“Ananya read the email at midnight. On the balcony. The September night — the monsoon's afterbreath, the air still humid but the humidity departing, the departing-humidity being September's particular gift to Pune: the first indication that the heat and the rain were ending and the winter was approaching and the approaching was the hope. She read the email and the email produced — not the old response. Not the stomach-dropping, the panic, the immediate compliance that Karan's communications had produced for twenty years. The email produced: anger.”