Ananya woke to the soft clatter of steel in the kitchen and the smell of fresh chai. Pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains. For a moment she forgot where she was, then the narrow bed and the familiar crack in the ceiling reminded her: she was home. In her father’s flat. Alone with him.

She sat up. The sheet slipped down her body. She had slept in only an old oversized T-shirt and plain cotton panties. The fabric had ridden up during the night, leaving her thighs bare. She tugged it down and listened.