The evening in Patna was soft and quiet. The sky was painted in shades of orange and purple, and the air carried a gentle coolness. The city slowly grew silent as twilight wrapped around it like a velvet shawl. The sound of temple bells echoed softly in the distance.

Anjali sat alone on the wide stone steps of the ISKCON temple. Her dupatta had slipped loosely from her head and rested around her shoulders. Her mehndi-stained hands lay still in her lap, fingers slightly trembling. Her eyes were open, but her mind was far away. The chants inside the temple and the sweet fragrance of sandalwood incense could not reach her heart.