10 hours ago
Monday Morning – Outside Flat 401
Ravi stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. His fingers lingered on the top button longer than usual, almost as if by tightening it he could somehow control the restless swirl of thoughts in his mind. Maybe it was just the shirt, stiff and crisp from yesterday’s laundry. Or maybe it was him, scattered, preoccupied, weighed down by the quiet that had settled over the building since the morning.
He hadn’t received a single message from Sirisha or Neetu since last night. Normally, Neetu would have sent a cheeky “Good morning” or one of her teasing memes. Sirisha, even in the busiest of mornings, would have sent a playful “Hey Bhayya ?” or some string of laughing emojis. But today, nothing.
Ravi frowned. Maybe they were tired after the late movie yesterday. Or maybe they were giving him space, as they had seemed slightly distant when he left in the morning. Still, the absence of any contact felt odd, unsettling.
He grabbed his keys and locked Flat 205 behind him. The corridor stretched out in front of him, unusually quiet. Normally, the faint thrum of life, children rushing past, a distant radio, the clatter of utensils from the kitchens above, gave the hallway a sense of motion, a rhythm to which he could anchor himself. Today, it was silent. Too silent.
Ravi hesitated at the foot of the stairs. He glanced upward toward Flat 401, where Vamsi, Neetu, and Sirisha lived. He almost expected to see Sirisha’s ponytail bouncing as she descended the stairs, or hear Neetu’s teasing voice drifting down, joking about something trivial. Anything familiar to ground him.
But the higher floors remained mute, the silence pressing in like a weight.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. The worn wood of the staircase groaned under his weight, the sound strangely loud in the stillness. As he reached the 4th floor, Ravi froze.
The door to Flat 401 was ajar.
Just enough to be noticed. Too open. Too still.
His pulse quickened. He took a cautious step forward. Normally, the ajar door might have been unremarkable, perhaps a breeze had nudged it, perhaps someone had left it open for convenience. But today, the emptiness around it, the quiet in the corridor, made it look different, almost deliberate.
He squinted inside. A pair of sandals lay near the entrance, unfamiliar. Beside them, a duffel bag had been tossed carelessly. A faint, lingering smell of incense hung in the air, heavier than the mild aroma that sometimes drifted from the apartment. Something else, subtle but sharp, tickled his senses, maybe the faint trace of perfume, maybe the lingering scent of last night’s cooking. He couldn’t tell.
Low voices drifted from inside, murmured, cautious, deliberate. The tone was unlike anything he had ever heard from Neetu, Sirisha, or Vamsi. He tilted his head, trying to catch fragments.
The words didn’t make sense yet, but they pressed on him like a warning.
Ravi stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. His fingers lingered on the top button longer than usual, almost as if by tightening it he could somehow control the restless swirl of thoughts in his mind. Maybe it was just the shirt, stiff and crisp from yesterday’s laundry. Or maybe it was him, scattered, preoccupied, weighed down by the quiet that had settled over the building since the morning.
He hadn’t received a single message from Sirisha or Neetu since last night. Normally, Neetu would have sent a cheeky “Good morning” or one of her teasing memes. Sirisha, even in the busiest of mornings, would have sent a playful “Hey Bhayya ?” or some string of laughing emojis. But today, nothing.
Ravi frowned. Maybe they were tired after the late movie yesterday. Or maybe they were giving him space, as they had seemed slightly distant when he left in the morning. Still, the absence of any contact felt odd, unsettling.
He grabbed his keys and locked Flat 205 behind him. The corridor stretched out in front of him, unusually quiet. Normally, the faint thrum of life, children rushing past, a distant radio, the clatter of utensils from the kitchens above, gave the hallway a sense of motion, a rhythm to which he could anchor himself. Today, it was silent. Too silent.
Ravi hesitated at the foot of the stairs. He glanced upward toward Flat 401, where Vamsi, Neetu, and Sirisha lived. He almost expected to see Sirisha’s ponytail bouncing as she descended the stairs, or hear Neetu’s teasing voice drifting down, joking about something trivial. Anything familiar to ground him.
But the higher floors remained mute, the silence pressing in like a weight.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. The worn wood of the staircase groaned under his weight, the sound strangely loud in the stillness. As he reached the 4th floor, Ravi froze.
The door to Flat 401 was ajar.
Just enough to be noticed. Too open. Too still.
His pulse quickened. He took a cautious step forward. Normally, the ajar door might have been unremarkable, perhaps a breeze had nudged it, perhaps someone had left it open for convenience. But today, the emptiness around it, the quiet in the corridor, made it look different, almost deliberate.
He squinted inside. A pair of sandals lay near the entrance, unfamiliar. Beside them, a duffel bag had been tossed carelessly. A faint, lingering smell of incense hung in the air, heavier than the mild aroma that sometimes drifted from the apartment. Something else, subtle but sharp, tickled his senses, maybe the faint trace of perfume, maybe the lingering scent of last night’s cooking. He couldn’t tell.
Low voices drifted from inside, murmured, cautious, deliberate. The tone was unlike anything he had ever heard from Neetu, Sirisha, or Vamsi. He tilted his head, trying to catch fragments.
The words didn’t make sense yet, but they pressed on him like a warning.
.
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