
Wednesday, 6:45 p.m. The upscale yoga studio in Powai smelled of sandalwood incense and eucalyptus. Soft flute music drifted from hidden speakers. Mats were laid in neat rows—fifteen students already stretching, chatting quietly. Karan’s wife stood at the front—black leggings, cropped tank, hair in a high ponytail—smiling warmly as she welcomed everyone.
She spotted Karan near the back row—waved, surprised but pleased. “You came! First time in months.”





















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