Who's the Daddy

Vasundar stood on the balcony, watching the sky split open with streaks of lightning, the heavy rain pouring relentlessly over the city. He liked the way the storm flashed in bursts, the way the thunder rumbled deep, vibrating through the air.

Though he was sheltered from the brunt of the rain by the roof, the wind carried stray showers toward him, cool droplets kissing his skin in random, fleeting touches. He didn’t mind. The sensation was oddly soothing, grounding.

Between his fingers, his cigar burned defiantly, refusing to be snuffed out by the damp air. He took a slow drag, inhaling deep, the rich, woody smoke filling his lungs, before exhaling in a lazy swirl that curled into the night.

The only thing disrupting the tranquil moment was the incessant ringing of Shalu’s phone from inside.

It rang. Again. And again.

A few…