Kunal Sinha 1 It was a humid, sticky evening in Kolkata when Maya Sengupta first noticed something was amiss. The streets outside her apartment were bathed in the warm golden light of the streetlamps, but the stillness of the night felt heavy, almost suffocating. The only sounds that punctuated the silence were the occasional honk of distant cars and the rustling of the trees swaying under the breeze. Maya had just finished her work for the day and was sipping on a hot cup of tea when her phone rang. The sudden noise startled her. It was late — too…
