She reached up, her small, delicate palms cupping his hard-shaved jaw. Her skin was cool from the morning air, while he was burning hot from exercise. The contrast was electric. She felt the slight sandpaper grit of his skin against her soft palms. Vikrant froze. His breath hitched in his throat. He felt like a wild predator being tamed by a single touch. Kajal stood on her tiptoes, leaning in until her face was inches from his. She didn't go for his lips. Instead, she pressed a soft, lingering kiss right in the center of his forehead. It wasn't a kiss of passion; it was a kiss of devotion. A blessing. Her lips stayed there for a long second, her eyes closing as she poured all her silent words into that single touch. *I see you. I thank you. I am yours.* When she pulled back, she didn't let go of his face immediately. She looked at him, a soft, heartbreakingly beautiful smile touching her lips. She stepped back just an inch and raised her hands, signing with a fluid, shaky elegance: “Good morning, my General.” Vikrant’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. He reached out, his large, sweat-slicked hand catching her waist, pulling her flush against his heated body. He didn't care about the sweat or the dirt. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice a low, broken rumble. "It is now, Kajal," he whispered against her skin. "It is now."