The living room glowed in warm shades of amber as evening settled. A brass lamp flickered in the corner, casting long shadows against the carved teakwood furniture. The faint scent of sandalwood incense hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of chai and fried pakoras brought in by a maid. The family had gathered comfortably, their voices rising and falling in polite chatter, the kind that fills homes after dinner when relatives sit together with nothing urgent to do.

On the center table, silver bowls held laddus and namkeen, their surfaces glinting under the light. The sofa cushions, embroidered with peacock patterns, felt stiff beneath Gatha as she sat quietly, her dupatta pulled neatly over her head and shoulders. She wore a soft pink salwar suit, her bangles chiming faintly whenever her nervous hands shifted in her lap. Though she tried to keep her eyes lowered, she could feel the weight of every glance—curiosity, pity, judgement—all circling around her like whispers she couldn't escape.