The morning sun cast a pale, golden glow across the expansive, marble-paved kitchen of the ancestral house, illuminating the fine dust motes dancing in the air. The kitchen was already radiating intense heat from the heavy-duty stoves, where large copper vessels and cast-iron pans sat lined up in a neat, intimidating row. Shivanya stood before the steaming counters, her hands moving with a practiced, mechanical precision that masked the underlying exhaustion pulling at her bones.

She was waist-deep in preparing an elaborate, labor-intensive feast—crisp, golden-brown Ghewar dripping with sweet syrup and topped with rich rabri, a fiery, deeply spiced Laal Maas simmering slowly in a heavy pot, and a fragrant, saffron-infused Pulao that filled the room with a rich, aromatic steam. It was Kritagya’s absolute favorite menu, a culinary demand communicated to her the previous night by Abhimaan, who had casually mentioned his brother's impending visit.