I miss reading for leisure, I tell my friend. I am sitting on a bench, whose back is slightly broken and bent against a tree. A copy of Fleur Jaeggy’s ‘Proleterka‘ is on my lap. Behind me is a gorgeous sunset, just dipping into darkness. I keep switching the phone between my hands, because every two minutes the three layers of clothing collecting near my elbow cause an ache. It is chilly. Most would call it a pleasant day. No rain. ‘Lots of sun’. But my Indian elbows prefer the ache to the cold. I am dressed to stay outside till I finish my book, I explain. My poor attention span can barely stay still beyond five minutes. But reading is a muscle, I tell her. It is like riding a bicycle. All it needs is time. And opportunity, she reminds me. I wonder, though, if my failure to read stories is simply a result of a lack of time and opportunity. It does not feel like the loss of muscle memory anymore. It feels like I have lost a friend. Is this what academia does to you?