‘You are late,’ he said, his voice as steady as the shuttle moving through the threads. ‘The rain slowed the traffic near Kangla,’ she replied, stepping closer. The smell of wet earth mixed with the faint, earthy scent of the dye he used. ‘Is the Phanek ready?’ ‘It is.’ He finally paused, pulling the woven fabric forward. It was a deep crimson, interwoven with delicate motifs that looked like tiny, blooming Leihao flowers. ‘It took me three extra days to get the motif right. The petals needed to look like they were dancing.’ Nija’s breath caught. She reached out to touch the fabric, her fingers brushing against his. Neither of them pulled away. The sound of the rain faded, leaving only the thundering of their hearts in the quiet room.
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