The morning was still grey when Kesar crossed the courtyard, anklets silent on the wet stone. Her breasts ached with every step (so full that the loose blouse rubbed cruelly, milk already seeping through in warm patches).

Rajveer was waiting inside the room, pretending to oil the cradle's rope. He did not look up when she entered, but his fingers tightened on the wood until the knuckles went white.