Sahana Iyer 1 The rain hit Pune like it meant to peel the city apart—needles of water carving through dust and metal as if the monsoon had something personal to prove. Meghna Deshpande stood at the edge of her balcony, her coffee cooling in her hand, watching the glassy sheen on the road below reflect a fractured world. Her morning had been like any other—emails, contractor calls, a delayed tender for a flyover near Shivajinagar—until the courier arrived. No sender, no company seal. Just a brown kraft-paper envelope, damp at the corners, addressed in shaky black marker to “Meghna Deshpande,…