“I’m sorry about the curry,” he said, handing her a glass.
“I’m not a hot mess, Dika,” she said quietly. “I’m just… hot. And tired. And I don’t remember the last time someone saw me as the first kind of hot.” ibu hot
And for the first time in a long time, the word hot felt less like a warning and more like a promise. “I’m sorry about the curry,” he said, handing