Evening light filtered softly through the curtains of the Agnihotri mansion. Wafa stood before the mirror, her fingers adjusting the hem of her black kurti. The fabric was plain, yet graceful, falling effortlessly over her frame. She paired it with loose baggy jeans— simple, comfortable, and nothing that drew attention. Her hair was left open, cascading in soft waves down her shoulders. She wasn’t dressing to impress anyone, she was dressing for strength.