She didn’t sit immediately.Instead, she walked slowly around the room, her fingers brushing the table, the window frame, the edge of the notebook—as if touching memories rather than objects.“This house hasn’t changed,” she said softly. “It remembers better than people do.”I watched her closely. Up close, the resemblance was impossible to ignore. The same eyes. The same pause before speaking, as if choosing words carefully.“You’re Anaya Sen,” I said.She nodded once.“I wondered when you’d learn the name.”We sat facing each other, the space between us filled with things neither of us had said yet. Outside, the river continued its steady