Here is the scene: Selvi sat at a small table in the cafe, hands clutching her camera, eyes fixed on the lens as if trying to make sense of the blurred landscape outside. Hunter, a rugged-looking man in his mid-30s, approached the table, his eyes scanning the space before landing on Selvi. "Ladies... um, excuse me," Hunter said, realizing Selvi didn't wear a name tag. "You're the one taking pictures of the town?" Selvi looked up, her dark eyes shifting uneasily as she began to speak in Hindi, "ਮੇਰੇ ਦਿਲ ਦੀ ਮੁਸીਬਤ ਹੋਈ ਹੈ। ਮੈਨੂੰ ਯਕੀਨ ਨਹੀਂ ਕਿ ਕੁਝ ਕੀਮਤੀ ਹੋਂਦ ਹੈ ਜੋ ਇਸ ਤੋਂ ਮੈਥੋਂ ਗਾੜੀ ਨਾਹ ਜਾਵੇा।" Hunter's expression faltered as he stared blankly at Selvi, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh?" he repeated, as if she had spoken a foreign language. Selvi, sensing his confusion, tried again in a softer tone, "ਵੱਖ-ਵੱਖ ਜਨਤਾ ਨੇ ਮੇਰੇ ਕੋਲ ਆਸ਼ਿਸ਼ਾਨਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੈ। ਸਿਰਫ ਕਿ ਫਿਰ ਮੇਰੀ ਮੁਹੱਈਏ ਛਿੜ ਗਈ ਹੈ। ਸਾਰੇ ਜੋ ਬੋਲ ਰਹੇ ਹੋਏ ਯਾਦ ਗੂਜ਼ੜ ਮਿੱਟੀ ਹੋ ਸਕਦੀ ਹੈ। ਮੀਂਹ ਵਾਲੀ ਸਦੀਆਂ ਪਿਛੋਂ ਫੇਰ ਮੇਰੇ ਲਈ... ਅਨਾਥਾ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਹੋਇਆ ਹੈ।" Hunter listened attentively, his face scrunched in concentration, trying to decipher the meaning behind Selvi's words. However, as he struggled to comprehend the situation, his phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, gotta go," Hunter muttered, extracting his phone. "I've got to take this." Selvi's eyes looked up, heartache washing over her face as she nodded reluctantly and murmured in Hindi, "ਡੱਬਾ।" (Their conversation ended abruptly as Hunter stepped away to answer the call, leaving Selvi to ponder on her loss.)