Everything about Sharmila was a gift from the Divine: The graceful way she twirled her paintbrush, the naughtiness with which she teased his desperate attempts at cooking her favorite dishes, the gentleness when her lips touched his, the softness of her hair as it fell on his face, the flowery smell of her perfume when he nuzzled her neck, the mole near her quivering lips that he kissed every opportunity he got.