Sunday dawned bright and merciless. Mumbai’s heat pressed against the windows like a living thing, the air thick with the promise of rain that never quite arrived. Inside the flat, the AC struggled to keep up, leaving everything slightly damp, slightly sticky—exactly like Riya’s skin.

She woke alone in her parents’ bed, sheets twisted around her legs, the scent of sex still heavy in the air. Raj had slipped out before dawn—some early errand at the shop—but he’d left a note on the nightstand in his bold, slanted handwriting: