Last night still lingers on my skin like perfume. It was... intense. Arnav had been furious when he came home, his voice sharp, eyes burning with something between suspicion and desire. But the moment he saw me in that saree—the deep red one with the low-cut blouse—his anger melted away like wax under a flame.

He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. The way he touched me said everything. He made love to me with a kind of desperation, like he was trying to erase every doubt, every distance that had formed between us. All night, we existed in our own world, tangled in sheets and silence.