Drishan Sengupta 1 Every morning, the Yellow Line of the Delhi Metro was a theater of hurried footsteps, weary eyes, and the rustle of bags pressing against metal poles. Aarav Malhotra boarded the train with the air of someone who did not belong to the chaos around him—his crisp white shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers, his AirPods whispering music from some international chart-topper, his fingers idly scrolling through the latest Instagram updates. He stood tall, a brand-conscious silhouette amid the bustle, one sneakered foot tapping in faint irritation at the crowd pressing too close. At the opposite end of…