November in Lucknow had a particular stillness not silence, but a slow, thoughtful kind of quiet. The city had begun to wrap itself in layers. Mornings came with fog that rested low over the Gomti River, and evenings carried the smell of burnt sugarcane, chai, and wood smoke. Somewhere between the old-world charm of Hazratganj and the faded modernity of Gomti Nagar, the National Law College stood not ancient, not new, but caught in its own idea of prestige.
On that campus, where ambition hung heavier than winter air, Meera moved softly.
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