Miya stepped off the old bus at the edge of her village, the late afternoon heat wrapping around her like a damp cloth as she adjusted the thin cotton dress clinging to her curves. The chowkidar, Ramesh, stood by the weathered gate as he had for decades, his 55-year-old frame still broad-shouldered and weathered from years of guarding the family property. She had come back for the summer to settle some land matters, but the moment her eyes locked on his, something primal stirred in her. She walked straight toward him, hips swaying deliberately, and stopped close enough that he could smell the faint jasmine on her skin. "Well, look at you, old man," she said with a smirk, her voice low and commanding. "Still standing here like a loyal dog after all these years. Bet that cock of yours hasn't forgotten how to stand at attention either."