It was barely 5:15 in the morning. Rida moved through the house like a quiet storm, her presence infusing every corner with the sacred aroma of incense. Each wisp of smoke seemed to linger around her, curling in the morning light, while droplets of water slid from the spikes of her messy bun dripping down her back. Her pastel-orange saree clung gracefully to her curves, swaying gently with each step, and her pink-and-orange bangles chimed softly against her toned wrists with a delicate rhythm.

Despite everything that had happened, she didn’t go to him—fearing his anger, imagining he might storm out of the house in frustration. The night had been restless, tossing and turning through thoughts she couldn’t shake and she had woken earlier than usual, her body unwilling to stay still. Drawn to his room in the study almost unconsciously, she paused at the doorway, only to find it empty. Perhaps he had gone to the gym. She thought. A quiet ache tugged at her chest, a mix of regret and self-reproach for the sharp words she had thrown at him the night before.