The gala had finally ended, leaving the Haveli in a state of exhausted grace. The last of the village elders had offered their blessings, the lanterns in the courtyard had flickered out, and the grand estate was once again wrapped in a thick, velvety silence. Outside, the heavens had opened, the late-monsoon downpour drumming a primal, rhythmic tattoo against the ancient red stones.

Arjun had slipped away from the final clean-up, leaving a half-exhausted, half-amused Vivek in charge of the remaining staff. He didn't want to talk about logistics, grain exports, or the foundation’s budget. He needed to find his wife. He found her in the inner courtyard, standing under the sheltered colonnade, her back to him as she watched the rain lash the banyan tree.