Anuja arrived at the farmhouse late on Friday evening, the taxi dropping her off at the outer gate just as the sun dipped behind the distant fields. Her uncle had called her the day before, saying he had some urgent work in the city and would return by Sunday morning. He told her the place was safe, that four of his close friends from the nearby town would be staying over to keep an eye on things. Harsh, Manish, Pratik and Yash. She had met them once or twice before at family gatherings. All older men in their late thirties and early forties, loud, used to drinking, the kind who laughed too hard at their own jokes.

She pushed the gate open and walked up the long dirt path carrying her small bag. The main house lights were already on. Music drifted out through the open windows, some old Hindi film song mixed with the clink of bottles. When she stepped onto the verandah the four of them were already there, seated on the cane chairs with glasses in hand.