Prayer in Silk

"Some women are poetry,
Others are the cuts they leave behind."

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Tara's voice cut through the room like a blade. "I shouldn't have dated a fucking child. You're immature! Do you even realize-?"

"I'm not a child," Ishaani snapped back, chest rising, pulse hammering.

Tara's eyes narrowed, voice low and trembling with restrained fury. "The way you behave... it shows differently. I never should've been with you-"

"I didn't beg you to, bitch," Ishaani shot, defiance in every syllable.

Tara whirled, sharp as a whip. "Bitch?"

Almost instantaneously spotting her fuck-up, Ishaani let out a breathless, involuntary "Oh-oh."

Before she could recover, Tara's hand shoved her firmly against the door, making her spine echo the point. Her Hazel eyes glared like velvet knives.

"A Bitch?....Definitely then...." She trailed off, as she let her hands wander along Ishaani's watch, "Fine, I'm the bitch. And you'd be lucky if you even get to sleep on the floor outside this bitch's room tonight." She spat venomously.

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What began as a harmless crush on her sister's best friend during a sultry, Delhi summer has ignited into a storm of worship and reverence, Ishaani can no longer pretend to oversee. Not when she forgets how to inhale, if Tara's cruel words and meticulously harsh demeanor isn't the one flipping her down.

She met divinity in the eyes of the woman who destroyed her;

Every glance, every brush of skin, every teasing word pulls her closer- and Tara Kapoor- political strategist, human right activist and an art curator-may be just as dangerously tempted.

What happens when this tapestry of reverence hurls Ishaani into a whirlpool of extreme political vengeance and secrets the whole of Delhi NCR shan't whisper?

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