The campus of St. Mary's University was alive that morning — the kind of restless energy that came when the day had barely begun but every corner was already overflowing with movement. The faint hum of chatter, the scuffle of sneakers against marble floors, the rustle of notebooks — all fused together into a single melody of youth and urgency.

Among the sea of rushing students was Ayaanvi Rathore, a bundle of focus wrapped in a red shirt that caught sunlight every time she passed under a window. The shirt was neatly tucked into a pair of light blue bell-bottom jeans, the kind that swayed softly against her ankles as she hurried forward. Her black hair, neither too long nor too short, was tied into a loose ponytail that bounced with every step. A few strands had escaped, brushing across her cheekbones, glinting faintly under the morning light.