“Sentiments do suit you, Azeer Khan,” Alina says, touching my lips with the tips of her fingers. Our faces are close; our eyelashes brush one another’s. With a soft sigh, she rests her face in the crook of my neck, kissing my rapid pulse and wrapping her arm around Zoha. “All. Mine.” “Yours, Mama.” “Yours, Alina jaan.”
