Naina rested against the pillows, the morning light now soft and golden, casting quiet shadows across her skin. Her breath was steady, her body unhurried — she was in no rush to leave the space she had carved for herself, where silence met sensation.
She let her fingers drift gently across her collarbone, tracing downward with curiosity and care. The curve of her breast responded to her own touch — not with urgency, but with a subtle awakening. There was something sacred in this slowness, this act of meeting herself, not with judgment, but with wonder.
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