Savita raised an eyebrow. “You ate three jalebis at 11 PM last night.”

“Who is Rohit?” Ramesh asked from behind his newspaper, pretending to be stern.

“Did you hear? The Sharmas’ daughter is getting married. The boy’s family asked for a Fortuner.”

This was 5:30 AM.

Later, as Savita locked the front door—sliding the old iron latch that had been there since her wedding—she looked back at the dimly lit living room. Akash was working again. Priya was texting. Ramesh was already snoring on the couch, newspaper on his chest.

“Mumma! My history notebook is gone! Rohit borrowed it last week and now he’s ‘not feeling well’ and won’t come downstairs!” she wailed from her room.