Above them, monsoon-gray clouds hung low over the water tanks and fluttering laundry lines. The rooftop smelled of wet dust waiting for rain. Vivaan climbed the last step with the little metal can, his blue sandals slapping softly.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Papa looked at his phone, and his kind, ready smile slipped away. “Just one quick work call, champ,” Vivek said.

Vivaan’s fingers tightened around the handle. He set the can beside a cracked pot with a small clink and stared at the darkening sky.