I sat there in quiet contemplation, the book resting open in my lap, its words long abandoned. My eyes stared vacantly at the soft, still corners of the room, tracing shadows that said nothing and everything at once. It was my first day at sasural, yet the weight of days seemed to press down on me already. A curious ache clung to my chest, not quite sorrow, not quite regret, but something heavier, shaped like guilt. I hadn’t meant to cause discord, hadn’t accused or defended, and yet the situation had tilted against me. In the end, it was Dadi-sa alone who tasted the kheer, a small mercy. Curled back into the pillows, knees tucked half-close to my chest, I held still, as if motion might shatter the fragile quiet. The day had folded into night without notice, and now it was past nine. Meals had arrived and disappeared without a word, each person in their room. Hriday hadn’t returned after what happened. And still, I smiled, just a little. He had barked those harsh words, “I don’t trust you,” but his actions spoke a softer truth. In contrast to his voice, his silence defended me. Maybe he didn’t believe in me with words, but somewhere, in a quieter place, he did.