The monsoon had settled over Delhi like a thoughtful pause, a gray hush between thunder and traffic, making the city’s edges soft and reflective. In Government Senior Secondary School No. 4, the rain tapped a restless rhythm against cracked windowpanes as Aarav traced the outline of a small robot hand in his notebook, shading its joints with the stub of a pencil .“Equation seven,” Mrs. Nair said, chalk scraping the blackboard as if the board itself had bones to grind. “If the train leaves Mumbai at—”“It never leaves on time,” muttered Rafiq from the back row, to muffled laughter.Mrs. Nair turned,