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The monsoon rain lashed against the windows of the ancestral haveli, drowning out the distant hum of the television in the living room. Meera stood by the kitchen window, watching the raindrops race down the glass. She was the younger daughter-in-law, the Choti Bahu , always efficient, always silent. "The tea is getting cold, Meera." She turned to see Vikram, her

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As she handed him the cup, their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but it felt like a sudden spark in the dampened air. Vikram didn't pull away immediately. He looked at her, and for the first time, Meera saw past the mask of the family patriarch. She saw a loneliness that mirrored her own. The monsoon rain lashed against the windows of