The black Rolls Royce Phantom rolled to a soundless stop at the private terminal’s glass doors, its dark panels swallowing the last light of evening. Inside, Priya’s heart hammered so violently she thought it might crack her ribs. The short ride to the airport had already shredded the last tatters of her dignity, her churidar salwar was already torn, the damp evidence of her earlier transgression dried in sticky rivulets down her thighs. The moment the engine died, Ranjeet’s voice cut through the silence without so much as a glance in her direction.

“Utaro apna salwar pajama. Abhi.”