CHAPTER 31
The evening air in the red room clung to Arohi's skin like a second layer, thick with the scent of crushed roses and something darker. The silk of her dupatta slipped between her fingers as she twisted it, the embroidered edge fraying under her nervous grip. Nivaan stood near the four-poster bed, his back to her, the rigid line of his shoulders betraying the storm he refused to voice. The crimson drapes behind him swayed slightly, as if the room itself exhaled in anticipation.
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