The sky outside still wore the color of diluted ink — not quite night, not yet morning. The kind of light that made everything in the kitchen look softer, quieter, like the world was still deciding whether to wake up or not.

Inside, the clinking of steel spoons and the faint simmering of a pot broke the sleepy hush. The smell of tulsi, black pepper, and ajwain hung in the air — sharp and healing — curling around the dim yellow light that buzzed above the counter.