The house is a ghost town. The refrigerator hums. Dadi takes her afternoon nap, a small kurta over her face to block the light. In a nearby park, the retired men gather under a banyan tree for a game of cards and a brutal dissection of politics. "This government is useless!" "No, the last one was worse!" The arguments are loud, the tea is sweet, and the real purpose is not winning the hand but staving off loneliness.

Deepa emerged, already draped in a crisp cotton sari, her forehead marked with a fresh dot of vermilion. She took the cup, but her mind was already on the pressure cooker. "Did you wake Arjun? He has that presentation today, and you know how the Mumbai local trains are after 8:00 AM."