“It was a Saturday night in May, the kind of Pune May night where the heat lingers even after dark, as if the sun has left its ghost behind. The wada was thick with it — old stone trapping warmth the way old stone traps everything, heat and memory and the accumulated intentions of centuries. I had finished the group session and was heading to the basement for my private Rahu channelling when I heard voices from the room behind Dhananjay's study — a room I'd never been invited into, a room whose door was always closed.”