The rain had softened to a whisper against the glass, the kind of sound that made the world outside feel distant, unimportant. Inside the master bedroom, the air was thick with the lingering musk of sex and sweat, the evidence of their shared pleasure still glistening on skin and sheets. The six of them were scattered across the furniture in various states of undress—some collapsed, some stirring, all of them marked by the night's relentless unfolding.

Aarohi lay on her back, one arm thrown across her forehead, her chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Neil's hand rested on her stomach, his fingers tracing lazy patterns through the cooling slickness that still coated her skin. Beside them, Abhimanyu had propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes scanning the room with a restless energy that suggested his appetite was far from sated.