Samaira

January 8, 2017

The shrill bell wakes me with a start. I scramble out of the bed; my lids are still half shut. I put on the long jacket and drag my feet downstairs, careful not to slam myself on the walls as I walk. I check the time on the antique clock hanging in the living room. It's three in the morning for heaven's sake. Who can be at the door at this ungodly hour? Suddenly I feel alert and my eyes flew open. Maybe I shouldn't open the door. Nearby house is good seven hundred meter away from this house. Nobody will be able to hear my cries. Is it Mohan? Does he know I am here at Panchgani? I stay put in the spot in the midway between the stairs and the main door, unable to get myself to open the door.

Anther impatient sound cracks the momentary silence. Now I make up my mind not to open the door. The person or persons behind the door are certainly desperate. Then again, I should at least make sure all the bolts on the doors are securely fixed. With a deep breath, I move forward and within seconds face the door. The main latch of the door is secured. It was the first thing Harmeet fixed in the house. I cannot be gladder of the fact.

Then suddenly I hear an accent which was not certainly Mohan's. It was an American accent with a growl on the swear words the man was using. He repeatedly said, "Fucking bastard" and "son of a bitch". Who in God's name was standing behind the door?

Without giving it a second thought I call out to the person. "Who is it?" My voice sounds too meek to my liking.

"Who is it?" the man repeated the question with a slap on the door. "Who the hell are you?"

"I..." I stammer, surprised at his counter question.

"What?" he presses in a growl. "Sweetheart, whoever the hell you are. Just open the door. I am fucking tired here. Or else call that son of a bitch, whose house this is!"

"Don't use that kind of language with me!" I shot back. "And nobody told me I would have a visitor in the middle of the night."

"Well, that's fucking convenient!" the man shouts in a simmering anger. "Look, I am really tired. My idiot manager booked this dungeon of a vacation home for a month. My driver took off as he was too tired and wanted to sleep. If he was still here, I would have driven back to Mumbai and had a first flight booked back to LA."

When did that happen? How can Sameer Deshpande book the house when it's not even finished? But somehow my instincts tell me to open the door. The man is not probably psychopath only bad-mouthed. Without further ado, I unlock the latch of the door and open it halfway. There stand a man with a dark silhouette. Quickly, I switch on the porch lights and the face comes into view. The man is definitely American with short cropped hair and lightly tanned skin. Under his brown jacket, he wore a neon green colored T-shirt, which I find very distracting. He looks bewildered for a moment taking in my appearance. Then he frowns and grip the handle of his gigantic trolley and comes right in. I take several steps back to get out of his way and tries to make a sense of the situation. That doesn't stop the rucksack on his back to brush past me.

"If you are expecting a 'thank you', I am not in a mood to give it," he says, while checking the interior of the living room by sweeping his glance on the incomplete work. "I might as well leave this place in the morning itself." He adds that to himself.

"That would be advisable," I agree with his conclusion. There has to be a mistake in the booking.

"Who are you by the way?" he now turns and faces me. I can see shadows on his features. The frustration and stress are written all over him. Well, I like to say 'join the club!' I bit back my remark.

"I..." I began, slightly uncomfortable in his arresting gaze. "I am the..." I look away from his face to the corner side lamp. It is the only source of light apart from the light from the corridor. The dimness of the surrounding is welcome in this situation. I sure look like a mess.

"Are you uncomfortable, miss...?" he asks and steps forward. His emerald green orbs flicker momentarily in the light of the lamp. And I somehow remember a character from a romantic novel I read when I was a teenager. This man seems to look like what I imagined the male protagonist to be; with eyes green like the color of spring; with a lean torso of an athlete; with strong arms which melted the will and heart of the female protagonist.

"Miss Rao... I mean... I am Samaira Rao. I am the interior designer hired by the owner, Mr. Deshpande." I finish clumsily, stretching my sweating palm.

"Don't worry Miss Rao. I think it's me. Many people find me intimidating," he adds with arrogance. And before I can counter his conclusion over my state he continues, "I think my poor manager needs a slap on his face and a long scolding over this blunder. Clearly, the owner lied about finishing the renovations."

"I guess," I manage to say, biting my lip.

Then there is an uncomfortable minute wherein we both look out of place.

"I hope there is a place for me to sleep for few hours," he murmurs. "And a workable socket for me to charge my dead phone." He clearly indicated at pulled out wires along the walls.

"Well, there is only one room where a new bed is installed in this house," I mumble to myself.

"Then, please lead the way," he replies impatiently, balancing his weight on the left leg.

"Well, it's my room," I react panicked.

"Oh come on! Seriously!" he exclaims, now royally annoyed. "I am not going to sleep anywhere in this dungeon. You better make your bed elsewhere."

Not in million years, I am ready to give up my comfortable bed to a stranger. I needed my six-hour sleep for an effective work day. "Take this sofa," I request like it is an order.

"Oh, what the fuck!" he growls and removes his rucksack and throws it on the floor. "Never in my life had I been treated this badly. Richard and that Madhu will pay for this."

I ignore this bad-mouth again and proceed to my room. Behind me, I hear he calling me 'lady' and 'what was your name again?'

I gather a woolen blanket, a pair of pillows and a bed sheet and go downstairs. "I am so sorry for your inconvenience. But this is all I can do for you." I land the things on his hands. "And yes, there is one workable socket in the kitchen. I will be very happy to show you."

"Just show me where the washroom is and I will crash on this sofa. I have had a long day. My jetlag is pounding in my head."

I oblige and disappear in my room, bolting the door shut.

Josh

January 8, 2017

I guess I know what hell is now. Past few hours are what the hell meant; sleeping on a stiff wood frame couch with least comfortable cushions? I had my bad patches in life, but this one right here tops the list. I groan and change the position slightly. Still not comfortable! I sigh and check my watch. It's not even five. I clamp my eyes shut and think about my comfortable bed, the freshly laundered white sheets, the smell of the soap and drifts into sleep.

I am at the door of Serena's apartment, staring at it with my chaotic mind. What would I say to her? 'Honey, I was wrong. Can we get past this and start again?' or should I ask for her apology? My hand touches the wood, not deciding whether to take the risk or not. But I take a deep breath and knock on the door and hope in my heart for her not to open the door. I wait with my heart in mouth. How would she react? Happy? Sad? Annoyed? And then suddenly, the door opens. There she stands with an angelic aura. Her golden strands of hair lay on her shoulders, glistening in the sun rays falling on it. She smiles just twitching the curve of her lips. I don't see the happiness behind it. And before she opens her mouth to speak, a figure comes out from behind her. The man puts his hand on her shoulder and looks disgustingly at me. He is saying something, or maybe cursing. But I can't hear. I am saying I am sorry, Serena. But she just smiles; one of her painful smiles. She is not listening to me. But then I can't hear my own voice. I clutch my neck to check. But I am not able to make a sound. Oh my, God! Have I lost the ability to speak? Will I not sing again? The door slams on my face, with both of them disappearing behind the door. Just then, a hand touches my arm and reflexively, I catch it, hoping it would be Serena.

"Mister? Hey!" A sound exclaims in my ears. A woman's sound.

"What?!" I began, opening my eyes in a flash.

"Leave me!" she screams. "You are crushing my wrist!"

I realize I clutch her wrist in a deadly grip. I lose the hold immediately. "I didn't realize. Who are you, by the way?" I ask, straightening into a sitting position. And my head throbs with my back in a bad ache.

"I am Samaira! The interior designer?" She says gazing at my face. "You didn't tell me your name."

I ignore her later remark as the events from the early morning crash before me; the driver abandoning me on the front gate of dungeon house. And then this annoying lady took what seemed like hours to open the damn door. She had looked incredulous in her orange pajamas with her hair wild like a crazy woman. And now when I am waking up from a haunting dream; Serena leaving me and my voice failing me.

"Are you all right?" she asks. "You look awful."

"Do I?" I reply in a sarcastic tone and face her fully. She stands with her hands clasped together in a knot. Behind her furrowed brows, I see skin resembling caramel and Honey. I bet it will sure feel like butter to touch. Her ravenous hair is pulled back into a ponytail. This is a first time I study her features fully. Though the rectangular thick-rimmed glasses look out of place. Perhaps, a bad fashion choice! Speaking of which, her clothes were so outdated. She was wearing a pink tunic with baggy pants. I guess that is one of the typical Indian attires around here. She pressed her full lips together and waited for me say something to solve the present problem.

"So...I was wondering... When will you be leaving?" she queries with her eyes widening in contemplation. "It's already ten in the morning!"

"As soon as I can," I say and get up. "I am going to take a shower. We will continue this interrogation after that if you don't mind."

First I need to charge my phone, call Richard and tell him damn well that I was coming back. 

**What do you guys think?**