The golden hues of dusk blanketed the Siddiqui mansion in a soft, warm light. A gentle breeze rustled the bougainvillaea vines that framed the garden wall, and the air carried the comforting scent of jasmine mixed with freshly brewed coffee.

Aisha sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs in the garden, wrapped in a soft shawl. The warmth of the coffee mug in her hands matched the warmth in her heart, she was home, and everything felt right. Salma sat beside her, legs tucked up, sipping from her own mug, animatedly talking about her plants and the neighbor's new puppy. Laughter came easily, and peace was tangible.