Siya was sitting on the edge of her bed, folding a laundry basket of his shirts, when the door to their bedroom swung open. Thakur Sahab stood there, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He wasn't dressed in his usual casual clothes. He looked... restless. Tense. His eyes locked onto hers, and the air in the room shifted instantly, thickening with something unspoken.

He didn't greet her. He didn't ask about dinner. He just stepped inside, closed the door with a soft click, and let his gaze travel over her—over her simple cotton nightdress, over her bare feet, over the neat pile of fabric in her hands.