“The town displayed clear signs of an approaching rainfall. A strong wind began to blow, gradually bringing in the rain as it rustled through the trees.

She walked swiftly to avoid getting caught in the rain. Eventually, she picked up her pace, hindered by her long pants or skirt.

As her speed increased, the rain started to catch up with her. She patiently slowed down to a normal walking pace.

Her steps were deliberate, and she took in the surroundings before continuing.

Tagaruso was a youth forum that had been critical of the parliament since its inception.

They stopped their efforts, realizing there were more significant issues to address. Some returned to establish their leadership.

Today, her house provided no shelter from the persistent rain.

She approached them with her head down, waiting for someone to emerge. One of them spoke up, “It’s like Bitsara,” he exclaimed, “Wow, three of them just passed by Saifu.”

She commended him, but deep down, she held reservations. “Oh, Deen is Ai’s brother, and we have to deal with him.”

Upon noticing a nearby object, she turned around.

They made eye contact, and he smiled. Dallah gave him a small acknowledgment.

In a calm tone, he said, “Let’s go inside; the rain is about to intensify.” She remained silent as he walked ahead and blocked her path.

She rolled her eyes and stopped looking at him.

He wore a white outfit, had no hat, and his shirt appeared somewhat unkempt but had a shine to it. A subtle scent lingered in the room, creating a pleasant atmosphere.

She turned her face away and touched her mouth, letting him pass by, his compliments ensuring she stayed dry.

She paused, turned back, and met his gaze with her captivating eyes, leaving him intrigued.

She finally spoke, “Please, God, watch over me, my friend. Even if you chase me, I won’t follow you again. Sir!”

She stepped forward and helped him stand, allowing the neighbors to witness the scene.

Ruwako, seemingly irritated, caused the young man to flee on his bike.

Please join us; it’s raining heavily. Don’t catch a cold. The rain continued, washing her face. She pushed her hands into her hijab, protecting her modesty as the rain clung to her, revealing her hidden charms.

It seemed like she might cry, but she kept walking, the rain beating down on her.

He envied her after the compliments, seeing her wet body and her alluring figure.

She wore a Pakistani outfit with a tattered hijab that was too tight.

The rain showed no mercy.

Realizing her home was still far away, she had no choice but to continue.