Seven days had passed since he left and one more week, she told herself. The house, though bustling with the quiet rhythm of family life, felt emptier without his presence. Niyati had slowly returned to her routine, finding solace in the familiar embrace of her art studio. Over the past month, she had poured herself into a single painting—a delicate depiction of Radha and Krishna, every brushstroke carrying a fragment of her heart. Two days ago, it was finally complete. Holding it in her hands, she felt a quiet pride and satisfaction. The exhibition was a week away, and though she had always hesitated to sell her paintings, she reasoned that if the sale could support an NGO, it would give her attachment a meaningful purpose. Still, letting go of this particular piece felt like a small ache in her chest.