Mridul Sharma 1 Aditi Sharma stared at her laptop screen as if sheer willpower could make the pending presentation design itself, but the only thing her willpower achieved was making her eye twitch for the third time that week. The Gurgaon office was as loud as ever — colleagues banged away at keyboards like they were fighting off demons, someone’s phone blared a Bollywood remix ringtone on loop, and from the adjacent cubicle came the unmistakable sound of someone noisily slurping instant noodles. Aditi exhaled, rubbed her temples, and took a sip of her now-cold black coffee, its bitterness mirroring…