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"You fine?" Amritansh Pathak asked Vansh in a concerned tone. Vansh smiled and nodded. "Unscathed," he agreed. His head begged to differ. A decade ago, he would have shook this off and continued on, but today it was enough to convince him to put ice on his head. The concussion was certainly not mild. Or I'm just getting old, he thought. Pathak had persuaded Vansh to first cook and then discuss about the crossword and the data coming out of it. Vansh had cooked spaghetti and meatballs in about an hour and the two old friends ate with relish. For just a few hours, Vansh could pretend that he had taken the other path and became a commercial pilot. He would grow up, marry, have kids, grow old and then finally die, hopefully peaceful. But the point was that he had chosen a life which may
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