Anjali had just moved into her half-finished bungalow on the outskirts of Panipat, overseeing the construction herself. The summer heat was brutal, and the team of five burly laborers—Raju, Mohan, Suresh, Vijay, and Baldev—worked tirelessly, their sweat-soaked shirts clinging to their muscular frames. They were rough men from the nearby villages, speaking in coarse Hindi laced with profanities. Anjali, a 28-year-old divorcee with a curvaceous figure and long dark hair, often caught them leering at her as she walked around in her tight salwar kameez, but she dismissed it as harmless.

As she inspected the unfinished kitchen, the men cornered her, their tools still in hand.