The oil lamp had burned lower. Soft orange light flickered across the carved wooden posts of the bed. Outside, the village of Sundarpur lay silent under a heavy monsoon sky. Inside the large ancestral house, the air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the faint sweetness of the rose oil Meera’s mother had rubbed on her skin that morning.

Meera lay on her back, naked except for the heavy gold chain around her neck and the twin bangles on her wrists. Her thighs were still parted, the soft inner flesh glistening with the thick mix of her own release and Raghav’s seed that had begun to trickle out of her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Every inch of her body felt newly discovered—tender, oversensitive, claimed.