“Gauri counted. She had been counting since the first night — the first night without the dream, a Sunday, the Sunday after Diwali, the Sunday when she had gone to bed with Arun beside her and Moti at the foot and the diyas still burning in her memory and had slept through to five AM and had woken not to the wolf but to the tube light in the bathroom (Arun, awake before her for once, the bladder of a seventy-year-old man being the alarm clock that no app could match) and had lain in bed and thought: the wolf didn't come.”