When the city slept, Rohan was awake. He was barely nineteen, thin as a wire, with dust on his shirt and dreams in his eyes. Every morning he lifted sacks at a construction site, unloaded trucks, or did any labour work he could find. Whatever he earned went straight to the small one room house he shared with his old mother, father, and two younger sisters. Some nights he earned nothing. On those nights, he would quietly drink water, lie down on the floor, and let his stomach burn. His mother would ask, “Beta, khana kha liya?” and he would…