Kabir Sanyal Part 1 It all started with a sandwich. Not the fancy kind with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes, but a simple, over-grilled aloo tikki sandwich that arrived with the wrong name scribbled on the delivery bag. To Ritu. Nayan stared at it, confused. He had ordered a classic cheese sandwich, and his name, in bold caps, was clearly Nayan. But the delivery guy was already halfway down the stairs, humming a Punjabi tune. Nayan sighed and peeled the sticker. Hunger won. Five buildings away, a woman named Ritu sat cross-legged on her balcony, staring into her phone with equal…