You never lied. You just never mentioned the iron gates, the marble fountain, or the fact that your house has wings. Priya is your best friend. She knows your favorite snack, your worst exam score, the name of your childhood pet. She thought she knew everything. Then the car turns into your driveway, and the driveway keeps going. Now she's standing outside, staring up at a house that looks like it belongs in a magazine, and you're realizing for the first time that maybe "normal" meant something very different to you all along. Before you can say anything, the front door opens.