They finally had their own space. A small one-bedroom flat rented in a quiet lane off MI Road—third floor, no nosy neighbors, thick walls, blackout curtains. Rahul signed the lease in his name; Priya paid half in cash. No one knew. It was theirs— a hidden cage for their sickness.

They moved in on a moonless Sunday night. No furniture yet—just a new double mattress on the floor, white sheets, a single lamp, bottles of water and lube on the side. Priya arrived first—wearing a simple black slip dress, nothing underneath. Hair loose, no makeup, eyes shadowed with something darker than kohl. Hunger that looked like madness.