After helping Meera back to her house, I did not linger. The heaviness in her eyes, the way she refused to look at me—it was enough to tell me that my presence wasn’t what she wanted at that moment. So, I turned away, letting the sound of her door closing behind her echo in my mind longer than it should have.

By the time I reached my own house, the sun had already sunk, leaving behind streaks of orange and purple across the horizon. The familiar warmth of home greeted me—the faint glow of the hearth, the smell of spices blooming in hot oil, the soft sound of utensils clinking. For a moment, I simply stood at the threshold, letting that comfort seep into me after the chaos of the market.