Vibha stepped into the small, dimly lit tailoring shop tucked away in a quiet alley of the bustling market. The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty curtains, casting long shadows over the bolts of fabric piled high on wooden shelves. At 19, Vibha was a picture of innocent beauty—petite frame, fair skin that flushed easily with embarrassment, long dark hair tied in a simple braid, and wide doe-like eyes that spoke of her sheltered upbringing. She clutched her bag tightly, containing the new salwar-kameez fabric her mother had bought for her college function.

"Uncle, aap yahan ho? (Uncle, are you here?)" she called softly, her voice hesitant.