Sanchit's face was enlivened with anger. Myra had never seen him so furious before. She dared not talk about the incident; she dared not say anything. She was quiet throughout their journey back home.
At home, she went straight to her room while Sanchit went to his study. She heard sounds of music until late in the night. Music was Sanchit's opium and a stress reliever. Today it was going to ease his mind.
The next morning, Myra met him over breakfast. He was punctual and quiet. "What is your POA for the day?" she asked gently.
"Meetings." He was curt. Myra knew through experience that one-word replies were an indication of a lingering bad temper. She would not hazard further probing or discussion.
"When do you leave for classes today?" Sanchit asked
"In half an hour."
"I'll drop you, wait for me in the car." Saying so Sanchit went to his room.
