The afternoon was golden and lazy when Meera found herself at Rohan's apartment. It was a small, cluttered space near campus, nothing like Arjun's sleek modern flat. Where Arjun's home was all sharp lines and expensive silence, Rohan's was a chaos of dog-eared poetry collections, half-empty chai cups, and the soft, persistent scent of sandalwood incense. It felt like him. Gentle, unguarded, achingly sincere.
She hadn't planned to come here. For two weeks, she had been walking a tightrope between the brothers, her heart a battleground of fire and tenderness. Arjun consumed her nights with stormy passion, his hands and mouth teaching her pleasures she hadn't known existed. But Rohan... Rohan was her daylight refuge. With him, she was not a conquest but a queen. And the guilt of this double life was slowly shredding her conscience into ribbons.
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