Disha’s phone buzzed violently on the small wooden desk in their cramped hostel room, the screen lighting up with “Maa Calling” in bold letters. It was Thursday evening, just after seven, and she had been pretending to study—flipping through the same page of her economics textbook for the last twenty minutes while her mind wandered to Aryan’s hands, his voice, the way he owned every inch of her. She glanced toward the bathroom door, heart hammering, before answering in a hushed whisper.

“Beta, ladka bahut achha hai!” her mother’s voice exploded with excitement, words tumbling over each other like they couldn’t wait to escape. “Software engineer, Haryana mein hi job hai. Family bhi bahut respectable hai. Engagement fix ho gaya—tu weekend pe aa ja. Sab kuch arrange kar diya hai. Mehndi, function, sab! Tu kal subah train pakad ke aa jaana.” (The boy is very good! Software engineer, job right here in Haryana. The family is also very respectable. Engagement is fixed—come home this weekend. Everything is arranged. Mehndi, function, everything! Catch the morning train tomorrow.)