the strap of her simple white kurti as she stood at the doorstep of Uncle Sharma's house. It was already past 9 PM, and the summer night air felt thick and humid. At 19, she was in her second year of college, shy and soft-spoken, always the good daughter who helped whenever her parents asked. Tonight, her parents had called her urgently.

"Beta, Uncle Sharma ki beti ko bukhar hai aur unki wife toh guzar gayi thi na? Tu jaake unki help kar de raat bhar. Hum kal subah tak busy hain," her mother had said (Beta, Uncle Sharma's daughter has a fever and his wife passed away, right? Go help him through the night. We're busy till morning).