Srinagar, May 17 -- It was just after noon when I stepped into the shrine. The scent of rosewater and the faint rustle of prayer threads filled the air. People came and went with folded hands and hurried footsteps. She was sitting by the carved window, her dupatta slipping, eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly.

At first, I thought she was praying. But then I noticed: she was whispering, as if speaking to someone just out of sight.

That's how I met Naina.

We didn't speak right away. I sat near her and waited. A minute passed. Then another. She opened her eyes and glanced sideways.

"Do you believe in saints?" she asked.

I said, sometimes.

She gave a dry laugh. "I come here to complain. Not to worship."

And slowly, like someone turnin...