Mohini stepped out of the black SUV into the humid Delhi evening, her small suitcase clutched tightly in her slim fingers. The sprawling haveli of her Chacha, Rajesh, loomed before her like a palace from old Bollywood films—white marble pillars, manicured lawns, and the faint scent of jasmine from the garden. At 21, she was an orphan now. Her parents had died in a car crash just three weeks ago, leaving her with nothing but grief and a few distant relatives who had quickly passed her on to her father’s elder brother.

“Mohini beta, aaja andar (Mohini dear, come inside),” Rajesh said warmly, his deep voice carrying the authority of a man who ran a successful construction empire. He was 48, tall and broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His wife had passed away five years earlier, leaving him to raise two grown sons who now lived in the joint family with their own wives and children. The house buzzed with relatives—chachis, cousins, servants—but Rajesh’s eyes lingered on Mohini with something deeper than familial concern.