The Sharma household woke to a dawn cloaked in heat, the air thick with the scent of turmeric and the faint clatter of Aradhya's chores in the kitchen. The courtyard, still bearing the faint stains of yesterday's puja, shimmered under the rising sun, its oppressive glare mirroring the weight of the family's expectations. Aradhya moved through her tasks with a weary precision, her hands raw from Meena's relentless demands—scrubbing the storeroom, washing linens in the river, reorganizing shelves. The bruises on her arms and back from Vijay's belt, though fading, ached with every motion, her heart a tangle of defiance and despair. I'm still here, she thought, stirring dal, but how much more can I bear?