The midday sun had shifted, casting long, stark beams of light across the bedroom floor, but the room remained a sequestered world, insulated from the chaotic arrival of the guests downstairs. At 9:30 AM, Abhimaan entered to find Shivanya standing by the vanity, a fragile figure wrapped in nothing but one of his oversized, loose cotton t-shirts and her lace panties.

The fabric clung to her frame, shifting as she moved, and the absence of a bra beneath the thin cotton made the sharp, involuntary peaks of her nipples clearly visible. She was drying her hair, the towel moving slowly over her dark strands, her movements still dampened by the remnants of the fever.