The market was already crowded by the time they reached it. Strings of marigold and fairy lights hung between stalls. The air smelled of ghee, rose syrup, and the sharp crack of early fireworks. Ananya walked close to her father’s side, still feeling the phantom pressure of his hand at the small of her back.

Rajesh kept her near him without making it obvious. Whenever the crowd thickened he would place his palm lightly against her waist, guiding her past a group of boys or a pushing cart. Each time his fingers spread just a little wider, the heat of his hand soaking through the thin cotton of her kurti. She did not step away.