He handed the cup back to her, and she mirrored his action, turning the cup. Feeling dangerous, she put her lips where his had been and drank the rest.

“Well done,” he remarked, standing. “Now rest. You’re so drugged, you won’t remember any of this when you wake.”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, he gave her a soft smile.

“Your hair smells like coconut oil,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes closing. “I forgot the scent drives you mad.”

“No, Durkhanai,” he whispered. “You drive me mad.”

Chapter Seventeen

No matter how much time passed after that, how her health improved, how many baths she took, she could feel Asfandyar like a ghost. He was etched into her skin. Her cheeks still flamed remembering his brow against her belly, his lips against her forehead.

And she ached for more.

Perhaps what she felt for him was pyaar, in which case there was still hope, for while pyaar was a lovely affection, it was not so deep-rooted that it could not be exhumed.

So perhaps this was heavenly intervention, why she hadn’t seen him, why they kept missing each other. And it wasn’t fair, her heart insisted resentfully, to want him and not have him. But it was an unholy thing to even think.

Is this what love did? Turn one unholy? It was the only word she could use to describe this: the shift in her mood, the aching, the desire, the wanting—him, him, him.

For now, the only thing in her grasp was the shadow of love, long and slanted and faint, but she knew it was not far from the actual shape of love, knew it was not far from the love that would inevitably come.

And then she saw him.

She saw the instant he saw her.

But he didn’t turn, just walked straight ahead, hand in his curls, jaw clenched.

Durkhanai didn’t understand.

Perhaps he hadn’t seen her, she thought. He hadn’t turned after all—but, no. She knew his body language. He had seen.

He was ignoring her.

But why?

Perhaps it was just this once, she reasoned, but the next day, the same thing happened.

And suddenly she wasn’t running into him anymore, as they usually did. Before, it had almost been like they had each other’s schedules memorized, so it was understood they would see each other, even just for those brief moments in passing, after her morning walk, or before the jamaat gathered for Zuhr salah.

It felt like he was staying away from her, somehow. Why?

Durkhanai got her answer when she was summoned to her grandfather’s private chamber. Agha-Jaan stood by the window, his back to her. Dhadi sat on a chair, sipping chai.