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... remonial robe that had slipped off Heena’s shoulder. His fingers brushed her collarbone, warm and careful.
"You have ash on your face," he whispered, and before she could respond, he’d pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped a smudge of incense ash from her cheek.
The gesture was so tender, so domestic, so ’sweet’ that Heena felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"Thank you," she whispered back.
"Always," he replied, and his smile was soft and private and just ...
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