Morning arrived grey and heavy, the monsoon still pressing against the windows. The flat woke in stages—first the children stirring on their bedrolls, then Mausi’s voice from the main bedroom calling for tea, then the uncle’s low cough and the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.

Priya opened her eyes to the thin light and the immediate, sticky awareness of her father’s cum still drying on her inner thighs. The shorts she had slept in were ruined. A few feet away Rajesh was already sitting up on his mattress, banian slightly wrinkled, expression carefully neutral as he watched the household come alive. Their eyes met for a single charged second before Mausi appeared in the corridor, hair still loose, demanding to know why no one had put the kettle on.