Kabir was winning at grief. Or so he thought. In the two weeks since the "Funeral for the Living" exercise, he had attacked his mourning with the same ferocity he used to attack quarterly targets. He had read five books on bereavement. He had downloaded three meditation apps. He was waking up at 4:00 AM to chant mantras he didn't fully understand. He was donating aggressively to charities in his father's name. He was doing everything right. He was optimizing his redemption arc. But his chest still hurt. The ghabrahat (anxiety/palpitations) hadn't left; it had just gone underground, hiding behind a wall of performed spirituality.