Priya stood there with her arms crossed tight across her chest, her brow furrowed deep like she was trying to solve a tricky riddle.
She wasn't one to back down easy—everyone knew that about her. "My calculations show 100 ml per hour is optimal for this setup," she said, her voice firm but not angry, just confident in her plan.
"And those bubbles? They're still within the safe threshold. If I slow it down now, we'll extend the whole procedure by at least 20 minutes, and Mr. Rossi's already been here long enough. I don't want to drag this out for him."
But even as she spoke, she glanced back at the pump, her eyes narrowing as she watched the pressure gauge tick up just one more point, from 22 to 23.
It wasn't a huge jump, but it was enough to make her pause.
And those bubbles—they weren't just sitting there anymore; they were starting to chain together, like tiny links in a necklace, building up in the filter. She bit her lip under her mask, rethinking it all.
