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“I’m going for a smoke.” Nilima stalked out of the office.

She made for the stairs, longing to put some distance between herself and Shwetha, and Poorna, and the office, everything that reminded her that she was useless, that she couldn’t get anything right. The stairs were dim, but her feet found their familiar way up to the narrow windowless landing. On her right was a closed shutter under another large blue sign like the one on the outside of the building, proclaiming that this was Jagdip Book House. A feeble wash of daylight from downstairs alleviated the darkness. Nilima switched on the overhead light and walked up the stairs.

She came to an abrupt stop on the second-floor landing. There was no shutter here, just an iron door to the upper floor of the bookshop.

There was something on the ground: a cloth with a dark pattern. She flicked on the overhead bulb. No, not just a cloth but a shirt, trousers, leather shoes – a body. Her eyes travelled up from the feet to the man’s face—the fleshy nose, thick eyebrows, greying hair. It was the owner of Jagdip Book House, his face frozen in an expression of horror and pain....

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