Malik's office was still the same as it had been in the Capital. Orderly, sparse designs, with dark furniture chosen to naturally complement the building's darkly weathered wood finish. Minimal decorations are saved for small bits of porcelain tucked here and there on shelves, tastefully spaced among rows and rows of neatly organised textbooks, reference books, and literature on every aspect of psychology.
Yet touches of green brightened the room, with delicate hanging basket planters suspended from the ceiling, overflowing with dangling, fragile tendrils of honeysuckle vines.
The honeysuckles were blooming now, even at this time of year—and their soft, alluring fragrance subtly wafted through the room, their curling petals and long stamens nearly dripping with it.
Malik took a small water bottle and sprayed some liquid, his long, graceful fingers touching it so gently. Anouk wanted those fingers to touch him too, to stroke his hair gently or pin him down. Anything.
