Goa, 1947 — Late afternoon. The warm afternoon breeze drifted through the open windows of a charming family home. The sitting room smelled of fresh jasmine, cardamom tea, and sweets prepared especially for the guests. Outside, the occasional bicycle passed along the sunlit street, while the distant sound of the sea blended with the neighborhood's everyday noise. Inside, however, one unfortunate man was fighting for his life. "Now, tell us something," the bride's younger sister asked, leaning forward with a suspicious expression. "Can you cook?" The groom blinked. "Well, I—" "That's a no," her sister concluded. "Do you get angry easily?" came the next question. "Not really." "How often do you visit other women?" The poor man nearly choked on his tea. Across the room, Karmadi pressed his lips together, struggling not to laugh. One of Raya's men suddenly found the ceiling extraordinarily interesting. Raya, meanwhile, was thoroughly entertained. He sat comfortably beside Ganga, watching the two younger sisters turn a formal marriage introduction into a full interrogation. His men had warned him that the bride's family was lively. Nobody had mentioned this. Ganga leaned toward him. "I think the groom is regretting his decision." "He's being questioned, not sentenced." "Give them another five minutes." The groom tried to recover some dignity. "I believe marriage is built on trust and mutual respect." "Good answer," one sister said, nodding seriously. "We'll ask the difficult questions later." Ganga laughed softly. Then Raya noticed the other younger sister. There was something about her presence that caught his attention immediately. Her confidence, her expressions, the way she seemed perfectly comfortable being herself. He found himself watching her longer than he intended. For a man who had spent years charming women with little effort, it was an unfamiliar sensation. His heartbeat quickened. He smiled. And kept smiling. Ganga glanced at him, then followed his gaze. A knowing expression slowly spread across her face. "Oh," she murmured. Raya did not look away. "What?" "Nothing, little brother." He finally turned toward her, suspicious. "Why are you smiling?" "Am I not allowed to smile in someone's house?" "You're being strange." "That's rich coming from you." Before Raya could answer, the bride's older voice joined the conversation, revealing a familiar family nickname. "Mango, don't interrogate the poor man too much. You'll scare him away before the wedding." Raya's eyebrows lifted slightly. Mango. He quietly repeated the name to himself, and the smile returned to his face. Ganga noticed that too. The groom, still sitting rigidly on the edge of his seat, looked desperately toward Raya as if hoping for some assistance. Raya simply leaned back, looking far too pleased with the entire situation. For the first time that afternoon, he was not particularly interested in the marriage being discussed. He had just discovered someone far more interesting.