The dormitory at Asha Kiran was a vast, cavernous space that seemed to swallow sound whole.

Occupying the second floor of the aging stone building, the high-ceilinged hall was lined meticulously with sixteen iron cots. During the late afternoon, heavy gold light filtered through a row of high arched windows, casting long, geometric shadows across the polished red-stone floor. Dust motes drifted lazily through those sharp shafts of sun, suspended in a slow, unhurried rhythm that felt entirely foreign to the frantic pulse beating within Khwahish's chest.