A woman’s low laugh. Not a guest’s. Intimate.
Vahini’s footsteps slow. Her dupatta drags on the floor. She stops outside the master bedroom. The door is ajar. A woman’s low laugh
“Finish what you started. I’ll wait in the living room. We have thirty years of accounts to settle—starting with whose slippers wait outside my mother’s doorstep tomorrow morning.” A woman’s low laugh
Surya’s back. A woman’s manicured hand on his chest. She’s younger— (28, bold, careless). Her silk blouse hangs open. Surya whispers something into her ear. A woman’s low laugh
Low lamp light. The room smells of jasmine and betrayal.
She looks at Meera. Then at Surya.