In the dining hall, morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating the polished wood of the table and the simple, wholesome breakfast Mariam had prepared. The air smelled of parathas and chai, but for Afiya, it was thick with the scent of frustration of denied pleasure and the lingering memory of male hands on her body.

“Afiya,” Mariam began, her tone light but curious, “subah tere kamre mein aayi thi… tu mujhe nahi dikhi.”