
Dawn in the Thar arrived like a punishment.
The sky turned the colour of molten copper long before the sun cleared the dunes. Priya woke already sweating, the sheet twisted around her waist, night-dress rucked high on her thighs. The air inside the room was thick and still. Every breath felt like inhaling warm syrup. Between her legs she was still slick from the night before—from her own fingers and from the memory of her father’s thumb on her throat.






















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