Kaustabh Ahuja Chapter 1 Winter 2025. Delhi lay shrouded under a gray, choking blanket of smog, a toxic haze so thick it swallowed the city whole. The usual morning bustle of Chandni Chowk—hawkers setting up their stalls, bicycles weaving between the crowd, the faint aroma of parathas sizzling on iron griddles—was muted, filtered through the oppressive gray. Visibility was no more than five meters; familiar buildings, ancient havelis, and neon signs disappeared into an opaque whiteness. Pedestrians coughed violently, their scarves drawn up to cover faces, eyes squinting through the haze, wary of every step. Amid this chaos, a man…