Payal stepped into the air-conditioned gym, the cool blast hitting her flushed skin after the humid Mumbai evening outside. At 24, she had joined this upscale fitness center two weeks ago, desperate to tone up after a breakup and a sedentary job in marketing. The place was sleek—mirrored walls, high-end equipment, and a personal training package she'd splurged on. Her trainer, Vikram, was waiting by the treadmills, his broad shoulders filling out a black compression shirt, muscles rippling with every small movement. He was in his early 30s, with sharp jawline, intense dark eyes, and a confident smile that always seemed to linger a second too long on her.

"Arre Payal, aaj kitni sundar lag rahi ho (Hey Payal, you're looking so beautiful today)," Vikram said, his voice smooth and deep, with that slight Mumbaiya accent. (You're looking so beautiful today.)