The rain had turned to a whisper, sliding down the antique glass like silk. The Haveli breathed differently at night — slower, quieter, like something half-asleep but ready to bite if disturbed.
Riaan's room was a high-ceilinged corner suite, with pale lamps casting gold shadows over the hand-carved furniture. He unpacked slowly, his fingers brushing the camera that brought him here — and now felt like the least important thing in the room.
He hadn't seen Meher again since the stairs.
But her eyes — those wide, startled, burning eyes — hadn't left him.
He could still feel Devika's breath on his skin when she whispered about desire. About price.
A knock broke the silence.
Soft. Then again. Urgent but careful.
He opened the door.
Meher.
Hair slightly wet. No makeup. Wearing a plain navy salwar that clung to her from the damp. In her hands, a small silver box.
"I—" she started, then bit her lip. "Aunty asked me to bring this. It's... incense. For your dreams."
He almost smiled. "She thinks my dreams need scenting?"
"She scents everything," Meher replied, stepping inside without asking.
He watched her. Not in lust. Not yet. In curiosity. The way she moved. The hesitation in her breath. The tension of someone unused to being alone with a stranger — but wanting to be.
"I saw your photos online," she said, placing the box on the carved table near the bed. "You take pictures of women like... they're about to say something important."
"They usually are."
She looked up.
"What would you see in me?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer. He took two steps forward. Slowly. Measured.
"I don't take pictures until I understand what the subject is hiding," he said.
Meher's breath caught. She lowered her gaze.
"I'm not hiding anything," she whispered.
"You are," he replied.
Silence stretched. The kind of silence where hands twitch and necks warm.
Then, suddenly—another voice.
Devika.
Outside the room.
"Meher."
She froze.
"Aunty—"
"Leave him be. The night is long, and some things are meant to wait."
Meher glanced back once before stepping out into the hallway. Her anklets made no sound this time.
Devika appeared in the doorway like a storm that had been watching from afar.
She wore black now. A silk robe open just enough to reveal everything she intended to.
"No one enters this house without becoming part of its game," she said.
He watched her. Breath tight.
"And what's the game?"
She stepped inside. Closed the door. Locked it.
"You'll know," she whispered, "when you stop trying to win... and start trying to survive."