Zara did not leave the study for an hour.
She stood at the window with the Ghalib book clutched against her chest like armor, watching the afternoon light shift across the gardens below. The gardeners were trimming the hedges into perfect geometric shapes. The pool boy was skimming leaves from the infinity pool that seemed to spill into the Mumbai skyline. Everything looked normal. Everything looked like the life of a woman who had nothing to worry about except which dress to wear to dinner.
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