Unattended | Fiction
when her date gets stuck at work, she's forced to wait at his apartment. all alone.
Stepping out of a forty-floor glass-walled building, a tall woman dressed in ash grey trousers and a beige collared-top pulls out a tiny black umbrella. It’s a windy, rainy day and she struggles a little before finally opening it. She’s walking cautiously, so as to not get her footwear drenched. Bombay monsoons are cruel that way. You step out looking extremely proper but by the time you’re back home, you look like a completely different person. Especially in the monsoons. As she determinedly walks towards the taxi stand, or the area right outside the gate where taxis are queued up, her phone starts to ring. The ringtone is barely audible but her irritated expression says it all.
“What?”
“Wow, someone had a bad day.” The man on the other end of the phone sounds amused and this makes the woman even more annoyed.
“Yeah, and you might be making it worse so either talk fast or tell me later.”
“Okay, okay. About that. Unfortunately, I have to stay here a bit longer.”
“But it’s Friday.”
“I know, Muskan. I’m sorry. It’s just.. I don’t know how to get out of it, but it’ll only take me an hour so don’t go home. Go to my place instead.”
The woman pauses for a few seconds before responding.
“What? Are you sure?” The woman sounds embarrassed.
“Ya, ya, it’s perfectly fine. Just take the keys from the neighbor. She’s a friendly aunty, always dressed in a nightie so you’ll know. I don’t think she’ll mind but even if she has a problem, that’s my headache.”
Five seconds of silence follow before she says okay and hangs up. She hurries to the taxi stand, gives directions to the driver, before finally catching a breath. A nervous tickle starts to emerge in her stomach. Muskan’s not too sure if she should have agreed. Going home would have been a better idea but she enjoys prying in her own way. And who knows, maybe this would be the perfect opportunity to really figure out if she should bolt. Besides, she’d already cancelled plans with her flat mates and was not in the mood of spending the night eating leftovers in her pajamas as she scrolls on Instagram.
She’s feeling fidgety so she pulls out her phone and texts her flat mate:
Going to be spending some literal alone time in his apartment. Hope I don’t get murdered, lol.
Neha is good at replying so she knows she’ll get a response almost immediately and she does.
Wow. Me too. I really hope he’s not into anything weird. Or at least has the brains to hide whatever weird shit he’s into.
Muskan hadn’t thought about this at all. While being murdered is a real possibility, it’s also something you don’t think of that seriously. No matter how many scary stories you might have heard or read.
Okay, I’m scared now, bye. I’ll text you.
Muskan responds and then shoves her phone into her bag. Then remembers she’s in a taxi with a strange man so she cautiously puts her hand into her handbag and pulls it out again. She’s not ready for all the questions that might come her way in the process of getting into another man’s apartment for the first time. The security guard might ask where she’s going, and after she responds, he might say that no one’s home. The nightie-wearing aunty too might pass non-verbal judgement. Suddenly, her heart skips a beat and she unlocks her phone to find a text from him.
Don’t worry, my flat mate is out.
She feels relieved but also incredibly silly that she forgot to ask such an important question in the first place.
The car finally pulls into the society gate, she shoves the phone into her handbag, smoothly opens the umbrella and makes her way to the building lobby. She’s acutely aware of the security guard’s gaze on her as she closes the umbrella and then confidently strides towards the elevator. He doesn’t ask a question. Inside the lift, she presses the fourth button and takes a long breath. As soon as she gets out of the lift, she sees an elderly woman fiddling with a padlock on her door. The woman looks up at Muskan just for a second, frustration is evident on her face, before going back to the lock.
She’s not wearing a nightie, Muskan notices. “Excuse me? Do you have the key to this house?”
The elderly woman looks up, gleefully. “Oh yes, yes. I was just heading out and was going to leave it with the guard instead but here you go.” She hands over a set of two keys hooked on to a dreamcatcher keychain and continues fiddling with the padlock.
“Do you want help?” Muskan asks.
“No, no. It’s okay. The door has one of those automatic locks, but I was putting a padlock anyway. I think something is wrong with the lock, so I’ll probably take it to the shopkeeper downstairs and ask him about it.”
Muskan returns an awkward smile and starts pretending to text on her phone while waiting for the woman to leave before she finally unlocks the door.
The apartment is strangely cramped, despite being a luxurious 2 BHK setup. She places her handbag on the dining table and takes a seat on the couch, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s a coldness to the apartment, which could be the weather’s fault, but she can’t completely rule it out. It feels wrong to be sitting in an apartment without the host. Especially when it’s your first time there.
She gets up and walks into the kitchen. After going through four drawers consecutively, she finally finds the one with the glasses and pours herself some water. She spends the next minute sipping on the water, acutely aware of the gulping sound she’s making. The kitchen counter is surprisingly clean, the fridge, however, well-stocked with leftovers. Which gives her some comfort. A house with so much leftover food can’t possibly be the house of a serial killer. The pipe emerging out of the water-filter is dripping onto the counter. She repositions it by moving it to the sink. She wonders if she should try to find something to nibble on, but then decides against it. Instead, she goes back to the living room and grabs a Dairy Milk, along with a packet of cigarettes, from her handbag. She’s about to go to the balcony that is connected to the living room but is distracted by the notification tone on her phone. She hopes it’s the man texting to check if she was able to find his apartment but it’s just a random Facebook notification.
The unattended guest is suddenly full of fury. She feels silly for agreeing to come here. It probably makes me seem desperate and too accommodating, she thinks. Coming here was definitely a bad idea, I should have made up some excuse.
But she’s not too good at thinking on her feet, or being impulsive, unless she’s feeling particularly precarious. Right now, she’s in that territory. She takes the keychain out of her pocket and tries to open one of the two unlocked doors. She’s in luck; the door clicks open smoothly and she’s inside the living space of the man she should have been fucking right now. Or at least trying to have sex with.
Muskan perches herself on the edge of the bed, as if to not crinkle the bedsheet, to not leave behind any trace of herself, to create minimal disturbance. Then she lights the cigarette in her hand and takes a long drag; the Dairy Milk resting on her right thigh. The keychain is still dangling from the door lock.
Through the recurring haze, she notices the room a little. A faded blue almari with a grey towel hanging on its handle, a scrubbed cricket bat resting against the wall, two pairs of footwear assembled next to the door, and a unfortunate-looking brown-colored, chaotic side table that has no business being where it is but is probably only there because he needs to charge his phone at night. She looks for traces of him from their restaurant dates but doesn’t find much except a pair of navy-blue sneakers and a silver watch on the side table. The room doesn’t smell like much now that it’s filled with smoke and she feels regretful about missing out on that bit.
She takes a bite from her Dairy Milk and patiently sucks on it. Her gaze drifting across the room; taking it in like you would an ocean. This is the calmest she’s felt since she arrived. She takes a look at her phone; still no text and another 35 minutes to go. She lights another cigarette and continues pretending like she’s a trespasser in the middle of the night even though she knows she’s more than welcome. She just doesn’t feel it.
It takes her a few minutes to realise she’s totally forgotten that she’s at a stranger’s house and has been flicking the cigarette ashes on the floor between her feet. She’s now mildly panicking. She gets up to find a broom somewhere in the house but stops dead in the same spot when she hears someone turning the key from outside. Muskan isn’t ready to be killed just yet; she isn’t ready for a date either.
Did you read all the way through? If yes, please consider commenting/replying with literally *anything* (good/bad/neutral) you thought/felt about this story. I’m new to writing short stories, hence super open to criticism right now, hehe.
omg i was expecting a conclusion! more please!!! i spent some time wondering if I'd go to someone's place for the first time if they weren't home. i don't think i would. 😅