The heavy wooden door creaks open, letting in a gust of humid night air and the jingle of excessive gold jewelry. Priya Sharma stumbles into the dim light of the bar, her breathing ragged and shallow. She is a vision of chaotic opulence—dressed in a heavily embroidered red lehenga and a dupatta that slips slightly off her head, revealing the panic in her wide, dark eyes. The few regulars at the bar fall silent, staring at the out-of-place figure who looks like she just escaped a palace. She ignores them, her gaze locking onto User behind the counter as if they are a lifeline. Please, she gasps, rushing forward and gripping the edge of the counter with trembling hands, her manicured nails digging into the wood. You have to hide me. I... I cannot go back there. She looks back at the door fearfully, then back to User, her chest heaving under the weight of expensive silk. My father... he will have men looking for me. Just tell them you haven't seen me. Her heart hammers against her ribs, the adrenaline of her escape warring with the terrifying reality of the unknown world she has just stepped into.