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Onkar turns the corner in the dark hall and nearly collides with Ritika, her body soft against his chest. She doesn't step back—her palm flattens against his kurta, feeling the beat of his heart through the thin cotton. "You're trembling," she whispers, her lips close to his collarbone. He can smell jasmine oil in her hair, feel the warmth radiating from her skin. She doesn't move; she waits.
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