Neha spent the day curled on the couch—wrapped in one of Priya’s silk robes—silent, eyes glassy, body still trembling from the night before. Every time she shifted, a small whimper escaped; the soreness between her legs and in her throat was a constant reminder. She hadn’t spoken since the stream ended. Just stared at the wall, tears drying on her cheeks.

Priya ignored the silence—moved around the apartment like nothing had changed. She cooked breakfast (eggs, toast, coffee), fed Neha bites from her own fingers, kissed her softly, whispered “You were perfect, baby” against her ear. Neha ate mechanically—swallowed—never met anyone’s eyes.