The bus droned through the night, its dim amber lights casting faint shadows over the last row, where Aarav and Meera sat, their secret world teetering on the edge of exposure. The shawl draped over their laps, extending just below their chests, was their only defense, concealing Meera’s fully unbuttoned shirt, now pulled closed to cover her love mountains, a lingering scandal from Aarav’s lips tasting her skin moments ago. The passengers nearby dozed or murmured, oblivious, but the man a few rows ahead was still on his phone, his voice a low hum that kept Meera and Aarav frozen, pretending to sleep, their hands resting separately, no touching, their bodies still as statues. Meera’s loose cotton trousers hugged her curves, her shirt a hidden temptation under the shawl, while Aarav, in track pants and t-shirt, clutched her gifted panties in his pocket, his body taut with unspent desire.