It all started with a small argument between him and his parents which lingered on to take ugly dimensions. Poor parents had done nothing but turned the mirror towards his self, to show him what he was actually up to. Out of combined action of rage and despair, Jeet, would storm out of his house and would not return until the lapse of quite a few hours and collective strength of his friends. Hours of persuasion and request from us would find no avail, whatsoever, on his then delusional being. Eventually, he had to be hustled into our house at 2'O clock in the midnight by great means of collective physicality. Splashes of water, sweet reassuring words from my mother and edibles in form of biscuits and more would calm his jittery nerves down and lull him deep into slumber. There, on my bed, he lay flat, to achieve emotional, physical, and mental respite until he was taken away at 7 in the morning by his mother. Such a theatrical performance, Jeet.
