The room seemed to shrink around Misthi, as if the walls themselves had leaned in to listen to Kalyani’s poisonous confession. Dust motes floated in the stale air, catching the weak light and turning into slow, indifferent witnesses. The single bulb overhead hummed and threw thin, trembling shadows that crawled like insects across the concrete floor. Every breath in that room sounded too loud — the scrape of a chair, the soft click of Vedant’s ring against his palm, the hollow chuckle of Ashit — and between those noises Misthi could hear only the thunder of her own heart.

The words echoed in her ears like a cruel refrain. Betrayal from someone close — someone who had loved her, who had been called beta — was a wound that no imagination had ever prepared her for. The woman she had adored, the one who had fed her when she’d missed home, now stood before her a puppeteer of ruin. Misthi’s mind went blank; memories blurred and overlapped — Kalyani’s warm hands in the kitchen, her laughter, the soft blessing on Misthi’s wedding. They all shattered like delicate glass.