The drive to Powai was silent except for the relentless drumming of rain on the car roof and the occasional soft hitch in Ishani’s breath. Aarav kept his eyes fixed on the road, knuckles white on the steering wheel, trying desperately not to glance at the rear-view mirror where her reflection lay stretched across the backseat—saree clinging wetly to every curve, blouse translucent enough to show the dark areolas beneath, her “injured” leg still propped up, foot dangling near the edge of the seat.

By the time they pulled into the basement of her high-rise building, both were soaked through. Aarav was drenched—shirt plastered to his chest and back, hair dripping steadily onto his collar, trousers dark with rainwater. Ishani, though, looked merely damp in comparison; the silk of her saree had absorbed just enough to mold itself scandalously to her body without losing its sheen, droplets tracing slow paths down her cleavage and along the exposed strip of her midriff.