The third day began with the same heavy humidity, the same careful dance around each other, the same unspoken knowledge of what each of them had done the night before behind thin walls. Priya woke already wet, the memory of her own orgasm and the certainty that he had heard her still clinging to her skin like sweat. She lay still for a long time, listening. No water ran in the bathroom yet. Only the slow turn of the ceiling fan and the distant early-morning sounds of the city.

When she finally rose and stepped into the hallway, his door was open a few inches. She could see the shape of him still in bed, one arm flung above his head, the sheet pushed down to his waist. Bare chest. The dark trail of hair leading lower. She looked longer than she should have, then forced herself into the bathroom and locked the door.