Mr. Sen carried a large blanket over his shoulder and with the other hand he held a can of beer; he saved the last one for any unfathomable emergency he could face. Mr. Sen wasn't an alcoholic, at least that's what he kept telling himself after every bottle, every single night. One could sympathize with him, albeit, his career took a toll on his heavy body, his short, bulky neck, tea bags around his eyes, displayed every passerby of his nocturnal sleeping habits and late working hours. In almost surreal contrast, Zoya stood lavishly beside Mr. Sen; her eternal youthful body with the firmness of a fully grown woman was almost intoxicating to the eyes. She was an interior designer, but her job never demanded her to abuse her sleep or her health in any manner; she always found a right balance between her passion and her hedonistic lifestyle; ignoring precisely things that could potentially ruin her immaculate sculptured life. Biju with his eternal pursuit of alluring wealth, also with his pursuit of a single well-crafted distraction made the thick walls of their marriage a bit more tolerable. Opening the door to his room, he looked down the aisle, wishing that the woman on beach materialize somehow, but the corridor was quiet as an abandoned house, and he felt stupid. He sighed, entering the room only to hear the inevitable whining of his wife. Her perfect hair now opens in…