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Summary
In books and movies, when a man kneels before a woman, it is an act of submission or romance. But as Raj Singhania knelt there, he didn't look like he was submitting. He didn't look romantic.
What is this? Why is he looking at me like I’m food?
“Pari, I imagined you in this the second I saw it on my screen.” His voice had shifted into something else—low and rhythmic, like he was reciting a prayer.
He arranged one last pleat near her waist, his fingers lingering on the tuck, and then he stood up. His hands moved to her pallu, his knuckles brushing her chest as he set it.
“I didn’t know that you would look this breathtaking,” he whispered, his eyes dark as they traced the line of her throat. “You look like a golden, crystalline dream.”
He leaned in closer, his shadow eclipsing her under the bright store lights. The smell of the smoke and that sweetness on his breath was all she could breathe.
“I’ve always had a weakness for sweets, but you—” He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. “You look like you were made to be dissolved. Like if I were to reach out and take what I wanted, there would be nothing left of you but a lingering taste on my tongue.”