The interview went better than expected. That was the problem. By the time I stepped out of the glass tower in Gurgaon, the streets had emptied like someone pulled a plug. My phone blinked—12% battery—as I scanned for cabs. Only one idled at the curb, its "Private" decal peeling at the edges.

Heat clung to my skin like a second layer, making the white cotton of my t-shirt stick in places I'd rather it didn't. I wasn't built for this humidity. At 5'4", my frame usually drew comments about being "petite," but right now, all I felt was the uncomfortable press of fabric against curves that suddenly seemed too pronounced. The AC inside had been brutal, and now my body betrayed me with every shallow breath—nipples peaked against the thin material, drawing a line even I couldn't ignore when I glanced down. My 28 waist and 36 bust had never felt like such a liability.