Summoning what little courage she had left, Roop grasped the hem of her kurti, the simple cotton fabric bunching awkwardly in her trembling fingers. The coarse material felt foreign against her clammy skin.

Her hands shook so violently that she could barely control them as she began to remove it, the vibrant colours of the garment seeming to mock her vulnerability. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, each gasp a testament to her fear and despair, a desperate plea trapped in her throat.