CHAPTER 25

The room still carried the weight of the previous night, thick and suffocating, as if even the walls remembered every harsh word, every broken moment. Morning had arrived quietly, but it brought no freshness—only a dull grey light that slipped through the half-drawn curtains and settled over everything like an uninvited witness. On the bed, Arohi lay tangled in the sheets, her body weak and uncooperative, her skin burning with fever while chills ran underneath. Strands of her hair clung to her damp forehead, her lips slightly parted as her breaths came uneven, shallow, as if even that simple act demanded more strength than she had left.