The corridor light flickered once as the door to Aisha and Karan’s flat clicked open at exactly 9:05 p.m. The rain had returned in full force—thick ropes of water slapping the building’s exterior, drowning out any chance of sound carrying to other floors. Inside, the living room was dimly lit by two floor lamps with amber shades. Incense smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling. The air was heavy with jasmine, musk, and the faint metallic tang of anticipation.

Karan stood near the balcony doors, arms crossed, watching as Aisha led the way in. He was taller than expected—broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, a trimmed beard framing a jaw that looked like it could chew steel. He wore only loose black lounge pants, no shirt. His chest was hairy, muscled from years of gym discipline, and a visible bulge already strained the front of his pants.