Tushar Samanta 1 The leash still hung on the wooden peg behind the door—looped neatly, as if Bruno might return any moment and nose it with the soft thump of his tail. But the house knew better. It echoed differently now, like it, too, had fallen silent since Sukrit stopped speaking. The once-lively mornings, when Bruno’s barks woke up the sleepy sun and Sukrit raced him to the kitchen for treats, had been replaced by a strange stillness. The boy who used to talk to butterflies and name the clouds had now become a shadow in his own home. He…