She slept for three hours, her body curled around his pillow, her face pressed into the place where his head had rested. When she woke, the light through the jali screens had shifted from grey to a soft, dusty gold. Late afternoon. The haveli was quiet, the servants having retreated to their quarters for the afternoon rest. Only the distant coo of pigeons broke the silence.

Anaya opened her eyes and found Vikram sitting in the carved rosewood chair near the window, watching her. He had changed his clothes. He wore a simple white kurta, the fabric loose and soft, the neck open to reveal the grey hair on his chest. His legs were crossed, and a book rested in his lap, but his eyes were on her. They had been on her for some time.