The golden morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, brushing against the curves of Sanya Mehra’s face as she stirred in bed. The soft hum of traffic outside her Mumbai apartment created a sharp contrast to the stillness inside her room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, revealing irises that glowed like caramel flecked with gold — curious, bright, and ever-hungry for secrets. Her tousled hair framed a face that was both soft and striking — dusky, dimpled, with lips often curled in a smirk and brows arched like they held all the questions in the world.

She rolled out of bed with her usual clumsy flair, tripping on the corner of a rug, catching herself by the edge of her study table, and laughing aloud. "Classic Sanya," she muttered, brushing back a wild lock of hair.