The night descended upon Dehradun like a heavy, velvet shroud. The once-bright sun was a distant memory, replaced by a cold, indifferent moon. Inside the cozy cottage, the fire crackled in the hearth downstairs, casting warm, dancing shadows on the walls where Kabir and Meera were sharing a quiet dinner.

Upstairs, in her dark sanctuary, Amyra was a different person. The sweet, innocent college girl had vanished. She was a bundle of raw, restless energy, her body still vibrating from the aftershocks of the afternoon's intense phone call. She was wearing only a flimsy, short black silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, her heavy breasts and thick thighs barely contained.