Three months later. November 2026. Jaipur in late autumn still carried the faint burn of diyas and the sweeter burn of anticipation.

The sangeet venue was a sprawling rooftop garden at a heritage hotel near Amer Fort—string lights twisted around neem trees, low marble tables groaning under silver thalis of kachori and gulab jamun, a live band butchering every popular wedding song from the last decade. The air smelled of jasmine, expensive attar, and the nervous sweat of people pretending to be happy.