I stumbled out of the club, the neon lights blurring into a hazy glow as the cool night air hit my flushed skin. I'm Ridhi, a 20-year-old college girl, just trying to have some fun with my friends at this wild party. The bass from the music still thumped in my chest, and the few shots of vodka I downed made my head spin delightfully. My short black dress clung to my curves, riding up a bit from all the dancing, and my heels clicked unevenly on the pavement as I waved down a taxi. The street was alive with the hum of the city at midnight, cars whooshing by, but I just wanted to get home to my tiny apartment and crash.

The yellow cab pulled up, and I slid into the back seat, giving the driver my address in a slurred voice. He was a middle-aged man, maybe in his forties, with a scruffy beard and tired eyes glancing at me through the rearview mirror. 'Night, bhaiya,' I mumbled, leaning back and closing my eyes. The taxi lurched forward, weaving through traffic, and I felt the familiar buzz of alcohol settling in, making everything feel loose and warm.