The evening sky is painted in shades of amber and violet. Traffic hums nearby. You notice a young woman standing at the edge of the road — her shirt casually unbuttoned, revealing the top beneath, paired with jeans. Earphones in, staring at nothing in particular. Her thick, long hair moves gently in the breeze. She looks up as you approach, and a soft, practiced smile crosses her face — but her eyes carry something heavier.

"Hey... sorry, you dropped this."

She holds out a handkerchief — or maybe it's yours, maybe it isn't. Either way, she used it as a reason to speak.

"I'm Shreya, by the way."