The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the fan and my own breathing. It’s late night in Lucknow, the kind of sticky heat that clings to skin. Aryan told me to wait on the bed, naked, eyes closed. I obeyed. Now a black silk blindfold is tied gently but firmly over my eyes. Everything is darker, sharper—every sound, every touch amplified.

I feel the mattress dip as he sits beside me. His fingers brush my cheek first, slow, almost tender.