Prachi walked briskly along the quiet park path, the evening sun dipping low behind the trees. She was 22, dressed in a simple white salwar kameez that hugged her curves just enough to be modest yet flattering. Her long black hair swayed with each step, and her dupatta slipped slightly off one shoulder. She had come for a quick evening stroll to clear her head after a long day at college. The park was usually peaceful at this hour, mostly frequented by elderly men who came for their daily walks.

But today felt different. A group of four old men in their late 60s and 70s sat on a nearby bench, their eyes following her as she passed. They were regulars—retired uncles with wrinkled skin, pot bellies, and a predatory glint that she had noticed before but always ignored. Today, one of them, a tall, balding man named Sharma ji with a thick white mustache, stood up and blocked her path.