The first rays of soft morning sunlight were slowly spreading inside the old haveli of Madhupur. Through the vintage glass window, the pale golden hue of the sun fell upon the bed, as if some dusky deity were personally touching their naked bodies. However, the silence within was as heavy as a deep secret. Chandani, who until now had been clinging to Babuji's chest feeling his warmth, was now fully awake. The air still held the sweet fragrance of the night—the warm, fresh scent of milk, the salty heat of sweat, and that incomplete, intoxicated longing of their bodies that had not yet ended.