Natasha aka Nats, my Gen Z neighbour barged into my apartment as was her wont. Her eyes were lunar eclipses, a hint of teariness at the edge of her corneas… If ferocity could merge with forlornness, this was it. 

When Nats was in this mood, her voice went down to a whisper, Brando-like in “The Godfather”. It was my cue to remove all breakable and sharp objects.