In the months leading up to the promise, Megha lived in the silver glow of the moon. Every night, she would stand by her window, tracing the stars of the Dudhganga (the Milky Way), wondering if Sudarshan was looking at the same constellations from his distant capital. At midnight, she would press her palm to the floor, whispering a prayer to Mother Earth to hold her steady until the day arrived. Then, the morning of the year-mark finally dawned. Megha didn’t wait for the sun to hit its zenith. Driven by a heart that had been beating in a countdown