The final days settled over the small Mumbai flat like a held breath.

Priya’s husband had messaged the night before: the project was ending early. He would be home the day after tomorrow. The words sat between her and Vikram like a quiet blade. Neither of them spoke of it at first. They simply looked at each other across the narrow kitchen, the knowledge settling into their bodies, and then he reached for her the way he had every morning since the power cut—pulling her in, mouth already hungry, hands already certain.