Halfway through, the tone shifted. The rain outside intensified. Meera found an old letter in the shirt of Arjun’s she’d washed without thinking—an acceptance letter from an art grant he’d once won and never told her about. He listened to a voicemail from his estranged mother, her voice brittle with regret. They held each other for the first time like two people who've been traveling the same road in opposite directions and finally met at a crossroads.