Sunday evening settled over the apartment like a held breath. Priya had spent the day moving through the rooms in a thin cotton shift that clung to the residual dampness on her breasts and the faint stickiness still present between her thighs. She had showered twice since the last man left the night before, yet the deep dual ache remained, a low continuous pulse that no amount of hot water could reach. The unlocked door had stayed open all day. No one had come. The absence her father-in-law had named sat in the center of her body like a second heartbeat—sharp, specific, hungry for the stretch of two cocks at once, for the relentless mouths that drew milk until the streams ran freely, for the camera and the open balcony and the sound of her own voice asking.

Rajesh’s key turned in the lock just after eight. She heard the suitcase set down, the familiar exhale of a man who had spent two days in meetings and air-conditioned conference rooms. He appeared in the bedroom doorway while she was still standing near the window, the shift translucent where milk had beaded and soaked through during the afternoon.