The second day at the "Asha Sadan" orphanage began with a pale, grey dawn. Diya had barely slept. The sounds of the city-the distant honking of rickshaws and the rhythmic chanting from a nearby temple-felt like a sharp contrast to the peaceful, luxury silence of her bungalow. She woke up early, her heart heavy with the memory of Aadil's cold, stony gaze from the night before.

She stepped out of her small guest room, wearing a simple cotton kurta, her hair tied back in a neat braid. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to prove to everyone, especially Aadil, that she hadn't forgotten the girl who used to scrub these very floors.