Months passed. The monsoon eventually thinned, then returned again the following year. The notebook on the dining table grew thicker, then was replaced by a second volume when the first could no longer close properly. The continuous dark map on Priya’s breasts never disappeared. It lightened during quieter stretches and was restored whenever the collection required it. The unlocked door remained unlocked.

Rajesh still took her every morning with the short, intense rhythm that belonged to both the marriage and the debt. He still asked, on the days when the hunger sharpened, whether she needed more. She still answered honestly. Men still came through the open door—sometimes one, sometimes several, sometimes the full circle that included the original man, the father-in-law, Vikram, and those Rajesh had chosen and assessed over time. The dual stretch remained the default once more than one man was present. Milk still rose under sustained attention. The cameras still recorded when the night was long enough to need recording. The log still received its entries in Rajesh’s hand.