Meera was nineteen, in her second year of college, struggling with economics and political science. Her parents, both working professionals who left early and returned late, decided she needed extra help. They placed an advertisement and soon hired Mr. Dixit, a retired professor of sixty-five who had taught at a local university for decades. He arrived the first evening carrying a worn leather bag, smelling faintly of old books and tobacco. His hair was thin and white, his face lined, his eyes sharp behind thick glasses. He spoke softly, with the measured patience of a man used to command.

“You have potential, Meera,” he said that first day, sitting across the dining table while her mother served tea. “I can see it. With the right guidance, you will score high in the coming exams. Your parents expect nothing less.”