"Us din us kamine ne meri jaan nikal di garage mein... itna dard tha ke mujhse chala nahi ja raha tha!" Ulfat gripped the phone, her voice a jagged whisper of complaint.

On the other end, Riya’s voice was tinged with a mix of curiosity and scandal. "Yar, but he’s so handsome... was it... did he at least live up to the hype?"

"Haan, theek tha bas," Ulfat replied, her tone dismissive as she shoved a pile of lace and worn cotton into her suitcase. She was never truly satisfied; the friction in the garage had been a distraction, a temporary escape from the hollow ache of her aunt’s death, but it wasn't enough.

"Are you sure about this, Ulfat?" Riya’s voice softened with genuine concern. "If you don't want to live with that relative, you can come to my place anytime, okay?"

"That’s really sweet, Riya, par main adjust kar lungi." Ulfat paused, staring at the empty walls of the apartment. "Wese bhi, main us se kabhi mili nahi hoon."

"Wait, for real? What if he’s some old, creepy pervert?"

"Nahi, nahi," Ulfat quickly countered, though a flicker of skepticism crossed her face. "Aunty uski hamesha tareef karti thi. He was her younger brother. Funeral par aya tha par main mil nahi payi—he left early and just sent the legal documents through his staff."

"Acha... matlab busy aadmi hai?"

"Haan, lagta toh yehi hai ke kaam ka junoon hai use. Young hai, work-oriented hai, aur aksar ghar par nahi hota. I’ll just chill and study in that big, empty mansion." Ulfat zipped her final bag with a decisive snap. "Ab main phone rakh rahi hoon, warna bus nikal jaye gi."

She clicked the phone shut and stood in the center of her childhood home. The silence was heavy.

With a deep breath, Ulfat began her transformation. She shed the loose, stained tank top the skin of her "wild" self and pulled on a plain, structured black dress. It was modest, high collared, and draped perfectly over her curves, hiding the fire she carried within. She straightened her hair until it fell like a dark, disciplined curtain down her back.

She looked in the mirror. She looked like the perfect, grieving ward. Classy. Sophisticated. Obedient.

She grabbed her bags and stepped out, the heavy 'thud' of the door locking behind her echoing like a final goodbye. She was headed to the world of Zaviyar a man who worked for the government, ran his businesses with iron discipline, and had no idea that the "quiet girl" arriving at his doorstep was the same one who had just left a trail of chaos in a dusty garage.