After the close call with Mumbai police, Priya and Arjun reach Goa under the cover of night. They hitch rides on trucks, sleep in bus stands, and finally arrive at a quiet stretch of north Goa beach—away from the loud tourist parties, just a small fishing village with palm trees, soft sand, and cheap bamboo huts rented by the month. No ID checks, cash only. Perfect.

They take the smallest hut—wooden walls painted faded blue, thatched roof, a small veranda facing the sea. Inside: one double bed with a mosquito net, a tiny kitchen corner, and an open-air bathroom with just a tap and bucket. The sound of waves is constant, like a heartbeat.