The message came at dawn: "Critical failure. System offline." Aarav's satellite project had hit a devastating snag. Kiara read the text twice, her heart pounding. She didn't think—she acted.
By evening, she was on a flight, her manager's protests drowned out by the roar of engines. Nothing mattered except him.
When Kiara stepped into the lab, the air was thick with tension. Screens flashed red warnings, engineers whispered urgently, and in the center stood Aarav—his shoulders hunched, his face pale with defeat.
"Aarav," she called softly.
He turned, and for a moment, disbelief flickered in his eyes. "Kiara? What are you—"
"Don't," she cut in, her voice trembling. "Don't ask why. Just… let me be here."
His breath hitched, his resolve cracking. He looked like a man on the edge—eyes hollow, hands trembling. She closed the distance, her fingers brushing his arm. "You're not alone," she whispered.
Something inside him broke. With a strangled sound, Aarav pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him. The world fell away—the alarms, the chaos—until there was only her warmth, her heartbeat against his chest.
"I can't lose this," he murmured into her hair, his voice raw. "I can't lose you."
"You won't," she breathed, her tears soaking his shirt. "Not now. Not ever."
He cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear, and then his lips were on hers—hard, desperate, claiming. The kiss was fire and fury, a collision of pain and longing that had been building for months. Kiara clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair, as if anchoring him to the earth.
When they broke apart, breathless and trembling, Aarav pressed his forehead to hers. "You came," he whispered, awe in his voice.
"I'll always come," she said, her smile breaking through the storm. "Even if the sky falls."
And in that lab, amid failure and chaos, they found something stronger than ambition—love that refused to break.