The auto slowed as it entered the narrow lane and rolled toward a faded iron gate.
A small board hung beside it.
Krishna Colony.
The driver stopped and leaned slightly out of his seat, exchanging a few casual words with the security guard sitting on a plastic chair near the gate. The guard looked once at Krishna, then nodded and pushed the gate open just enough for the auto to pass.
The auto moved inside and stopped a short distance ahead.
"Yahin tak jaata hai," the driver said, switching off the engine.
Krishna stepped out slowly.
Then he looked up.
The building stood directly in front of him.
Three floors. Straight. Practical. Silent.
The paint had once been cream, now faded unevenly. Thin cracks ran near the edges of the walls. Narrow balconies stretched across each level, bordered by iron railings chipped in places where rust had begun to show through.
A towel hung loosely from the second-floor railing. One balcony light had already been switched on, casting a dull yellow glow that didn't quite reach the ground.
The entrance was simple — a rectangular opening leading to a staircase that climbed upward along the wall. No decoration. No signboard. Just steps disappearing out of sight after the first landing.
Krishna lifted his gaze higher.
First floor.
Second floor.
Third floor.
The top balcony looked darker than the rest. No light. No movement.
That would be his.
---
"Saab, samaan nikaal doon?" the auto driver asked.
Krishna blinked once, pulled back from the building, and nodded.
"Haan."
The driver lifted the suitcase out and placed it beside him. Krishna paid the fare, adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and reached for the handle of the suitcase.
That's when he noticed someone standing near the staircase.
A boy stood near the staircase entrance.
Nineteen… maybe twenty. Lean build. Hair slightly messy, like he had run his fingers through it too many times out of impatience. One shoulder rested against the wall, but his posture wasn't relaxed.
It was stiff.
Like he had been waiting longer than he wanted to.
His jaw moved once… tight… as if grinding something back. His eyes didn't greet Krishna. They measured him.
Slowly.
Face. Bag. Suitcase. Shoes.
A quick assessment.
His arms were folded across his chest — not casually, but locked. Defensive. Irritated.
He exhaled sharply through his nose… not quite a sigh… more like restrained annoyance.
So this was him.
The new tenant.
Krishna didn't need an introduction to understand.
This had to be the landlord's son.
The boy straightened, pushing himself off the wall with a small jerk of movement that carried impatience with it. His brows pulled together slightly, like he wanted to say something… but decided against wasting the effort.
For a second… irritation sat openly on his face.
Then suddenly—
His lips curved.
A slow smile.
But it didn't soften his eyes.
If anything… it made them sharper.
It wasn't a welcome.
It was recognition.
Like he had already formed an opinion… and Krishna had just confirmed it.
The boy turned toward the entrance without waiting.
"Come," he said shortly.
Krishna adjusted his glasses once, then bent down.
One suitcase in his right hand.
One in his left.
The third he dragged behind him, its wheels scraping softly against the floor.
All three.
Alone.
The auto had already left.
The boy didn't even glance back.
They stepped inside the building.
The staircase began immediately after the entrance.
Narrow. Cemented. Edges slightly chipped from years of use. The walls carried faint stains of dampness, and the air inside felt warmer… heavier… as if it didn't move much.
Krishna shifted his grip and started climbing.
The weight pulled at his arms instantly. The handles dug into his palms. His shoulders tightened. His breathing grew heavier within just a few steps.
Ahead of him, the boy climbed easily.
Empty hands. Steady pace.
Not once did he slow down.
Not once did he look back.
First floor.
The smell came before anything else.
Hot oil. Jeera. Onions frying. Something spicy, freshly cooked.
It filled the narrow staircase.
A door stood slightly open.
Inside, two women were talking loudly, their voices overlapping without pause.
"Arre maine kaha na namak kam hai isme—"
"Arey tumhe har cheez mein problem hoti hai!"
"Problem nahi hai, bas bol rahi hoon—"
"Achha toh tum bana leti agli baar!"
A third voice came from deeper inside, slightly irritated—
"Bas karo dono, bachche sun rahe hain!"
Then suddenly, a child's voice—
"Mummy TV chalaun kya?"
"Pehle khana kha lo!"
A small burst of laughter followed.
Life.
Normal. Noisy. Unbothered.
Krishna didn't look inside.
He kept climbing.
The smell stayed with him for a few more steps… then slowly faded.
Second floor.
This time, sound hit first.
Loud. Fast. Continuous.
From inside one of the rooms, a phone was playing at full volume.
"Breaking news! Tez update! Abhi abhi—"
The voice rushed without pause, overlapping itself.
Another voice from inside snapped sharply—
"Volume kam karo yaar! Sar dard ho raha hai!"
"Arre sunne do na, important hai—"
"Poora mohalla sun raha hai, kam karo!"
A chair scraped.
Then the volume dropped… but not by much.
"—aur yeh tasveer abhi hum tak pahunchi hai—"
Krishna adjusted his grip again. One suitcase slipped slightly. He caught it quickly, tightening his fingers around the handle.
His palms were starting to burn.
He pushed his glasses up using his shoulder, since both hands were occupied.
His breathing was heavier now.
But he kept moving.
Step by step.
The boy ahead didn't slow.
Didn't notice.
Or didn't care.
Third floor.
The corridor was short. Quiet. Almost cut off from the noise below.
A single dim bulb flickered weakly above.
Krishna reached the top and finally stopped.
He lowered the suitcases to the ground with a dull thud and took a deep breath.
Air filled his chest.
Then left slowly.
Relief.
Not comfort.
Just the relief of stopping.
The boy casually patted his pockets.
Then again.
Then paused.
"Oh," he said.
Krishna looked at him.
"chabi…" the boy murmured, as if just remembering.
He smiled.
Slow. Casual.
"Lagta hai neeche reh gayi."
Krishna stared at him for a second.
"Tumhare paas… nahi hai?"
The boy tilted his head slightly.
"Hai," he said lightly.
"Bas… laani padegi."
His eyes flicked toward Krishna's three suitcases.
Then back to his face.
"Tum ruk jao. Main abhi aata hoon."
Krishna didn't reply.
The boy had already turned.
His footsteps echoed down the staircase.
Not hurried.
Not concerned.
Silence settled.
Krishna stood there alone.
Three suitcases beside him.
Closed door in front.
No key.
No room.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and adjusted his glasses again.
Minutes passed.
From below, the first-floor voices rose again—
"Arre roti jal jayegi, dekh toh!"
"Arey gas dheere karo!"
A child laughed loudly.
On the second floor, the phone volume increased again—
"—yeh sabse badi khabar hai—"
"Phir se badha diya volume!"
"Chup rehne de yaar!"
Time stretched.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Krishna shifted his weight slightly and leaned back against the wall.
Twenty minutes.
His arms still felt heavy from the climb.
Thirty minutes.
Now he knew.
The key had not been forgotten.
It had been carried.
Just… not brought.
Finally—
Footsteps.
Slow. Unhurried.
The boy appeared again at the top of the stairs.
Same expression.
Same calm.
Same smile.
"Mil gayi," he said casually, holding up the key between his fingers.
As if it had been some small achievement.
As if nothing had happened.
Krishna didn't respond.
He simply bent down, picked up his suitcases again.
The boy stepped forward and inserted the key into the lock.
This time—
No pause.
No search.
The key turned smoothly.
The door opened.
The boy stood near the door, irritation still visible on his face.
For a few seconds, he said nothing… just looked around the room again, as if the condition of the flat had personally annoyed him.
Then he turned toward Krishna.
"Waise…" he began casually, tone shifting slightly,"rent ke baare mein baat ho gayi thi kya?"
Krishna looked at him.
"Haan… Uncle ne bataya tha," he said slowly.
"6,000 per month."
The boy's expression didn't change.
Instead, a small, almost careless smile returned.
"Woh purana rate hai," he said.
"Ab change ho gaya hai."
Krishna frowned slightly.
"Matlab?"
"Matlab simple hai," the boy said, shrugging lightly.
"8,000 per month. Aur 4 mahine ka advance."
He paused, then added plainly—
"Total 36,000."
Silence.
Krishna just stared at him for a second.
As if the numbers hadn't made sense yet.
"36,000…?" he repeated slowly.
Before coming here, Uncle Shyam had clearly told him—
₹6,000 per month.
This wasn't a small difference.
This was… something else entirely.
Krishna adjusted his glasses once, trying to stay calm.
"Mujhe lagta hai… shayad koi misunderstanding hai," he said carefully.
"Uncle ne khud bataya tha—6,000…"
The boy cut him off.
"Dekho," he said flatly, "jo main bol raha hoon, wahi final hai."
No hesitation.
No explanation.
Krishna took a slow breath.
"Maine already baat karke hi yahan aaya hoon," he tried again, voice steady but controlled.
"Aap ek baar unse confirm kar lo—"
"Tumhe rehna hai toh rehna hai," the boy said, a little sharper now.
"Varna chhod do."
He leaned slightly against the doorframe, completely unbothered.
"Flat pasand nahi hai toh ja sakte ho."
The words came out too easily.
Too casually.
As if this was nothing.
Krishna's jaw tightened slightly.
He knew.
Mumbai mein ghar milna aasaan nahi hota.
Aaj… toh kal tak kuch mil bhi nahi sakta.
Aur ab—
He had already spent what little he had.
Uncle Shyam had arranged everything.
He had trusted that.
And now—
This.
The boy extended his hand.
"Paise do."
No shame.
No hesitation.
Krishna stood still for a moment.
Then slowly… he reached into his pocket.
Notes.
Folded.
Carefully kept.
He looked at them once… just for a second.
Then handed them over.
The boy took the money instantly.
Counted it.
Quick. Practiced.
Satisfied.
A small smile appeared again.
"Kal contract mil jayega," he said casually, slipping the money into his pocket.
Then he stepped back toward the door.
"Baaki settle ho jayega."
And just like that—
He turned.
And walked out.
Leaving Krishna standing alone in the room.
With nothing changed.
Except—
Everything.
For a while, Krishna just stood in the middle of the room.
Then his eyes went to the bed.
He walked toward it slowly.
The old bedsheet lay crumpled, carrying that same stale smell. He picked it up between two fingers, his face tightening slightly, then without thinking much, turned and walked to the balcony.
The evening air touched his face the moment he stepped out.
Cooler than inside.
He shook the bedsheet once… twice… dust lifting lightly into the air… then hung it over the railing.
For a few seconds, he just stood there, looking out.
Unfamiliar buildings. Dim lights. Voices drifting from somewhere below.
None of it felt connected to him.
---
He came back inside.
Without wasting time, he opened one of his suitcases.
Carefully.
From inside, he took out a clean bedsheet. Folded neatly. Along with a thin mattress he had carried with him.
He spread the mattress over the iron frame, adjusting the corners properly, pressing it down so it sat evenly. Then he laid the bedsheet over it, pulling it tight from both sides.
Simple.
But clean.
Better than before.
---
Once done, he sat down on the edge of the bed.
The room was still the same.
But now… a small part of it looked like it belonged to someone.
To him.
---
His stomach growled faintly.
He hadn't eaten.
He knew that.
He glanced once toward the kitchen space.
Empty.
No utensils out. No gas. Nothing ready.
The thought of cooking crossed his mind…
…and disappeared just as quickly.
His body felt heavy.
Drained.
Even the idea of standing again felt like effort.
"Kal dekh lenge…" he murmured quietly.
He leaned back slowly on the bed.
The ceiling fan above him remained still.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
His mind began to wander.
Not to the room.
Not to the colony.
But… backward.
Old moments.
Small ones.
Nothing special… but familiar.
A conversation.
A voice calling his name.
A place where things didn't feel this distant.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Not because things were good…
But because they had been.
His eyes grew heavier.
The tiredness he had been holding back all day finally caught up.
He didn't even realize when his breathing slowed.
When his body relaxed completely.
When the thoughts faded.
And just like that—
Krishna fell asleep.
END OF THE CHAPTER