The air in the bedroom hung thick, scented with jasmine and something sharper, metallic, like anticipation itself. Crimson silk draped the four-poster bed, catching the low glow of the fairy lights woven through the canopy. Jiya stood near the window, her sari a whisper of sapphire against the dark fabric of the curtains, her hands clasped tight enough that her knuckles shone white in the dim light.
A soft click echoed as the bedroom door opened.
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