Five years swept through the narrow, high-walled corridors of Shanti Sadan Orphanage like a bitter, unyielding wind.

By her twelfth year, Khwahish had transformed from a small, helpless child into a quiet, shadow-like figure who moved through the building with near-absolute silence. The baby fat on her cheeks had vanished entirely, replaced by sharp, high cheekbones and a hollow, guarded frame. Her skin remained the deep, earthy brown tone that made her stand out among the fairer children in the yard, and the raised, dark purple scar across her left brow and cheek had matured into a jagged, permanent reminder of the crash that had ended her life before it truly began.