16-05-2025, 12:42 PM
Chapter 5 - The House's hidden Secret
The house felt like a tomb once Dhristi left. The bed was a cold, empty cavern, and the kitchen, which had been filled with the aroma of her cooking, was now just a room with cold appliances. I tried to throw myself into work, hoping that the familiar rhythm would dull the ache of her absence.
The text message she had sent hung over me like a dark cloud, heavy with the weight of her sadness. "Reached home, need to take a break, no call please." Her words were a dagger to my heart, a silent scream echoing through the emptiness of our once-happy home.
For the first few days, I tried to respect her space. I threw myself into work, staying late at the office to avoid the oppressive silence that filled the house. I told myself that she needed time to heal, that she'd come back to me when she was ready.
I realized that I had never really learned to cook; in Mumbai, the cheap eateries had been a lifeline for me. But now, without Dhristi's warm, delicious food, those greasy restaurant food held no allure. I decided it was time to learn how to cook.
The first day was a disaster. I tried to make a simple dal-chaval, but the rice was sticky, and the dal was burnt. I stared at the plate, my stomach growling in protest, and laughed bitterly. I missed Dhristi's cooking. With a sigh, I grabbed my wallet and headed to the nearest restaurant.
The following days, however, brought a strange sort of liberation. With Lakhan Chand out of town, the office was quieter, and the air less suffocating. The freedom of working from home allowed me to breathe easier, with files strewn across the floor. The quiet was a welcome relief from the office cacophony.
But that Friday evening, as I turned the key in the lock, a sense of unease washed over me. A faint whiff of gas tickled my nostrils, setting my heart racing. I sprinted into the kitchen, my eyes searching for the source. The stove! In my hurry that morning, I'd forgotten to turn it off after heating milk for tea. The vessel was charred, the gas hissing a silent warning.
With trembling hands, I shut off the gas knob, the smell slowly dissipating. My heart hammered in my chest, a drumbeat of fear that echoed through the empty house. I leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of panic that had taken root in my gut. How could I have been so careless?
I immediately opened all the windows and doors, letting the fresh air rush in, banishing the noxious fumes. I stepped outside, the cool evening air washing over me like a balm.
My heart was racing as I sat on the porch, my thoughts a tangled web of what-ifs. What if the gas had built up? What if it had been a few minutes longer? The thought of the house turning into an inferno was too much to bear.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I mustered the courage to step back inside. The smell of gas had dissipated, but its specter lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the danger that had been averted.
I decided to eat outside that night, my appetite a distant memory. t. As I sat on the porch, I couldn't help but wonder about the two locked rooms that had been left untouched by the previous owner.
Their contents remained a mystery to me, but now, the possibility of residual gas lurking within their confines filled me with a newfound sense of dread. What if they accidentally catch fire?
I didn't know if the broker had the additional keys, but the fear of potential danger was too strong to ignore. I approached the two locked bedroom doors with a mix of trepidation and determination. I will explain the owners later but I need to be careful now and broke them with a stone.
The first room I entered was a stark reminder of the life that had once been lived there. The furniture was dusty, the cobwebs hanging from the corners like forgotten lace. Boxes filled with clothes and kitchen items were piled haphazardly in the center of the room, as if they had been hastily packed in the throes of a painful separation. The air was stale, tinged with a faint scent of sadness that seemed to cling to the very fabric of the space.
But it was the second room that sent a shiver down my spine. It was smaller, yes, but it was something more than that. Something in the very air was different, thick with an unsettling energy. The moment I stepped inside, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The room was almost entirely empty, save for a single desk pushed against the far wall. Atop it sat a computer, . There were also a big strange electronics equipment with antennas and lights, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie.
It was connected to the electric plug and switched on. I never knew that a computer was sitting inside our house all these times and was in power for close to a year and we had no idea about it.
Curiosity piqued, I approached the computer with the same caution one would a sleeping beast. The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow over the room. The password prompt glared at me like a silent sentinel, daring me to disturb the secrets it guarded.
But the room held another surprise. Beneath the desk, I found a pile of instruction manuals, their pages yellowed with age. They were mostly in Chinese, but the second half had been meticulously translated into English. I guess these were for the strange equipment.
The manuals were for a high-end surveillance system—cameras, microphones, and all the other gadgets that could turn a place into a fortress of privacy or an intruder's playground. The instructions were clear and detailed, outlining how to set up the devices to capture every sound and image within the house.
My stomach churned as I realized what I was holding in my hands—this wasn't just any room; it was a command center for a very personal kind of war. The thought of our most intimate moments being observed and recorded by some unseen eye made me sick to my stomach.
I grabbed my phone, the anger bubbling up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. It was 11 pm, but I didn't care. I dialed the broker's number with trembling hands, my voice a harsh whisper of fury.
"What the hell is this?" I bellowed as soon as he picked up, not bothering with pleasantries. "You've got a surveillance system set up in my house? What kind of sick game are you playing?"
The poor guy stuttered, clearly caught off guard by my midnight rage. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to squeak out.
"Don't play dumb with me!" I bellowed into the phone, my voice echoing in the empty house. "I've found your little setup in the locked room. The computer, the manuals, the cameras!"
The line went silent for a beat, and then the broker spoke, his voice a tremulous whisper. "I-I swear, I had no idea!"
"You expect me to believe that?" I snarled.
"I swear on my mother's life, I didn't know!" the broker's voice wavered. "The owner he said the rooms were personal and should never be opened. He was very adamant, almost superstitious about it."
My hand tightened around the phone "Well, now that I know, I want to talk to him," I said, my voice low and deadly. "Give me his number."
The broker's voice was a whine on the other end. "Please, sir, it's very late. Can't this wait until the morning?"
I clenched my jaw, my knuckles turning white around the phone. "You're damn right it can't wait," I ground out. "This is my house, and I demand to know who's been spying on my wife and me."
The broker's voice grew more frantic. "Please, sir, I'll give you the number first thing tomorrow. I promise, I didn't know!"
"You better," I said, and ended the call, my heart racing.
The room felt suffocating, the very air thick with the weight of the broker's deceit. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that coursed through my veins. I knew that confronting the owner now, in the middle of the night, would only make things worse. I needed a clear head to deal with this.
The next morning, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, I received an SMS from the broker. The owner's number was there, taunting me with its presence. I stared at it for a moment, the screen of my phone casting an eerie glow on my face, before dialing the number with a trembling hand.
The phone rang twice, and then a man picked up, "Hello?" he said, his tone amicable, as if he had no clue of the storm that was about to hit him.
"Hello, I'm Manav," I began, my voice tightly reined in. "I'm your new tenant at the 3BHK in Jaunpur."
There was a pause, and then the man spoke, his tone measured and calm. "Ah, yes. How are you finding the place?"
I took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger at bay. "It's fine," I said through gritted teeth. "But I had to break the locks on the extra bedrooms because of a gas leak to prevent a house fire. And what I found inside..."
The man on the other end of the line grew still. "I see," he said slowly. "What did you find?"
His calm demeanor only served to fuel my anger. "Your little spy setup," I spat out. "Cameras, microphones, the works. You've been watching us, haven't you?"
The man on the line took a deep breath, the silence stretching between us like a tightening noose. "Manav," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "I assure you, it's not what you think. That equipment was installed for a very personal reason."
"And what could that possibly be?" I demanded,. "To spy on your tenants?"
The man on the line took a deep breath, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. "Manav," he said, his voice measured. "The truth is, I installed the equipment because I had my suspicions about my wife. I had reason to believe she was... indiscreet with other men in the house."
I could feel my anger waver, the wind of his confession buffeting against the walls of my fury. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
The man on the line took a deep breath. "When my wife and I were living in the house," he began, his voice tight with pain. "I noticed she had started acting differently. " His voice broke, and I could almost hear the tears he was holding back. "After I discussed with a friend, he made me import a high class equipment and I had it all set up to catch her in the act."
My anger began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, uncomfortable understanding. "What did you find?" I asked, the words sticking in my throat.
The man on the line took a deep, shuddering breath. "I found what I needed to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Evidence of her... with different men, low class men like the painter we hired and his friends..IN MY OWN BED FOR HEAVEN SAKE. I wish i had burned that before I left"
It was a closed network, Manav. The cameras recorded onto a hard drive in the second locked room. I had no intention of watching you or your wife, I swear it. I never even knew it was still on."
My mind raced with the implications. The thought of some pervert watching us, invading our most intimate moments, made me want to smash the computer into a thousand pieces. But the owner's voice held a note of such pain, such raw agony, that I couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy.
He spoke again, his words measured and deliberate. "The password is 'betrayedhusband', all one word. Go through the footage if you must, and then delete them and pause all future recordings."
I felt a mix of anger, disgust, and pity for this man whose pain was so palpable it hung in the air like a toxic fog. "Thank you sir," I said " I believe you"
With a heavy heart, I hung up the call. Today was a Saturday, a day that usually brought a respite from the grind of work. But today, it brought with it a new burden. I approached the computer with a sense of trepidation, the password echoing in my head—'betrayedhusband'. The stark simplicity of it was a stark reminder of the raw emotions that had led to this moment.
As I sat down, the password trembling on the tips of my fingers, I couldn't help but think of Dhristi who hadnt called or messaged for close to a week. I dont know what she might think if she was constantly recorded. I took a deep breath and typed the password with a tremble, and the screen flickered to life.
The text message she had sent hung over me like a dark cloud, heavy with the weight of her sadness. "Reached home, need to take a break, no call please." Her words were a dagger to my heart, a silent scream echoing through the emptiness of our once-happy home.
For the first few days, I tried to respect her space. I threw myself into work, staying late at the office to avoid the oppressive silence that filled the house. I told myself that she needed time to heal, that she'd come back to me when she was ready.
I realized that I had never really learned to cook; in Mumbai, the cheap eateries had been a lifeline for me. But now, without Dhristi's warm, delicious food, those greasy restaurant food held no allure. I decided it was time to learn how to cook.
The first day was a disaster. I tried to make a simple dal-chaval, but the rice was sticky, and the dal was burnt. I stared at the plate, my stomach growling in protest, and laughed bitterly. I missed Dhristi's cooking. With a sigh, I grabbed my wallet and headed to the nearest restaurant.
The following days, however, brought a strange sort of liberation. With Lakhan Chand out of town, the office was quieter, and the air less suffocating. The freedom of working from home allowed me to breathe easier, with files strewn across the floor. The quiet was a welcome relief from the office cacophony.
But that Friday evening, as I turned the key in the lock, a sense of unease washed over me. A faint whiff of gas tickled my nostrils, setting my heart racing. I sprinted into the kitchen, my eyes searching for the source. The stove! In my hurry that morning, I'd forgotten to turn it off after heating milk for tea. The vessel was charred, the gas hissing a silent warning.
With trembling hands, I shut off the gas knob, the smell slowly dissipating. My heart hammered in my chest, a drumbeat of fear that echoed through the empty house. I leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of panic that had taken root in my gut. How could I have been so careless?
I immediately opened all the windows and doors, letting the fresh air rush in, banishing the noxious fumes. I stepped outside, the cool evening air washing over me like a balm.
My heart was racing as I sat on the porch, my thoughts a tangled web of what-ifs. What if the gas had built up? What if it had been a few minutes longer? The thought of the house turning into an inferno was too much to bear.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I mustered the courage to step back inside. The smell of gas had dissipated, but its specter lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the danger that had been averted.
I decided to eat outside that night, my appetite a distant memory. t. As I sat on the porch, I couldn't help but wonder about the two locked rooms that had been left untouched by the previous owner.
Their contents remained a mystery to me, but now, the possibility of residual gas lurking within their confines filled me with a newfound sense of dread. What if they accidentally catch fire?
I didn't know if the broker had the additional keys, but the fear of potential danger was too strong to ignore. I approached the two locked bedroom doors with a mix of trepidation and determination. I will explain the owners later but I need to be careful now and broke them with a stone.
The first room I entered was a stark reminder of the life that had once been lived there. The furniture was dusty, the cobwebs hanging from the corners like forgotten lace. Boxes filled with clothes and kitchen items were piled haphazardly in the center of the room, as if they had been hastily packed in the throes of a painful separation. The air was stale, tinged with a faint scent of sadness that seemed to cling to the very fabric of the space.
But it was the second room that sent a shiver down my spine. It was smaller, yes, but it was something more than that. Something in the very air was different, thick with an unsettling energy. The moment I stepped inside, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The room was almost entirely empty, save for a single desk pushed against the far wall. Atop it sat a computer, . There were also a big strange electronics equipment with antennas and lights, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie.
It was connected to the electric plug and switched on. I never knew that a computer was sitting inside our house all these times and was in power for close to a year and we had no idea about it.
Curiosity piqued, I approached the computer with the same caution one would a sleeping beast. The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow over the room. The password prompt glared at me like a silent sentinel, daring me to disturb the secrets it guarded.
But the room held another surprise. Beneath the desk, I found a pile of instruction manuals, their pages yellowed with age. They were mostly in Chinese, but the second half had been meticulously translated into English. I guess these were for the strange equipment.
The manuals were for a high-end surveillance system—cameras, microphones, and all the other gadgets that could turn a place into a fortress of privacy or an intruder's playground. The instructions were clear and detailed, outlining how to set up the devices to capture every sound and image within the house.
My stomach churned as I realized what I was holding in my hands—this wasn't just any room; it was a command center for a very personal kind of war. The thought of our most intimate moments being observed and recorded by some unseen eye made me sick to my stomach.
I grabbed my phone, the anger bubbling up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. It was 11 pm, but I didn't care. I dialed the broker's number with trembling hands, my voice a harsh whisper of fury.
"What the hell is this?" I bellowed as soon as he picked up, not bothering with pleasantries. "You've got a surveillance system set up in my house? What kind of sick game are you playing?"
The poor guy stuttered, clearly caught off guard by my midnight rage. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to squeak out.
"Don't play dumb with me!" I bellowed into the phone, my voice echoing in the empty house. "I've found your little setup in the locked room. The computer, the manuals, the cameras!"
The line went silent for a beat, and then the broker spoke, his voice a tremulous whisper. "I-I swear, I had no idea!"
"You expect me to believe that?" I snarled.
"I swear on my mother's life, I didn't know!" the broker's voice wavered. "The owner he said the rooms were personal and should never be opened. He was very adamant, almost superstitious about it."
My hand tightened around the phone "Well, now that I know, I want to talk to him," I said, my voice low and deadly. "Give me his number."
The broker's voice was a whine on the other end. "Please, sir, it's very late. Can't this wait until the morning?"
I clenched my jaw, my knuckles turning white around the phone. "You're damn right it can't wait," I ground out. "This is my house, and I demand to know who's been spying on my wife and me."
The broker's voice grew more frantic. "Please, sir, I'll give you the number first thing tomorrow. I promise, I didn't know!"
"You better," I said, and ended the call, my heart racing.
The room felt suffocating, the very air thick with the weight of the broker's deceit. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that coursed through my veins. I knew that confronting the owner now, in the middle of the night, would only make things worse. I needed a clear head to deal with this.
The next morning, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, I received an SMS from the broker. The owner's number was there, taunting me with its presence. I stared at it for a moment, the screen of my phone casting an eerie glow on my face, before dialing the number with a trembling hand.
The phone rang twice, and then a man picked up, "Hello?" he said, his tone amicable, as if he had no clue of the storm that was about to hit him.
"Hello, I'm Manav," I began, my voice tightly reined in. "I'm your new tenant at the 3BHK in Jaunpur."
There was a pause, and then the man spoke, his tone measured and calm. "Ah, yes. How are you finding the place?"
I took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger at bay. "It's fine," I said through gritted teeth. "But I had to break the locks on the extra bedrooms because of a gas leak to prevent a house fire. And what I found inside..."
The man on the other end of the line grew still. "I see," he said slowly. "What did you find?"
His calm demeanor only served to fuel my anger. "Your little spy setup," I spat out. "Cameras, microphones, the works. You've been watching us, haven't you?"
The man on the line took a deep breath, the silence stretching between us like a tightening noose. "Manav," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "I assure you, it's not what you think. That equipment was installed for a very personal reason."
"And what could that possibly be?" I demanded,. "To spy on your tenants?"
The man on the line took a deep breath, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. "Manav," he said, his voice measured. "The truth is, I installed the equipment because I had my suspicions about my wife. I had reason to believe she was... indiscreet with other men in the house."
I could feel my anger waver, the wind of his confession buffeting against the walls of my fury. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
The man on the line took a deep breath. "When my wife and I were living in the house," he began, his voice tight with pain. "I noticed she had started acting differently. " His voice broke, and I could almost hear the tears he was holding back. "After I discussed with a friend, he made me import a high class equipment and I had it all set up to catch her in the act."
My anger began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, uncomfortable understanding. "What did you find?" I asked, the words sticking in my throat.
The man on the line took a deep, shuddering breath. "I found what I needed to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Evidence of her... with different men, low class men like the painter we hired and his friends..IN MY OWN BED FOR HEAVEN SAKE. I wish i had burned that before I left"
It was a closed network, Manav. The cameras recorded onto a hard drive in the second locked room. I had no intention of watching you or your wife, I swear it. I never even knew it was still on."
My mind raced with the implications. The thought of some pervert watching us, invading our most intimate moments, made me want to smash the computer into a thousand pieces. But the owner's voice held a note of such pain, such raw agony, that I couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy.
He spoke again, his words measured and deliberate. "The password is 'betrayedhusband', all one word. Go through the footage if you must, and then delete them and pause all future recordings."
I felt a mix of anger, disgust, and pity for this man whose pain was so palpable it hung in the air like a toxic fog. "Thank you sir," I said " I believe you"
With a heavy heart, I hung up the call. Today was a Saturday, a day that usually brought a respite from the grind of work. But today, it brought with it a new burden. I approached the computer with a sense of trepidation, the password echoing in my head—'betrayedhusband'. The stark simplicity of it was a stark reminder of the raw emotions that had led to this moment.
As I sat down, the password trembling on the tips of my fingers, I couldn't help but think of Dhristi who hadnt called or messaged for close to a week. I dont know what she might think if she was constantly recorded. I took a deep breath and typed the password with a tremble, and the screen flickered to life.
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