Ayesha's POV
Day five dawned with the call of koels in the mango trees outside the balcony, their songs mocking the silence in her chest. Ayesha woke to the scent of fresh roses—dozens of them, arranged in crystal vases that caught the morning light like captured sunbeams. The maids had come and gone while she slept, leaving breakfast on the table: poha with peanuts crunching invitingly, chai steaming in a porcelain cup painted with peacocks, and a single ripe mango sliced into perfect golden wedges.
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