"Huh, so it was you, Hasmuk?" I said to my cat, who was sitting right on my chest, his whiskers twitching. "Didn't I tell you not to jump on me in the morning?"
"Meow, meow, meow, meow."
It honestly felt like he understood me. I chuckled as I gently lifted him off.
Sunlight was slipping in through the small window, casting soft golden lines across the dusty floor. My flat was quiet — just a single small room. No bed, just a mattress on the floor. The old ceiling fan creaked as it spun, its unsteady wobble creating a rhythmic thuk-thuk-thuk above me. I could hear the faint clinking of utensils — probably the neighbor washing dishes. The air smelled faintly of detergent and leftover rice.
"Huh… it's Monday. I'll have to go to college today," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "I really need to find a part-time job soon, or I won't survive in this city much longer."
My father's voice echoed in my head, harsh and sharp like it always was.
"You want to live outside? Waste time partying? Is that why we spent so much money preparing you for entrance exams?"
That's what he had said when I told him I was tired of living at home.
"Dad, I can't take it anymore. I'm suffocating in that house. I'll only go to college if you let me live alone. I can't deal with your overprotectiveness anymore."
"You want to live alone? Then go. But don't come running to us for money. Handle your own expenses."
His words rang in my ears like an old alarm clock that wouldn't stop.
No point standing around thinking about all that. I had to get ready.
I took a quick shower, then started making breakfast. The tiles in the kitchen were cold under my bare feet. I gave Hasmuk his food, and scooped out a little extra in another plate for later. Got dressed. Brushed my hair quickly with my fingers.
I looked into the small mirror near the window.
Well… not bad, I guess.
Then I picked up my phone and checked the time.
"Ahhh! 8:30?! I'm so dead."
Panicked, I grabbed my college bag, threw on my slippers, and rushed to the door. I was locking it when—
"Hello, Mr. Sharma."
A soft voice came from the right.
I slowly turned my head.
Oh. It was just the lady from the flat next door.
I really need to cut down on horror movies. I'm becoming too dramatic.
"Hello, Mrs… Mrs. Ayesha? If I'm not wrong?" I said, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were deep black and calm. She wore a neat red saree with a brown blouse — elegant, but a little revealing.
"Good morning, Mr. Sharma," she said with a warm smile. "And actually, it's Ayisha, not Ayesha."
"Oh, sorry. I'm not very good with names."
"Haha, that's alright. Still at home? Haven't gone to college yet?"
"Yeah… ended up oversleeping a bit."
"Oh really? I hope we weren't too loud last night. I mean… did we disturb your sleep?"
"Loud?" I blinked. "Oh! Oh no, not at all. It wasn't because of you. I just had a weird dream. That's all."
She paused, then leaned in slightly, her voice softer now — almost a whisper.
"Weird dream, huh? Do you know what date it is today? It's the 9th. I once heard a baba say that dreams seen on the 9th often come true."
I laughed. "Haha, I know I watch too many horror movies, but even I think that sounds a bit absurd."
"Haha, fair enough," she smiled. "I don't believe in babas either. Anyway, I should go. And you better hurry, or you'll get late."
"Right. See you, then. Bye."
I turned and walked toward the lift. The corridor had just one dim bulb flickering above, giving off a yellow, sickly glow. The deeper I walked, the darker it got. The air smelled musty — a mix of damp cement and incense from some apartment nearby.
I reached the elevator and pressed the "G" button. It was on the 19th floor and coming down slowly.
I waited.
My thoughts wandered back to Ayisha. She was easily fifteen years older than me, yet she talked so casually — almost like we were the same age. Sometimes, I wondered if she was… trying to be more than just friendly. She had once shared intimate details about her sex life like it was nothing. Her husband barely came out of their flat. I'd seen him maybe once.
People say we shouldn't judge others so easily. And they're right. But judgment comes naturally to us, doesn't it? Maybe that's why I'd formed this mental image of her that I shouldn't have.
Ding.
The lift arrived.
The doors slid open.
Inside, three people stood — two men and a woman. Between them lay a body, covered in white cloth, resting on a stretcher.
My breath caught for a moment.
A dead body.
I didn't recognize any of them — maybe because I'd only recently moved in. I stepped inside, standing quietly to the side.
"Raam naam satya hai… satya bolo satya hai…"
They chanted the words softly, even inside the elevator. A phrase heard only during funerals. I had never been so close to a dead body before. Never seen one.
Something about that moment made my skin crawl. Not fear… just a strange stillness.
Curiosity — that irritating, unstoppable instinct — kicked in.
My hand moved on its own.
I gently lifted the white cloth just a little from the man's face.
And froze.
Same round face. Same thick mustache, like Jethalal. Same heavy body.
The face…
It looked exactly like the fat man from my dream.
How is this possible? According to science, we only see familiar faces in dreams — people we've seen at least once in real life.
Was this just a coincidence?
Before I could think any further, the elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened with a metallic hiss.
They stepped out with the body.
I waited a few seconds, letting them move ahead, then stepped out myself.
Our building was strange — the lift opened directly onto the main road. No lobby. No front gate. Just ten steps to the right was the local bus stop.
I walked over and waited.
The early morning air was warm already, carrying the smell of burning rubber and tea from a nearby stall. My shirt clung slightly to my back — the kind of sticky heat that made everything feel slower.
Soon, the bus arrived. I got on.
The bus doors hissed shut behind me. A hundred meters never felt longer—my slippers slapped wet pavement as the college gate loomed like a prison sentence.
It dropped me near my college, about a hundred meters from the main gate.
The time was exactly 9:00 AM.
I looked at my phone and broke into a run.
I reached the gate, panting. The guard gave me a sharp look, as if I were a ghost walking in from nowhere.
People never change.
The college ground was empty. Everyone was already in class.
I ran across the corridor and stopped at my classroom door.
"May I come in, sir?" I asked, still catching my breath. Our professor was writing on the board, dressed in his usual white shirt and black checkered pants.
The whole class turned to look at me.
"Haha… late again," someone whispered.
The murmurs began.
"Silence! I didn't ask anyone to comment," the teacher snapped.
Then he turned to me.
"Mr. Rudra! Do you own a watch, or do you tell time by the sun's shadow—like a caveman?"
The class chuckled quietly. My ears burned.
"No sir. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."
"You say that every day. Huh. I'm not in the mood to argue. Just go to your seat."
"Thank you, sir."
I hurried inside, avoiding everyone's eyes. The class had three rows with multiple columns. My seat was in the second-last column, corner spot. I rushed over and sat down, sliding into my chair like I was trying to disappear.
Oh god. This is embarrassing.
The two idiots sitting behind me were snickering.
"Look at this dumbass, always shows up late," one of them whispered to the other.
Since it's only been a month since college started, I still don't know everyone's name. I don't even know these two idiots' names.
After I finally sat down, I could still feel the stickiness of sweat under my shirt. The bench was cold, slightly rough, and the ceiling fan above buzzed faintly. The smell of old markers and damp wood lingered in the air. Somewhere behind me, pages rustled and pens clicked, but the classroom still felt oddly dull—like it hadn't woken up yet.
Huff... huff...
Wait, what's that smell?
It was faint but familiar—subtle, earthy, almost like sandalwood. I turned slightly to my right. Sitting beside me was a tall guy, easily around 6'5", with a deep brown skin tone. His focus was on the whiteboard, but as soon as he noticed me looking at him, he turned his head slightly.
"You should focus on the board instead of staring at me. You're already late," he said quietly.
"Yeah... you're right. Sorry for disturbing you," I replied, a little embarrassed.
"It's okay. Just pay attention now," he said, turning back toward the board.
I tried focusing. Today, the professor was teaching us fluid mechanics. God knows when this class will end—it was boring as hell. My eyes kept wandering around the room. I glanced above the whiteboard at the old wall clock. The ticking was uneven, like it was tired of existing.
One of the top engineering colleges in India, and we can't even afford a new clock? Tightwads.
My eyes drifted again... and landed on her.
Kritika.
Second row, second seat from the left.
God, she looks beautiful today.
Light brown skin, perfect brown eyes, a small nose, a sharp jawline—model-like beauty. I've never had a girlfriend before, but I wish she was mine.
Wait—no. That sounds wrong. She's not some object that can be "mine."
I wish she was with me.
Yeah... that sounds better.
Wait a second. Am I talking to myself?
Oh god... I'm literally monologuing in my head.
This is what happens when you've been alone for too long.
I kept staring, probably for longer than I should've, because the guy next to me nudged me.
"If you keep staring like that, people are going to think you're a creep."
I immediately pulled my eyes away from Kritika and looked at him.
"Uh… thanks for the warning, but I wasn't looking at her."
"Oh, c'mon. I know that look. You like her, don't you?"
My heart skipped a beat. I scrambled for a response.
"N-no! I mean—not really—"
I couldn't stop smiling. It was stupid and uncontrollable. I always do that when I'm nervous or embarrassed—just smile like an idiot.
"You don't need to hide it from me. I know what love looks like," he said softly, careful not to let the professor hear.
To be honest, I didn't have anything to say to that. I just smiled again like some awkward high schooler.
"There's no shame in being attracted to someone. It's not a crime. And besides—who doesn't like her? Almost every guy in class has a crush on her. It's normal," he added, pausing between sentences.
Oddly, his words made me feel a little better—but also a bit... hollow.
So I'm just part of the herd now.
First, my dad shoved me into this endless race of competition. Then he killed my passion—cricket—before it could even take off. And now I'm just another faceless guy in the crowd drooling over the same girl as everyone else.
I know I'm not the main character in some movie or novel, but somewhere deep inside, I like to think I'm different.
Maybe that's just standard human delusion.
While I was lost in thought, the guy beside me spoke again.
"What happened? You look like you're spiraling. Chill, man. It's not that deep."
"Yeah... you're right. Thanks," I said.
"No worries.
By the way, your name is Rudra, right?"
"Yeah. I'm Rudra. And you're... Mohi... Mohikaa or something? Sorry—I'm terrible with names," I said, flashing that same embarrassed grin.
"Haha! Wow. Yeah, I can tell you suck at remembering names," he laughed. "It's Mohit. Mohika? Seriously? That sounds like a girl's name."
"Sorry, my bad," I chuckled.
Just then—
"Mohit. Rudra. Stand up!"
The professor's voice cut through the air like a switchblade.
"I've been watching you both chatting away for a while now."
His tone was firm and sharp—completely different from his usual half-dead teaching voice.
To be continued.......