Madhavi had changed into the loose salwar and kurta she kept for comfort, and Adiraj could hear the soft rustling of fabric behind him as she changed. He kept his back turned toward her, his posture deliberately rigid, as though even the slightest movement might betray the battle raging inside him.

A part of him was itching to turn around. It wanted to look at her, to see her standing there after everything that had passed between them. But there was another, darker part of him that screamed even louder—turn back. Look at her. Look at what you are going to make yours against all the odds, against every sensible reason that should have kept you away from her.