The taxi rolled to a slow halt in front of a crumbling cluster of buildings tucked in the heart of Parel—a neighborhood trapped between history and hardship.
The sky above was a dull grey. Monsoon clouds hovered like restless ghosts. From the backseat of the cab, Amisha stepped out, her gaze lingering on the aging colony before her. It wasn't the Mumbai she'd seen in dreams. There were no glossy skyscrapers or film crews chasing fame. Just rust-stained balconies, peeling paint, and the scent of frying oil wafting through the humid air.
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