The air inside the Gupta household did not flow; it suffocated. It was late afternoon, and the golden sunbeams filtering through the sheer curtains did nothing to warm the chilly, tense atmosphere of the master bedroom.

Punam Gupta sat like a hollow porcelain doll on the edge of her unmade king-sized mattress. Her silk salwar suit was wrinkled, her long hair tangled and uncombed, falling over her shoulders like a dark shroud. Her eyes, usually vibrant and sharp, were red-rimmed and utterly vacant, staring fixedly at a small, chipped ceramic tile on the floor. She was trapped in a deep, dark zone of grief—a numb state of shock brought on by a devastating breakup just two weeks prior. To Punam, the world had effectively ended, leaving her a ghost inhabiting a living body.