The day of the wedding arrived, but it was devoid of any celebration. There were no joyful shouts, no fragrant garlands, no excited chatter of relatives. The Mehra house was cloaked in a heavy, funereal silence. The only sounds were the soft rustle of fabric and the definitive click of a suitcase latch.

Shivani moved through the motions with a heart weighed down by lead. She had packed Rooh's life into one large suitcase. A few of her old, simple sarees, the three or four new ones bought in a rushed, guilt-ridden trip to the market at her grandmother's insistence, her undergarments-every item folded with a painful precision that felt like a final ritual.