The door creaked open with a tired, reluctant breath, as though even the wood itself had grown used to the drama that routinely brewed within this room. Ananya stepped inside without knocking — an old privilege granted by years of friendship and unspoken license to invade Mahira’s chaos. Her almond eyes swept over the scene before her with the hollow calm of a woman who had once hoped for sanity and long since abandoned the idea.

Clothes.