Ishani Verma stood in the grand living room of the Verma family mansion in Mumbai, adjusting the pleats of her yellow saree one last time. The delicate green blouse hugged her curves just enough to feel elegant yet feminine. Her mangalsutra rested lightly against her chest, the small black beads and gold pendant a constant reminder of her marriage. Green glass bangles tinkled softly on her wrists, matching the border of her saree. A streak of bright sindoor filled the parting of her hair, and small jhumkas dangled from her ears. Her payal chimed gently with every step, announcing her presence like a quiet melody no one truly listened to anymore.

At 35, Ishani had learned to survive rather than live in this house.