She took another mango and instead began pressing it between her palms, turning the fruit soft on the inside as it tore from the peel. Asfandyar watched curiously as she ripped the top nub off with her teeth and spit it out, leaving an opening in the peel.

It was immensely unlady-like, not at all what the Shehzadi should act like, but it was how Durkhanai had grown up eating mangos in her valley.

With the top ripped off, the mango was ready to be eaten. She put the opening into her mouth and sucked the sweet fruit, pushing it up with her fingers.

Swallowing hard, Asfandyar watched her mouth. Juice dribbled down her chin, and he caught it with his finger before she could, trailing her jaw.

He sucked his finger, mouth spreading into a slow smile.

“The barbaric Shehzadi shows her truth,” he said, eyes dark.

Durkhanai licked her lips and grinned. She grabbed another mango and put it in his hands, putting his slices to the side.

“Your turn,” she said. He regarded the fruit, then gingerly pressed the mango with his forefingers. She tsked.

“You have to feel it,” she told him, coming closer to show him. “Coax the fruit from its shell.”

She put her hands on top of his on the mango, his knuckles pressing into her palm. With the hard curve of her hand, she pressed his hands into the mango. The fruit gave way under the pressure, softening. Together, the massaged the fruit, his hands warm beneath hers.

Durkhanai reached down to bite the mango nub, giving it to him to finish it off.

“Like this?” he whispered, teeth grazing the skin. She nodded, and he gently peeled an opening, eyes on hers. She held her hands atop his once more to push the fruit into his mouth. His eyes widened in surprise. Then, he laughed.

“Delicious,” he said. “What a hidden wonder.”

A bead of juice trailed down his throat, disappearing down his kurta. She wanted to lick his skin clean. Her cheeks burned.

“Give me some,” she said instead. He brought the sweet fruit to her mouth, feeding her, and the skin was still warm from where his mouth had been.

After they’d eaten, he held her face in his palm, ran his mango wet thumb across her cheekbone, his caress as loving as the summer’s breeze. She leaned into his hand and searched his eyes. He was studying her, memorizing the shape of her face, noticing all the details she was sure no one would ever see.

She wanted to kiss him again.

Durkhanai wished she could vocalize this feeling, this great swelling in her heart, like the rivers after the rain, like the wells surging with water, like the earth absorbing sunlight. But she said nothing, and neither did he, too afraid to tarnish the purity of the emotion by inaccurate words.