The girls' hostel buzzed with excitement in the days leading up to Priya's birthday party. Whispers echoed through the corridors about the rooftop gathering—music blasting from portable speakers, strings of fairy lights draping the edges like a makeshift constellation, and the thrill of smuggled vodka shots hidden in water bottles. It was the kind of event that promised escape from the drudgery of college lectures and assignments, a night where laughter flowed as freely as the illicit drinks. But for Disha, it had been weeks since she'd attended anything remotely social. Aryan had seen to that, methodically isolating her from her friends under the guise of protection, love, or whatever twisted rationale he used to justify his control. Her phone was filled with unanswered messages from the group chat: "Where are you, Disha?" "Miss you at the canteen!" "You okay?" She read them in secret, her heart aching, but she never replied. Aryan checked her messages daily, and any hint of independence was met with swift retribution.