Silence had never felt so loud.
Rohan Malhotra lay rigid on his side of the room, eyes fixed on the shadowed ceiling. The rain outside had turned the glass balcony door into a murky watercolor—blurred streaks of light, grey clouds, and memories of a fight he didn't want to replay.
On the other side of the room, the girl—Ishita—moved like she wasn't sharing space with a total stranger. Calm. Almost too calm. She'd hung her soaked blazer neatly on the back of a chair and was now seated cross-legged on her bed, toweling her hair with slow, practiced motions.
"You stare a lot," she said without looking up.
"I don't," Rohan replied flatly.
"Sure. You just happened to aim your face in my direction for the last ten minutes?"
"I was trying to guess whether you're the type who steals the blanket at night."
"And I was trying to guess if you always sleep fully clothed in jeans and regret."
He rolled his eyes and turned toward the wall. This was already weird enough without her running commentary.
Then—click.
Everything went dark.
The room, the hallway outside, the comforting hum of the AC—gone. Only the rain outside remained.
"Oh, come on," Ishita groaned. "Seriously?"
Rohan sat up. "Power cut?"
"No, I just turned off the universe for fun."
He reached for his phone and turned on the flashlight, placing it screen-down on the nightstand so the light reflected upward, painting the ceiling with a soft white glow.
"Better?"
"A little," she admitted, pulling her blanket tighter around her. "I hate the dark. Not because I'm scared of it—it just makes everything feel too quiet."
Rohan nodded slowly. "Yeah. Quiet can be worse than noise."
A few moments passed.
"So," she said, adjusting the pillow behind her back, "What's your story, Rohan Malhotra?"
"Why does everyone assume people like me have a story?"
"Because people like you are usually trying really hard to look like they don't."
He smirked faintly. "Fine. I work in marketing. Just another underpaid, overcaffeinated office rat."
"Exciting."
"You?"
"I… travel a lot," she said vaguely. "Work stuff. Kind of in between things right now."
"That sounds suspiciously vague."
"That's because it is," she said with a grin. "I like keeping things mysterious."
"Fair enough."
The tension slowly melted into something quieter. Softer. Like a thin blanket pulled over something that might've been warmth.
"Want to make this night suck less?" she asked suddenly.
"Sure. Got any pizza in your purse?"
"No. But I have a game."
Rohan groaned. "Please don't say Truth or Dare."
"Nope. One-question game. We take turns. No lies allowed."
"And if I lie?"
"I'll know," she said, narrowing her eyes in mock warning. "I'm scarily intuitive."
"Fine. You start."
Ishita thought for a moment. "What are you running from tonight?"
That caught him off guard. He expected something like what's your favorite food or what's your biggest pet peeve—not what are you running from.
"A friend," he said quietly. "Well, more like a brother. We fought. He wanted to leave this city. I didn't."
She didn't ask for more. Didn't need to.
"Your turn," he said.
"Why were you really here tonight? At this hotel?"
She leaned back against her pillows and exhaled slowly. "I needed a place that didn't ask questions."
Rohan didn't pry.
The flashlight flickered once. Both of them looked at it like it was a candle holding back a world of ghosts.
"You ever feel like you're not meant to be anywhere?" she whispered.
"All the time."
They didn't speak after that. They didn't need to.
In the shared silence, with only the sound of rain against glass, something unspoken passed between them. Not trust, not friendship—not yet. But something.
Rohan shifted on his bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
"Goodnight, Stranger."
"Goodnight, Stranger."
Outside, the city drowned in water. Inside Room 709, two strangers drifted toward something they didn't yet understand.