The night was no longer just dark—it was wrathful. The sky above Delhi cracked with thunder, heavy black clouds howling like ancient beasts, and the rain was relentless—sheets of it cascading from the heavens as if the earth was being punished. The roads had surrendered long ago, now drowning in muddy water. Every gust of wind bent trees, rattled windows, and screamed through narrow alleys.

Ridhaan stumbled forward, soaked to the bone, clutching his daughter in his arms like a fragile piece of glass. Rhea’s little body was limp against his chest, her skin cold, her breath barely a whisper.