This was Rohit life now. A life of proximity and impossible distance.
The days became a torturous routine of exquisite closeness and unbridgeable separation. At seven AM, he would be in the garage, polishing the Mercedes, checking the engine. Akansha would descend, always a vision. Sometimes in workout clothes—tight leggings that showcased every curve of her legs and ass, a sports bra that defined her breasts—heading for a gym session he wasn’t invited to.



















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