She has you there.”

Ateş shot Mercan a look. “I do not argue.”

“You absolutely do,” she replied. “You just do it silently, like the world is supposed to apologize first.”

The old woman covered her mouth, smiling. “You two sound like you've been married for so many years.”

Mercan laughed. “No, only for three weeks.”

Ateş met her gaze, something unreadable passing between them.

She looked away first, focusing on her food. “I think you would hold a grudge forever.”

“That is not true,” he said. “I let things go.”

“When?”

“When they stop being relevant.”

The old man shook his head, amused. “Ah. The kind who pretends not to care until the whole house knows he does.”

Those words earned a rare reaction from Ateş, a brief tightening of his lips that might have been an annoyance or might have been a smile he refused to own.

Mercan noticed. Of course she did.

She leaned back slightly, studying him. “You eat like you are preparing for a fight.”

“I eat like I may not get time later.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Being unprepared is worse.”

The old woman exchanged a glance with her husband and laughed softly. “You two are like children who do not know whether to argue or agree.”

Mercan smiled. “We are just talking.”

“Very loudly,” the old man added. “With your eyes.”

That made Mercan choke slightly on her tea, coughing once as Ateş reached out instinctively, steadying the cup before it spilled. Their hands brushed.

Just for a second. Too long.

Mercan cleared her throat. “I am fine.”

“I know,” Ateş said quietly, withdrawing his hand as if it had burned him.

The old woman laughed openly now. “Oh, to be young again.”

Mercan glanced at Ateş, then back at her plate, her smile softer than before. The banter faded into comfortable silence, the kind that did not ask for explanation, only presence.

Outside, the wind pressed harder against the walls, carrying the promise of rain.

Inside, something warm and reckless lingered between them, noticed by everyone at the table except the two who refused to name it.

The day passed slowly after that.

Mercan helped with small chores, moving through the house like she belonged, while Ateş stayed busy with the old man, fixing small things, keeping his hands occupied.

The wind grew stronger as the hours passed, clouds gathering quietly, darkening the sky bit by bit.

By evening, the air felt heavy.

Mercan was standing near the window, watching the sky change, the way the light dimmed faster than it should have. She smiled to herself.

It was raining.

She did not know why it mattered to her so much. It always had. Rain had a way of making the world honest, washing away noise, leaving only feeling behind.

She waited until she thought no one was watching.

Then she stepped outside.

The first drops were light, barely there, touching her skin like a promise rather than a warning. She lifted her face instinctively, eyes closing, lips parting as she breathed it in.

The wind moved around her, tugging gently at her hair, carrying the scent of wet earth and something deeper, something that settled in her chest like memory.

This was her season.

The rain thickened slowly, deliberate, soaking into the air before it reached the ground. It soaked her cheeks, her neck, sliding down her skin without hurry. She did not step back. She leaned into it.

“Mercan.”

Ateş’s voice echoed through the moment, sharp with concern, stripped of its usual control.

She opened her eyes and turned just enough to look at him. Water was already darkening the fabric at her shoulders, clinging to her in a way that felt almost intimate.

“It is just rain.”

“It will get worse,” he said, already moving toward her. His boots hit the ground with purpose. “You will get sick.”

She smiled faintly, rain falling harder now, threading through her hair, tracing slow paths down her temples. “I like it.”

“You should come inside.”

“Just for a moment.”

She shook her head, a quiet refusal, and the rain answered by pouring down harder, as if it had chosen her side. The world narrowed to the space between them.

He reached her then, his hand closing around her wrist, firm and instinctive, fingers warm against skin chilled by rain. “Enough.”

The word was low, controlled, but it carried weight. She looked down at his hand first, at the way his grip was steady, protective without asking permission.

Then she looked up at his face. Rain slid down his jaw, clung to his lashes, softened nothing. His eyes were dark, fixed on her, jaw tight as if he were holding back far more than words.

“You do not get to decide that,” she said softly, her voice almost lost beneath the rain.

“I am trying to keep you safe,” he replied, his voice lower now, closer, the sound vibrating where his hand still held her.

“Safe from what?” she asked. “The rain?”

“From catching cold. From…” He stopped himself.

“From feeling?” She finished quietly.

His grip tightened for half a second before he realized it and loosened it again. The rain soaked them both now, her dress clinging, his shirt dark and heavy, the space between their bodies charged with something neither of them wanted to name.

“You are stubborn,” he said.

“And you are afraid,” she replied, not accusing, just honest.

His breath hitched. “That is not true.”

“Then why are you holding me like I might disappear?”

It started raining harder, relentlessly, intimately. A strand of her wet hair stuck to her cheek, and without thinking, Ateş lifted his free hand and brushed it away.

The touch was brief, deliberate, his thumb grazing her skin in a way that sent heat straight through her despite the cold. They both froze.

He looked at his hand as if surprised it had betrayed him, then back at her. She was watching him now, eyes steady, rain sliding down her lashes, her breath shallow.

“Come inside,” he said again, but this time the command lacked its edge.

She did not pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, close enough that the rain no longer felt like the only thing touching her. “One more moment.”

He hesitated, torn between pulling her in and letting her stay, between control and surrender.

The rain soaked them completely, blurring the line between restraint and want. For a heartbeat, neither moved.

And in that pause, something dangerous settled between them, heavy and unspoken, waiting for the moment one of them would break first. But instead, Mercan felt a sudden pull, and the warmth of his lips on her.

To be continued…

Sneak Peak Ch 5

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He pulled her against him. His hands flattened against her back and clung to her more tightly, knotting his hands in her hair, trying to tell her, with the press of his mouth on hers, all the things he could never say out loud.

The moment stretched, fragile and dangerous. Then reality crashed in. This was wrong. Everything about it was wrong.

He stiffened, the weight of his intentions slamming back into him. His revenge, the main purpose and his control.

His hands slid down to her waist. He had no idea what he would have done or said next, if it would have been something he could never have pretended away.

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Author's Note

Thank you so much for 2k+ views and for showering this story with so much love. It truly means more to me than I can put into words.

Even though the comment target was not completed this time, I still chose to update because the support and appreciation I am receiving feels genuine and heartfelt.

To my loyal readers who are consistently loving, supporting, and engaging with this work, here is something special for you.

The next chapter is already updated on Scrollstock and is hot and sensational. You can unlock it there right now.

Scrollstock username PurvaNarang

To unlock the next chapter on Wattpad, here is the target : Votes 35 Comments 25

This time I will not be updating if the target is not completed. Your comments, your thoughts, and your words are the real fuel for a writer. They push me to write deeper, better, and more honestly.

Author’s Chat

Before you move on, let us talk about this chapter.

What did you feel when Ateş watched Mercan from a distance, wanting her but forcing himself to hold back?

Did the kitchen and wood scene make you sense how trapped he is between revenge and desire?

When Mercan stepped into the rain, did you feel her freedom or her vulnerability more?

And that moment when Ateş grabbed her wrist, protective and possessive without admitting it, did it give you butterflies or did it make you nervous about what is coming next?

Tell me honestly

Do you think Ateş is already losing control?

Do you be

lieve Mercan understands how deeply he is affected by her?

Drop long comments, share your emotions, quote your favorite lines, and tell me what you want to see next. Your words are my motivation and my fuel.

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