Silence returned to the garden.
But it was no longer peaceful.
Arjun remained where he was.
Still seated.
Still unmoving.
Slowly, he lifted his hand, the same hand that had touched her.
He stared at his fingers.
As if they held something.
The memory was vivid. The softness. The warmth. The slight tremble beneath his touch.
It lingered.
Not fading.
Intensifying.
A slow heat spread through him, deeper than desire, heavier than impulse. It coiled inside his chest, tightening with every passing second.
It wasn’t enough.
That was the problem.
The touch hadn’t satisfied anything.
It had awakened something far more dangerous.
He clenched his fist.
As if he could trap the sensation.
But it was already gone.
Leaving behind only,
Hunger.
Not fleeting.
Not shallow.
But consuming.
And for the first time,
Arjun understood that this was no longer something he could control.