Nandini had never been one for nights out. Working as a junior accountant in the bustling city, she lived a quiet life in a shared apartment, sending most of her salary back to her family in the suburbs. But tonight, her colleagues had dragged her to 'The Pulse,' a trendy bar, for her 22nd birthday. 'Loosen up, Nan!' they'd teased, pushing shots her way. Tequila burned her throat, then cocktails--sweet, fruity mixes that masked the alcohol. By midnight, her friends had left with dates, and Nandini, giggly and unsteady, decided to cab home.

The cool night air hit her as she exited the bar, dress disheveled, makeup smudged. She flagged a cab, the yellow vehicle screeching to a halt. Manik, behind the wheel, eyed her in the mirror--long legs, ample cleavage from the low-cut dress, full lips parted in a drunken smile. 'Elm Street, yeah? Hop in.'