The car ride home was a morgue on wheels. The vibrant yellow of Rooh's saree, which had felt like a costume of hope hours ago, now seemed to mock her from the backseat. It was a garish reminder of the evening's humiliation, the fabric scratchy and oppressive against her skin. The silence was thick and heavy, broken only by the hum of the engine and Aarav's soft, sleepy breathing as he leaned against her.

Her father drove with a rigid focus on the road, his earlier disinterest now solidified into a stony silence. Her grandmother dozed fitfully, and her mother, Shivani, buzzed with a nervous, unspoken energy. Rooh could feel her mother's glances in the rearview mirror, questions poised on her lips, held back by the presence of the others.