Chitra was twenty, a quiet fire wrapped in innocence. Raised in a small town in Kerala, she had moved to Bangalore for college, where her sharp wit and effortless beauty turned heads without her ever trying. She was the kind of girl who could make a simple linen saree look like it was woven for sin,soft olive green fabric draping her lithe body, the pallu barely concealing the swell of her breasts in a black and gold kalamkari blouse. Her long, dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, and her wide doe eyes held a curiosity that made men wonder what thoughts danced behind them.

She had come home for her childhood best friend Pallavi’s wedding ,a lavish three day affair at a riverside resort nestled among coconut groves. The air was thick with marigolds, incense, and anticipation. But for Chitra, the real spark had ignited two nights ago at the sangeet, when she locked eyes with Aakash, Pallavi’s cousin from Mumbai. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass and eyes that promised trouble, he had watched her dance with a hunger that made her skin prickle.