"We are going to do an exercise," Farah said. "Close your eyes." They hesitated, then complied. "Picture the person you are most annoyed with right now," Farah's voice was soft but commanding. "The one who nags you. The one whose voice grates on your nerves. The one you are withholding love from because they haven't met your conditions." Meera thought of her husband, who always left his wet towel on the bed. Aarav thought of his father, who called him every Sunday to ask about his savings. "Now," Farah said, "imagine getting a phone call at 3:00 AM. Imagine the voice on the other end telling you they are gone. Sudden. Massive. Irreversible." Meera frowned. Aarav twitched. "Don't open your eyes," Farah ordered. "Stay in that room. Imagine the house without them. The wet towel is gone. The bed is perfectly dry, forever. The Sunday phone call never comes. The phone is silent. The annoyance is gone. You have your perfect peace. You have your perfect space." A tear slipped out from under Meera's eyelid.