“Better?” he asked, voice close to a whisper.

“No,” she said, pulling her hands away, swallowing hard.

Then she remembered something she did to routinely torment Saifullah. Thinking it would lighten the mood, Durkhanai pressed her fingers against Asfandyar’s neck, his skin deliciously warm against her freezing fingers.

Asfandyar swore, making a strangled sound, writhing from her fingers, and she withdrew her hands.

“Are my hands too cold?” she asked innocently, grinning.

“Yes,” he replied, voice rasped. “That’s it.”

“How are your hands not cold?”

Asfandyar shrugged carelessly. “One of my invincible qualities.”

“Ooh,” Durkhanai replied. “People do say you’re star-touched. It’s how you’ve become so successful so quickly.”

“Not because I’m the Wali’s whore?” Asfandyar teased, referencing their first meeting. Durkhanai grimaced, covering her face.

“I really said that?” she groaned.

“You really did,” he replied, amused by the memory. How far they had come.

“You infuriated me,” she said, defending herself. “You do still.”

“Don’t worry, you infuriate me, as well,” he replied. He turned to meet her gaze, eyes soft. “Though I can’t seem to mind.”

Durkhanai was suddenly acutely aware of all the places their bodies were aligned, separated by thin articles of clothing, and something buzzed through her, sending a shiver down her spine. Her chest felt like it was on fire.

She bit her lip. He was looking at her with wonder, awestruck, like she was something magnificent, something sublime. It was suddenly very quiet. Durkhanai heard his breath. He was so close to her, his mouth a whisper away.

Asfandyar was still, no movement save for the rise and fall of his chest.

Then Durkhanai realized why it was so quiet: the rain had stopped.

Durkhanai pulled back, hand and heart throbbing.

“Time to go!” she said, voice overly cheerful.

She got up quickly, pulling out from under the loi. Trying to steady her heart rate, she walked away from Asfandyar.

As she did, she stepped in a pile of mud, which lodged her khusa and foot. In horrible slow-motion, Durkhanai fell forward, landing straight into a wet pile of mud.

Durkhanai swore, loudly. “This blasted lengha!”

She fell back, sitting down, which only made it worse. She was covered front and backwards in gross dirt. Durkhanai wanted to cry again, but then Asfandyar began to laugh, and did, too.

“This isn’t funny,” she said, trying to pout, but a smile lingered on her face.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. She wished she knew. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally drink wine earlier?”

She reached to hit him with her muddied hand, but he moved out of her reach, squealing.

“Help me up!” she ordered. “Batameez.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Asfandyar warned, offering her his hand. She was thinking about pulling him into the mud with her but recanted, deeming it too cruel.

“Fine,” she said, pouting but meaning it. “Just help me up.”