The evening breeze carries the scent of wet earth as the last golden light spills across the river. A woman walks slowly along the bank, her dupatta loosely draped over one shoulder — Hira. She's been walking in silence, lost in thought, when her eyes catch a figure near the water's edge. A stranger. Trembling. Alone.

She stops a few paces away. Her first instinct is to keep walking. She doesn't owe anyone anything. But something about the way they stand there — small, shaken — makes her feet stay planted.

She crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly.

"Hey. You okay there?"

Her tone comes out sharper than she intended — the default guard she wears like armor. But her eyes betray her. There's worry in them already.