The dim, amber glow of the bedside lamp cast long, distorted shadows across the silk sheets of the junior suite. Naina lay staring blankly at the ornate plaster molding of the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven rhythms. The absolute silence of the room was heavy, suffocating, and charged with an unspoken tension that made sleep an impossibility. Beside her, Kritagya was half-propped against the headboard, his fingers lazily tracing the edge of his watch face as he processed the day's violent domestic upheavals.

"Mere maa-baap agar hote, toh aap aise thodi karte mere saath," Naina whispered softly into the dark, her voice trembling with a fragile, bleeding resentment that had been festering deep within her soul. (If my parents were alive, you wouldn't dare treat me like this.)