The Rooftop of Block C was bathed in the amber glow of a Sunday twilight. Meera sat on a wooden crate, adjusting a bright red canvas harness on a creature that looked less like a dog and more like a sentient, furry boulder.

This was Newton.

Named after the father of gravity by Meera—mostly because once Newton lay down, no known force in the universe could move him—he was a ninety-pound golden retriever mix with oversized paws, floppy ears, and a tongue that seemed structurally too large for his mouth. Newton generally viewed the human race with profound, aristocratic indifference. He ignored Kabir’s loud antics, ignored the neighborhood cats, and ignored his own tail.

Except for one person.

The heavy iron door of the terrace groaned open.

"Sigh..."

Newton’s ears instantly pulled back. His heavy, sleeping tail gave a single, thudding whack against the concrete. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of pure, unadulterated cosmic misfortune.

Bhaskar walked in, wearing a brand-new, crisp navy-blue windbreaker. He walked with his head down, staring intensely at the zipper.

"Do not look at the jacket, Kabir," Bhaskar warned in his slow, eulogy-like drone. "It is an optical illusion. I bought it to feel crisp. I bought it to feel waterproof. But the universe knew. It always knows."

Kabir, who was pouring lemonade into plastic cups, grinned. "What did the jacket do to you, Bhaskar?"

"The zipper," Bhaskar said, stopping dead in his tracks, his voice dripping with a heavy, rhythmic sadness. "It is stuck. Not at the bottom. Not at the top. Precisely at the mid-sternum level. I am trapped in a nylon cage of my own making. I had to pay my auto-rickshaw driver through the neck-hole because I couldn't reach my wallet. He thought I was a very polite magician."

Before Kabir could unleash his laugh, Newton moved.

For a ninety-pound dog who spent twenty hours a day simulating a rug, Newton accelerated with the terrifying speed of a localized avalanche. He didn't bark. He just emitted a low, joyful rumble, scrambled across the terrace, and launched his massive front paws directly onto Bhaskar’s chest.

Oof.

The impact sent Bhaskar stumbling backward, his back hitting the brick wall of the stairwell. Newton didn't care. He was ecstatic. He pressed his massive, furry wet nose directly into Bhaskar’s neck, pinning the helpless man to the wall, his tail thudding against the bricks like a metronome of pure chaos.

"Meera... sigh... your apex predator is consuming my face," Bhaskar droned, his voice muffled by golden fur. He didn't even try to push the dog off; he simply accepted his fate as a canine scratching post. "I can taste kibble. And despair."

Kabir lost it. He dropped the pitcher of lemonade onto the table, doubling over, his booming laugh echoing off the water tanks. "He loves you! Bhaskar, the dog chooses you every single time!"

Meera calmly opened her notebook, a bright spark of amusement in her eyes. "It’s a fascinating behavioral anomaly. Newton completely ignores the delivery guy, he barks at my father, but the moment Bhaskar enters a one-mile radius, his internal compass points directly to disaster."

"He doesn't love me, Meera," Bhaskar explained slowly, as Newton began to vigorously lick the stuck zipper of the new windbreaker, leaving a wide, glistening trail of drool across the navy-blue fabric. "He recognizes a kindred spirit. He knows I am structurally compromised. He is trying to claim me before the pigeons do."

"Look at the data, Bhaskar," Meera dryly noted, writing furiously. "Category: Fauna. Incident: Aggressive Canine Adoration. Drool volume: Substantial. You are legally his property now."

"He is validating my premium weather-resistant fabric," Bhaskar sighed, a deep, rumbling sound that actually made Newton wag his tail harder. "The jacket said 'water-resistant.' It did not say 'bovine-saliva-resistant.' My chest is now entirely biological velcro."

With a heavy grunt, Newton finally dropped back down to all four paws. But he didn't leave. Instead, he spun around twice and sat down directly on Bhaskar’s right shoe, pinning Bhaskar’s foot to the ground with ninety pounds of solid, unyielding affection.

Bhaskar looked down at his trapped foot, then at the massive streak of dog drool glistening under the fairy lights on his brand-new jacket. He let out another slow sigh, but the heavy, dark cloud over his head seemed a little less menacing.

Kabir wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and handed Bhaskar a plastic cup of lemonade. "Well, look at the bright side, buddy. You can't run away from your problems if Newton is sitting on your foot."

Bhaskar took a slow sip of the lemonade, looking down at Newton, who looked up at him with big, goofy, adoring eyes. A tiny, reluctant smile finally broke through Bhaskar’s gloomy expression.

"I suppose," Bhaskar murmured, his slow voice softening just a fraction, "if I am going to be held hostage by the universe... at least the captor is soft."