The monsoon rains lashed against the windows of Elara Choudhary’s apartment like a thousand angry fists. It was the kind of downpour that only Mumbai could offer—unforgiving, relentless, drowning the streets and suffocating the city in a thick, oppressive haze. The skyline, once a tapestry of neon lights and shimmering glass towers, was now reduced to dark shadows, barely visible through the curtain of rain that veiled everything. Elara stood by the window, her silhouette cast in sharp relief against the dim glow of the city outside. Her eyes were fixed on the distance, but she wasn’t seeing the city.