𝟐𝟒. ɢᴀʀʙᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ

The colony main gate looked unusually alive that evening.

The sodium streetlight flickered like it always did—half working, half tired—casting uneven yellow patches on the road. Somewhere a dog barked lazily, children ran past holding sparklers left over from Navratri evenings, and faint garba beats from a distant ground floated through the air like a promise of chaos waiting to happen.