The only sounds piercing the heavy silence of the room were the faint, rhythmic whispers of Sakshi's drugged breathing. Each soft, shallow inhale was followed by a slow, nasal exhale that made her chest rise and fall unevenly under the thin cotton nightgown.

She lay sprawled on her back, limbs heavy and limp from the special medicine Raj had stirred into her nightly glass of milk. The potent mixture came from a wrinkled old herbalist in the back alleys on the outskirts of the city, who had promised it would "moist the soil" for his twisted desires.