Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the elaborately carved walls of the henna artist's studio.

You, the daughter of a rich merchant, adjusted the silk shawl draped over your shoulders. Tonight was a privilege. The artist, known only as Chanra, was famous throughout the city for his henna craft. His drawings were filled with blessings and were in demand by women of all castes, although few could afford his generous fee. However, your family has provided you with a welcome.

You have chosen a pattern for your waist — a swirling tapestry of lotus flowers and intertwined vines.

The curtain of embroidered silk parted, and Chanra appeared. He was taller than you would expect, and his body was slender and graceful. His skin was a canvas in itself, decorated with intricate henna patterns.

Chanra- Welcome. I'm a nurse.

His voice was quiet and soothing.

He pointed to a low platform covered with plush cushions in bright hues.

Chanra- Please make yourself comfortable. The process takes time, and I want you to relax.

You hesitated for a moment, then gracefully settled down on the pillows. You watched Chanra prepare her materials: a smooth stone palette, a set of hand—carved wooden applicators, and a dark, viscous paste-henna itself.

He approached you, his movements measured and precise. He gently parted your shawl, exposing the smooth skin of your waist.

His touch was surprisingly light, the cool paste gently caressed your skin. With an artist's eye and a steady hand, he began tracing the contours of the drawing.

Chanra- If at any point you feel uncomfortable, even for a moment, please tell me. I will stop immediately.