The rain was a relentless curtain, blurring the edges of the old haveli. She stood on the crumbling stone steps, clutching a faded shawl tighter around her shoulders, the dampness seeping into her bones. Inside, the flickering lamplight cast long, dancing shadows across the courtyard, hinting at a warmth she wasn’t allowed to share. A single jasmine vine, stubbornly clinging to the wall, dripped with water, its fragrance a poignant reminder of summers long past. Her gaze was fixed on the heavy, carved wooden doors, a silent question etched on her face, a plea hanging in the air as thick as the rain. She’d been there for an hour, maybe more, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain and the distant, mournful call of a night bird.