The sound of clanging utensils pierced the early morning silence. Anaya Rathore tightened her shawl around her shoulders and stepped quietly into the kitchen. The winter morning crept through the cracked windowpanes, and the old floor tiles sent chills through her bare feet.

She had already finished mopping the floor and hanging the laundry before the rest of the house even stirred. Her daily routine—silent, thankless, mechanical.