Arnav and Trisha stood in the kitchen with a basket of tomatoes trapped between them, both holding it tightly as if their lives depended on that single handle. Neither of them was actually picking tomatoes. They were too busy pulling the basket toward themselves with fierce determination, eyes narrowed, shoulders stiff, and faces screaming loyalty.

Beside them, Abhimanyu leaned against the counter, utterly exhausted. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled even more slowly, as though reminding himself that violence over vegetables was not socially acceptable. His expression shifted between disbelief and silent suffering.