The rain had left the air damp and fragrant, the small room still holding the echo of the storm that had passed. The single diya on the shrine threw a thin ring of trembling light that seemed to make the dust motes float like tiny planets in a slow orbit. Outside, the lane gurgled with runoff and the occasional clink of a shop being closed. Inside, everything felt magnified — breath, heartbeat, the faint metallic scent that rose from the photograph Manish had glimpsed.

Without uttering a single word, he moved closer, erasing the distance that had once separated them. The space between them shrank with an almost greedy speed, and with every inch he closed the air became heavier, as if charged by some unseen current. The small room’s walls felt like a narrowing throat, concentrating everything into the taut line from his face to hers.