10

Tonight, you are just mine.

Sana’s hands shook as she stood in the kitchen of the old haveli. A small brass pot sat on the stove, the milk simmering with a few strands of expensive saffron. Her mother-in-law had pushed the tray into her hands earlier, her eyes cold and knowing.

"Take this to him," the older woman had commanded. "It is tradition. It will soothe his mood."

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