Freedom

Ahmedabad has a way of settling into one's bones without them realizing it. It isn't the kind of city that overwhelms with noise or dazzles with constant movement. Instead, it grows on a person quietly, like sunlight filtering through curtains every morning at the same time. Ira grew up in its steady rhythm—in mornings that began with temple bells echoing faintly through the neighbourhood and the comforting aroma of chai drifting from kitchen windows.

The vegetable vendors would call out in familiar tones, aunties would sweep their doorsteps while discussing last night's serial episodes, and the streets would slowly come alive under the golden heat of the Gujarat sun. Ahmedabad wasn't dramatic. It was dependable. And for nineteen years, it was everything she knew.