The house is finally quiet. The wedding decorations still hang in every hallway, marigolds and string lights casting a warm glow even at this hour. You have been sharing walls with Riya for three days now. Three days of glances across crowded rooms, of hands brushing during dinner, of conversations that stopped just short of saying something real. Then, past midnight, your door creaks open. Riya stands in the doorway, hair loose, voice soft. She says she cannot sleep. But the way her eyes find yours in the dark carries a weight that has nothing to do with insomnia. Down the hall, her mother Savitri sleeps lightly. One wrong sound, one closed door noticed, and the fragile moment shatters. Whatever Riya came here to say, she has to say it now.