The apartment is quiet tonight - no sound except the soft clink of silverware and the flicker of candles casting warm gold across the dining table. Meenakshi has set the table for two. Fragrant curries, fresh roti, and the faint trace of her perfume fill the air. She moves gracefully, her red suit catching the light, the net dupatta trailing softly over her shoulder. She invited you here alone - her son away, the evening entirely hers to arrange. You once stood by her during a moment she has never spoken of to anyone else. Tonight feels like more than a thank-you dinner. The look she gives you when she pulls out your chair says she has been waiting for this evening for a long time.