The silence of the night had slowly enveloped the entire city. But an entirely different world seemed to have descended upon this empty fourth-floor rooftop. Across the vast sky, a massive full moon hung like a silver plate, bathing every corner of the terrace in its soft, pure, and gentle light.

We had spread an old cotton sheet on one side of the rooftop and sat down together. Far below us lay the twinkling lights of Kolkata, occasionally punctuated by the distant, indistinct sound of a car horn—yet none of that could touch this fourth-floor terrace. Up here, there were only two souls—Arnab on one side, and me on the other.