Ananda Mukherjee was, by all accounts, a contented man. At forty-two, he was a respected physics professor at a reputable college in Kolkata. He loved teaching—the thrill of breaking down complex theories into sparks of wonder for his students never grew old. At home, his world was quieter but fuller: his wife, Sreya, an English teacher at a nearby school, and their nine-year-old son, Rohan, whose endless questions kept Ananda both exhausted and delighted in equal measure. Life was comfortable, routine. Morning classes, late afternoons filled with research papers and student queries, and evenings at home with family. And yet, there was one part of his life that broke the monotony, one friendship that rekindled his own boyish fascination with science—his bond with Anirban. Anirban was his colleague, his confidant, and in many ways, his second self. Unmarried, orphaned young, he lived alone in a crumbling two-storeyed house left behind…
By Sayan Sarkar
