The Apartment

The Apartment

Based On True Events.

I waked up with a serious hangover found my hand drenched with blood, from a body lying down two feets away from me. It was the silent girl’s body, lying down, with deep head injury. I stood up to look around. There was not a single soul to witness such horror. I was petrified and felt nauseated.


The unhurried ruins of South Delhi that was disassociating pieces into pieces. The era in which Metro had connected long distances quite efficiently, but the distance between two hearts had grown longer than before. ‘What is it?’ is perhaps a simple question that I could have asked, but this shiny non credulous seats of pink line metro made me nauseated. Pink Line? Yes pink line, joining west to south and then triggers all the way into east Delhi.

Smell of cigarette came first and then the high pitched voice of a girl saying “Hii” from one hand and pinching the Burning tobacco into the ash tray.

“Hello” I said trying not to suffocate.

She looked late in her twenties, with quiet lean posture that could generally confuse a tyro but not me. I was trying to be gentle where as she was calling her brothers, abusing them, laughing carefree, and most importantly sitting with wide open legs, that could have been a curse in some family that I know. In no time another girl emerged from inside who didn’t cared to acknowledge a complete stranger sitting in the couch of their bedroom cum living room. I tried to look around and found a picture hanging on the wall a little left above the fridge of both these girls in make-up and sleeves tops in the picture frame, beside the picture there was a sign ‘Friends’ in glittering fonts. They both looked different in real life.

“Would you like this beer now or later?” Said the third girl who had invited me to this smoke chamber of Lajpat Nagar.

“Later” I almost choked.

She opened the fridge, Thud and shut it down. The smell of cigarette was worsening my situation. I was about to choke, but then one of the girl opened the window and some fresh breeze made its way from higher to lower oxygen concentration. I Re-lived.

Most of my life I regret after taking a decision but then it was this day when I didn’t know if I want to regret or enjoy the company of three beautiful, independent and no string attached type PG girls who had made it clear in very first encounter that I look like Adnan Sami and they wouldn’t mind dancing on the lift krade song. I tried to shift my sitting position to get a better look through the stripped jeans of the first Girl, but I hardly passed above knees, her feet made my stomach tingle.
“Would you like a cigarette”, suddenly she asked noticing that I was noticing which every other guy notices. A girl in her life time had to deal so much, with all the attention, from the feet to the hair, they conduct themselves so calmly and peacefully and that is indeed commendable.

I took out the cigarette and light it with the lighter that was kept ideal for some time over the lamp table. I pulled a drag or two, it was Melbourne my favorite. Considering the choices, at least we had something common, apart from the fact that I was pursuing LLB and she was doing a Bridals Make-up course that offer much more than one imagine during on season. “You know you could also start teaching it to others during off season” She said justifying her mother’s will to see her as an ophthalmologist. I sat there waiting for some wild adventure but later I assumed that Adnan Sami may not be the reason of any girl’s wild fantasy. He should be a Hritik Roshan, Sidharth Malhotra or considering a strong tension between India and Pakistan, bollywood may not add him in their list, but come on, how could you remove Fawad Khan Picture from their wildest fantasy?


The girl who invited me in here was an ex-girlfriend, who befriended me after our breakup. Things were not that serious until she called me one day, and said things weren’t working out as planned, so we should not see each other anymore. At first I tried to know the reason, but after a second I realize it was pseudo feeling that I kept for her from the last three months, and of course who ask to do a Listrine before engaging in private space, well apparently she does. I remember on our first date I brought her a big milk chocolate, which she ate all alone while I just sat there figuring out how many poor children died in Bihar due to malnourishment. She was not a mess at all, but a big wayward and malignant girl whose daddy was, if not more, as rich as Ambani. They had their own lavish bungalow at Jor bagh, perhaps scores of house maids and manservants, and there she was, surviving under a 2 BHK, in which one room was a smoke chamber and other was piled up with damp mattress and casual wears. I didn’t ask the reasons for her depreciation, yet I anticipated a curious notion that every modern girls of my age has, an endeavor perhaps, to stand on their own feet and show this world that Women can do what they want to do. And by world they meant their families and people whom they knew and who knew them.

At night pitchers of beers were brought in along with a quarter of old monk, and a double malt Scottish whiskey. Things were dizzy for me after then. I slipped into calmness and tranquility, slept like a baby on the floor.

Morning was peril, for I waked up with a serious hangover found my hand drenched with blood, from a body lied down two feets away from me. It was the silent girl’s body, laying down, with deep head injury. I stood up to look around. The other two girls were eloped. So I was left all alone with a death body. I hastened to the washroom to cleanup my hands, also threw up massively. Things were getting clear by then. Their conspiracy to kill and run, leaving someone as a bait for investigation.


Buy ‘why me?’ was the question that repeated in my head.

I left the apartment as soon as I could. And catch the metro for Vinod Nagar. meanwhile I called her, but her phone was switched off.

I ran my hand onto my back pocket, there was something unusual. I slipped in my hands and found a piece of paper with an epistle, that said;



The reason why we are leaving because Janvi (the girl with stripped jeans) is having a severe stomach ache, my phone is not charged, its turned off. Please make yourself at home.

P.S. Beware of the Shradha(the girl who had injury on her head), she’s michevious little brat, always engaged in pranks.


I read it twice, and took a return metro back to the apartment. She was up and fine, eating a bowl of instant noodles and editing, my ruined reality on her white laptop.

“Would you like some Maggi” she asked with tender countenance.

I sighed scornfully and left the apartment.


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