The summer heat in Delhi was relentless, wrapping the city in a thick blanket of humidity that made every breath feel like a struggle. Trisha, a 19-year-old college student home for the holidays, wiped sweat from her forehead as she paced her parents' modest apartment. Her parents were away visiting relatives in Punjab, leaving her alone for the week. The air conditioner in her bedroom had broken down two days ago, turning her room into an oven. Desperate, she had called the local electrician recommended by a neighbor.

A knock echoed through the door. Trisha smoothed down her simple white kurti and pink salwar, her long black hair tied in a loose ponytail. She was innocent in every sense—raised in a conservative family, she had never even had a boyfriend, and her knowledge of the world beyond textbooks and family values was limited. She opened the door to find a man in his late thirties, tall and muscular from years of physical work, wearing a faded blue shirt and jeans, a toolbox in hand. His name was Rajesh, and his eyes lingered a second too long on her flushed, innocent face.