Chapter 4: The Stranger's Hand
The morning after was a quiet thing.
Ruby woke to the sound of Manoj's razor scraping against his jaw in the bathroom, the familiar rasp of it cutting through the early stillness. She lay there for a long moment, her body heavy with the memory of the night before—his hands, his mouth, the way he'd whispered her name like a prayer against her skin.
She stretched. Her muscles ached in ways that made her smile.
By the time Manoj emerged, dressed in his pressed government-issue shirt and smelling of the cheap aftershave he'd been using since their wedding, Ruby was already at the stove. She'd tied her hair up in a loose bun, and she wore nothing but his old kurta—the one that fell to her thighs and gaped at the chest.
"Chai?" she asked without turning.
"Please."
She heard him settle at