“Meera-ji! Come, sit,” called Asha, who ran a small catering business from her home. “Your hands are good with flowers.”

At noon, she returned home. The kitchen felt different. Smaller, but less demanding. She opened the fridge. No yogurt for kadhi . But there were leftovers—yesterday’s baingan bharta and a stack of slightly stale chapatis.

Priya laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. “You? Not cooking? That’s like a temple without a bell.”

“Everything is fine. I just… don’t feel like it.”