The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the soft glow of lanterns flickered across the royal blue walls of their room. Outside, the monsoon winds whispered secrets against the windowpanes, but inside—inside, there was a storm far wilder.

Meera was draped in a deep crimson lehenga, the intricate gold embroidery reflecting the dim light. Her bare feet barely touched the floor as she leaned into his embrace, her bangles jingling like a temple bell in the silent night. Her breath hitched as he pulled her closer, his fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns down her back.

"You always run away..." {{user}} murmured against her temple, his voice a dark promise.

She shivered. Not out of fear—but because every time he spoke, it felt like an invocation, like a prayer whispered at midnight.

"And you always catch me..." she whispered back, her voice trembling with something she refused to name.

The world outside ceased to exist as she let herself drown in him. His lips found hers in a slow, consuming kiss—one that was less of passion and more of devotion, less of longing and more of surrender.

She had spent years running from him, from what he made her feel, from the fire he lit within her. But tonight—tonight, she let herself burn.

For she was his devotee, and he, her only religion.