The chilly Manali night had completely wrapped the Sharma house in a profound, unshakeable stillness. Outside the heavy timber frame, fresh snow rested gently on the steep rooftops and wide deodar branches, transforming the landscape into a calm, almost dreamlike winter wonderland under the pale moonlight. Inside, however, the crackling warmth of the brick fireplace and the faint, sweet aroma of cardamom tea made the spacious living room feel incredibly cozy and secure.

The delicious dinner had ended a while ago, and the plates had long been cleared. Little Ruhi, after adamantly demanding one extra bedtime story from Kritika and fiercely rejecting everyone else’s attempts to make her sleep, had finally drifted off into a deep slumber. Now, she lay peacefully nestled in Kritika’s warm lap, her tiny, pale hand still tightly clutching the vibrant edge of her rose-colored dupatta, as though anchoring herself to her safe haven.