Saifa sat quietly on the bed, her back resting against the soft headboard, the faint scent of attar still clinging to her wrists after her Isha prayer. The room was dim, warm, and silent, the kind of silence that presses gently on the chest. Arhaan had left only a few minutes ago to warm the dinner Rahila had cooked earlier, insisting she should rest.

She had tried. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her body sink deeper into the pillows. Her cheek still throbbed with a dull burn, but she ignored it, focusing on her breathing.