Oxford in the morning looked like an old oil painting come to life, but for Laksh Malhotra, it was a high-speed obstacle course of potential disasters. He stood at the entrance of the St. Anne’s dormitory at precisely 8:15 AM. His watch ticked with a mechanical heartbeat, every second feeling like a warning.

In his mind, he was running a dozen simulations:
Simulation 1: She trips on the high steps.
Simulation 2: Someone tries to talk to her in the quad.
Simulation 3: She smiles at a stranger, and he has to restrain himself from becoming a criminal.