The skies of our relationship had just cleared, allowing an unfiltered, exquisite tide of light to stream through. On the night marking six months of our marriage, Arnab-babu—my husband, Arnab Singhania—had shattered every icy wall of his reserved demeanor and strict rules to grant me the ultimate claim of his love. "YOU ARE MINE"—those three words issuing from the depths of his chest, along with the gold letter 'A' engraved on the locket around my neck, felt permanently intertwined with my very existence. But as humans, our shared life is hardly a frozen image in a fairy tale. Thus, no sooner had we crossed one ocean of joy than I found myself standing before a new crossroads the very next morning.

It was ten o'clock that morning. Having finished my classes, I was walking down the departmental corridor toward the library. Noticing a small crowd of classmates gathered in front of the notice board, my curiosity was piqued. Pushing through the crowd, my eyes locked onto a blue notice pinned right in the center.