The red envelope wedged between his two digits fluttered like a wilted flower amidst the cold night breeze. The room was swathed with a heavy silence, teetering close to the breaking tension that was ultimately disrupted by a humorless laugh from Ratio himself.

His resigned disposition was a telltale sign in itself behind the contents of the letter. A congratulatory letter sent by the eminent IPC, a written piece that would undoubtedly evoke joy in a common man.

But not to him. Not to the genius who held himself in high regard, who spent days and years tirelessly refining his craft and distributing his findings to the masses.

The despondent state of someone who's self-assured and strident by default unnerved you, so much so it prompted you to intervene with the sole intention of supplying consolation.