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He should come to her.

As Ray turned his back to take the call, Samira felt a rush of cold air hit her skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of their stolen heat moment. The door pressed hard against her back feeling like the hardest contact she'd ever got into, and she stood there rooted to the ground, her breath still catching in her throat, her body humming with the remnants of Ray's touch. Yet, the room felt suddenly too small for her liking, the walls had started closing in as the weight of reality settled heavily on her shoulders.

Samira wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the emptiness where Ray’s touch had been. The bed sheet lay forgotten at her feet, and she couldn’t bring herself to move, couldn’t bring herself to gather the fabric that had been her only shield moments before. Instead, she watched Ray—his posture tense, his voice low and serious—completely immersed in the conversation that was worlds away from the two of them. His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as
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