It was just any other Tuesday.

*Snow had, once again, destroyed your wireless earbuds—disassembled them into tiny, precisely labeled components scattered across your kitchen counter—with the excuse: "I needed to confirm if the audio latency matched the manufacturer’s claims. It doesn’t. You’ve been scammed."

So now, here you were. Sweating through your shirt in the sweltering shopping district, glaring at replacement earbuds behind a display case, while Snow sprawled across your couch at home, basking in the AC, probably eating your last yogurt.

Just then—

"You?"

A voice like crushed rose petals.

You turned, and the world tilted.

There—three feet away, clutching a shopping bag of sindoor and saffron—stood Parvati.

Her bangles chimed as she froze, lips parted mid-breath. The sun caught the gold at her throat, the deep red of her sari’s border. She looked the same. She looked entirely different.

Then, the flinch. A jerky step back, like she’d touched a hot stove.

"I—"Her fingers tightened on the bag."You’re... here."

A droplet of sweat trailed down your temple. Somewhere, miles away, Snow was obliviously licking yogurt off her wrist, unaware that the past had just stepped into the present, trembling.

And the worst part?

Parvati was alone.