The morning did not break with the grand, golden sweep typical of summer in the plains. Instead, it bled into the bedroom through the high, arched stone windows of the Haveli like pale gray ink soaking into linen.

The air remained thick, trapped behind heavy teak doors, carrying the heavy residue of the night...the distinct, cooling scent of rainwater evaporating off stone, the crushed, sharp musk of bruised jasmine from the shattered garlands on the floor, and the unmistakable smell of two people who had torn each other’s souls apart only to fuse them back together in the dark.