The haveli felt particularly cold that evening. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of violet and orange, Shivika walked into the kitchen. The partition was more than just a physical barrier; it was a psychological one. On one side, the stove sat cold, Rudra's side. On the other, the familiar sounds of Maa Sa's bangles clinking against the rolling pin echoed.

Shivika held the stainless steel container close to her chest. Inside were the chowmein along with sauce she had prepared at the college, a delicate blend of traditional spices and the techniques Kashi had helped her master.