He looked at the empty chair by the window where his father used to sit, watching traffic. He used to hum old Kishore Kumar songs, off-key. Hmm-hmm-hmmm… Kabir used to hate that humming. “Dad, please, I’m working.” Now Kabir squeezed his eyes shut, begging his auditory cortex to hallucinate that sound. Please hum. I won’t stop you. I’ll listen. I’ll sing with you. Just one note. But the silence held. The expensive, noise-canceling windows did their job too well. Kabir curled up on his father’s bed, still wearing his suit, shoes digging into the pristine sheet. The CEO, the hustler, the main character dissolved. All that was left was a frightened child in a room full of objects that had lost their meaning. He understood then: Grief is not only an emotion. It is biology. It is the body trying to function in a world that no longer has oxygen.