I wake to the subdued light of my bedside lamp. The book I was reading has fallen open on my chest. Beside me, the bed is empty and cold, the blankets untouched.
What’s he doing?
Barefoot, I slip downstairs to see a long sliver of light spilling from the door of my Master’s office. Quiet as I can, I ease the door open, peering inside.
Sitting at his desk, his cheek propped on a fist, he’s reading some document in a manila folder. Beside him, the laptop screen casts light over a thick wedge of files and a notepad, scrawled with handwritten notes and figures. Many of the figures are crossed out in red, new figures appended by them.
As I watch, he puts down his pen and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his forehead. Then, heaving air, he replaces the glasses and continues reading.
“Aren
