The war room in South Block, New Delhi, was brightly lit against the encroaching darkness outside.
The late hour had drained the usual energy from the building, leaving only the distant hum of machines and the occasional creak of the aging structure to break the silence. The whole building seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
Inside, a group of India's top leaders sat around a long, polished table. The dim lighting obscured their faces, deepening the shadows in the room and adding to the serious atmosphere.
The tension was palpable, as if the walls themselves understood the gravity of the decisions being made.
Prime Minister Rohan sat at the head of the table, his posture stiff, his hands tightly clasped together.
His eyes, normally warm and expressive, had grown cold and hard, reflecting the immense pressure he was under. It was as though he believed he could hold the entire situation in place through sheer will alone.
