The Rain had softened to a whisper against the windows, as if the sky itself had paused to take a breath. The room was a tableau of spent bodies and glistening skin, the air thick with the mingled scents of sex and rain. Shefali lay on the bed, her limbs still trembling with the aftershocks of her transformation, Parth's hand wrapped around hers in a grip that spoke of both wonder and profound relief.

On the Sofa, Aarohi and Akshara had untangled themselves, their bodies cooling but their eyes burning with a renewed heat. The weight of Shefali's declaration—"Your turn is coming"—hung in the air like a promise.