The helicopter lifted from the private helipad at Juhu, its rotors slicing the morning air into a thousand silver whispers. Priya pressed her face to the window like a child, watching Mumbai shrink beneath her into a tapestry of blue and green and dusty gold. The slums sprawled like patchwork, the towers rose like needles, the Arabian Sea stretched to the horizon in endless rippling silk. She had seen the city from a hundred angles, from car windows and penthouse balconies and the decks of fishing boats, but never from above. Never like this.

Reyansh sat beside her, his hand resting on her knee with the casual intimacy of a man who had touched every inch of her body and still found her miraculous. He wore a cream linen suit, no tie, his collar open to the sea breeze that seeped through the helicopter's vents. His eyes were on her face, watching her watch the city, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.