After the bloody fight in the forest shelter, Priya and Arjun know they can’t stay hidden forever. Arjun’s shoulder wound heals slowly—scar tissue forming a rough, raised line—but the pain fuels his rage. Every night Priya cleans it with boiled water, kisses the scar tenderly, then sucks his cock gently to distract him from the ache. She swallows his cum like medicine, whispering, “You’re getting stronger for me.”

They move again—cautiously, staying off main paths—until they reach a small, rundown dhaba (roadside eatery) on the edge of a highway far from Jaipur. The owner is an old drunk who doesn’t ask questions for cash. They rent a tiny back room: one charpoy bed, thin mattress, rusty fan, and a bucket for washing. It smells of diesel and stale food, but it’s shelter.