The soft call of the Fajr azan brushed against Layla’s senses like a distant echo, pulling her out of a shallow, uncomfortable sleep. Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she stared blankly at the hazy pre-dawn sky. As her awareness caught up with her, a sharp chill ran down her spine. Her limbs ached, stiff and sore. The cold marble beneath her had left a biting imprint on her body. She had fallen asleep on the balcony.

Her dupatta had slipped from her head, pooling around her shoulders like a fallen shroud. Slowly, wincing as her body protested, she sat up and gathered it back around her. Quietly, she stepped inside the room again. The other girls were still asleep, tucked in warm beds, breathing gently under soft blankets.