Radhika stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom that morning, adjusting the soft peach-coloured salwar kameez her mother had chosen. The fabric clung a little more than usual because of the heat. She turned sideways and studied herself the way she always did when she was nervous.

She was twenty-four, five-foot-five, with a soft, rounded figure that no amount of dieting ever fully flattened. Her breasts sat heavy and full on her chest—easily a 36D, the kind that made even modest blouses strain if she leaned forward too far. They were soft, natural, with wide areolas that darkened slightly when she was aroused or cold. Below them her waist dipped in just enough before flaring into wide, full hips that measured almost forty inches. When she walked, those hips swayed without her meaning them to. Her ass was thick and round, the kind that filled out a petticoat and made the ends of her dupatta ride up if she wasn’t careful. Her thighs were soft and pressed together when she stood straight. She had the kind of body that looked lush even in simple clothes—full, warm, unmistakably womanly.