Puja had just turned eighteen the week the monsoons arrived in her small Indian town. She loved the way the rain painted everything wet and alive — the smell of the earth, the shimmering heat evaporating off rooftops, the hum of insects and the sighing of trees. But this year, the monsoon brought something else. Meera. Meera was the thirty-six-year-old widow who had recently moved into the big old bungalow next door. No k...