Nithya sat curled in the farthest corner of her room, the once warm walls now casting long, cold shadows in the fading afternoon light. Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as if they could somehow hold her together when everything else was falling apart. The air felt heavy—thick with silence, suffocating with sorrow. Her gaze was fixed on a point on the wall, but she wasn't really seeing it. Her mind played reel after reel of memories, of dreams, of a future that now seemed as unreachable as the stars.

Just days ago, she had been a different woman. Hopeful. Smiling. Dressed in her favorite yellow kurta, twirling around the living room as she hummed her favorite song, dreaming about how Ashwin would soon speak to her father and ask for her hand. She had imagined every detail—the nervous excitement in Ashwin's voice, the acceptance of her parents, and later, maybe a small engagement ceremony, their fingers entwining as families gathered to bless them.