The night breeze moved lazily through Udaipur, carrying the coolness of the evening along the empty asphalt road. Neem branches swayed overhead, their leaves whispering softly beneath the dark sky. Under the warm pool of a streetlamp, Abhimanyu leaned against the driver's door of his Maybach, waiting. His black suit wore the night better than the night wore him. Underneath, a black silk shirt moved with him, soft and close to the skin. The first few buttons at his throat were undone, not by accident. Just enough to catch the line of his collarbone, the bare skin there, warm against all that black.

A huge bouquet rested loosely in his hand, packed with deep-red roses, their petals velvety like crushed rubies. The matte-black paper made their rich colour stand out, while a deep-red silk ribbon held the bouquet together, its loose ends fluttering gently in the cool night air.