Neel Arora Chapter 1. The rain came early that morning, the kind that thudded against the glass panes like soft drumbeats played by invisible fingers, and the Mumbai skyline, always blurred by smog, looked gentler beneath the wash of monsoon grey. Inside the sleek glass-and-concrete confines of the Bandra Reclamation office, the world was dry, clinical, fluorescent-lit, and buzzing with the soft hum of deadlines. Aarav Mehta didn’t notice the rain at first. He barely noticed anything outside the four walls of his office anymore. At thirty-two, he had earned the corner space with the sea view, the massive teak…
