"You didn’t buy avocados," she says.

6:15 PM. The western sun has abandoned its assault on the balcony glass. Inside Apartment 4B, the air conditioner clicks off. The day’s last ritual begins.

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The sofa has a permanent dip where Rajesh sits. His mother’s katha (religious storybook) is tucked under the cushion. The Wi-Fi router is hidden inside a brass urli (traditional bowl) filled with fake flowers. The gods have been optimized for bandwidth.

Then she returns to the small wooden swing. The city outside is still awake — horns, prayers from a distant mosque, the thud of a night gym.

"You didn’t tell me you were coming home for dinner," Kavita replies, without heat.

Her phone buzzes. Her mother, from the village in Punjab: "Phone kyun nahi uthaya? Sab theek hai?"

"Did you buy curd?" Rajesh asks, not looking up.