He stood there, knee-deep in sewage, his shirt ripped and his once-impeccable formal suit looked like a bunch of rags held together. He held a broken briefcase under one hand, clutching it shut, while he turned his face skyward, gazing at the stars with mild accusation.

This had definitely not been his day.

Rakesh had three things going for him that morning. He had learnt the previous night that he was being considered for a promotion, his wife had served him the best morning coffee a man could ask for, and the rental store had sent him a far better car than he had ordered, purely by mistake. He didn't even have to pay extra.

But Luck was a fickle thing, and like a hooker during a police raid, it abandoned him all too soon. He tripped over the telephone wires and spilled his coffee on his only formal shirt, he scalded himself trying to get up by placing his hands in the hot puddle of freshly ground coffee-beans with just the right amount of cream, and he made the burns worse by trying to wash it with water, forgetting that the geyser was on.

That should have been warning enough. Braver men would have crawled under blankets to nurse themselves back to health, interview be damned.

Cursing himself, he continued to look at the sprawling night, tired. His shoulders slumped, his eyes itching with sleep, he slowly moved towards land, careful not to splash the sludge any more than necessary.

"You are not a bed of roses, are you? I wish I could offer a helping hand, but I don't really want to." A voice jangled suddenly, and he swiveled.

She stood still, leaning against the building, so immobile, even the birds mistook her for a part of their landscape. Her black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and her hands toyed with the hem of it. Her dark hair fell over her face, almost covering her eyes. Almost. It would have been a shame to hide eyes that vividly grey, so light, it was positively eerie.

He pulled himself out of the drain, reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a roll of tissues, ignoring her words.

"You don't mean to wipe yourself down with that, do you? But hey, at least you came prepared for a wade in the sludge." She continued, undeterred.

He gave her a sharp look, his silence speaking the volumes his voice couldn't achieve, almost willing her away with his mind.

It was her turn to ignore him.

"Did you lose something else, besides your sanity? Like your way?" She asked, plopping herself onto a patch of grass next to him.

"I don't believe I invited you to join me down here. Don't you have kids to scare? A castle to haunt?" His voice was gruff, a result of staying silent while being yelled at by his boss, and not talking to anyone since then.

"Nope, today is the day we devils pretend to be angels. Makes our bad deeds that much more evil. Poltergeist 101, you know." She said dryly, rolling her eyes. He could see the darker patches, almost like clouds, swirling around those magical eyes.

Pulling his gaze away, he continued patting himself down with the tissues.

"I lost the key to my rental car. It fell out of my hands when I got down to check my tyres, and it slid off the edges and fell in that mess. That is why I was in the sewer. Happy?" He broke off into grumbles, still unable to believe his luck.

"Do you live far from here?" Her eyebrows were cocked, and she leaned back onto her hands.

"Few streets away. But how can I leave this car here, unattended? If it gets hot wired or vandalised, I will spend the rest of my life's earnings paying for it. It sucks that nobody comes this way, or I could get it towed. Hell, there isn't even a cellphone reception. Let me look again. " He groaned, starting towards the sewers once more.

"Why don't you leave it here and come back with help? I can look after a car. " she shrugged daintily, somehow making that simple act seem so graceful.

He paused.

"One, I don't trust you, and two, you are thin as a rail. Exactly how will you defend a car against a gang of hooligans? The only thing left to do is push it home, call the agency for a spare key, and deal with the drying garbage on my feet. It is not something I look forward to, to speak the truth." He sighed, tossing the roll of tissues, now used up, into the same cesspool he had just emerged from.

He got up decisively, tossed the briefcase into the car and stretched his aching muscles, surprised when the girl followed suit.

"It is sad that you underestimate me, but let me at least push the car with you. The route is slightly sloping downwards, so it should be easy work." She smiled, before taking her place next to him.

He tried to protest, only to be shot down by her firm expression, so he gave in to temptation.

"I could use all the help. Let us get pushing." He smiled back at her.

They went in silence, broken only by occasional grunts. No longer grumpy, he was bursting with doubts, curious about the person helping him. Who was she? Why was she on this road at this time of the night? Why did she want to help him at all?

But something told him that she needed this silence. He felt the volatility of their calm, the briskness of her movements. Deciding against any words, he observed her.

She was younger than he had thought, barely in her twenties. Her lean form flexed with muted muscles, and her steady breaths clashed with his panting heaves, declaring her the stronger one. Her dark hair, he realised, was dyed red at the tips, and her sleeves barely covered her tattoos, which continued from her wrists into her shirt, an art of immense intricacies.

She looked like a street-fighter from one of those English movies, and he wondered if he had indeed underestimated her.

He smiled to himself.

His observation was interrupted by the sound of a dog barking. Timmy came bolting down the yard, his tongue lolling.

"This is my place. Thanks for your help. Clearly, I needed it." He scratched the back of his head, feeling awkward.

She smiled, shrugging.

"Wait, let me get you a glass of water." He blurted, not willing to part with her just yet.

Sprinting to the front door, he rang the bell, moving to let Timmy go in through his little flip-door.

"Oh my god! Rakesh, what is all this?" Nitu gasped. His wife had always been dramatic, but this time, he admitted, she had a point.

He opened his mouth to explain, but she cut him off.

"A bouquet of roses? I really thought you forgot my birthday! This is too sweet, Rocky." She screeched, overjoyed.

He looked down, befuddled.

His once-empty hands held a bouquet, and his sewage-coated pants looked crisp and fresh. He whirled about to look at his new friend, only to be met with more surprises.

There, on the bonnet of the car where she had been leaning, the missing keys gleamed under the moonlight.

A/n:
Sudden story which struck my mind.
Do you believe in supernatural or paranormal occurrences? I don't, but just in case I am wrong, I take the necessary precautions.
*looks away from the mirror quickly*
Dedicating this to one of my readers, @SuhaibAhmedSayeed who is celebrating his birthday today.
Happy birthday, Suhaib Ahmed. Hope you have an awesome day. Glad to make your acquaintance- you have literally voted on all my chapters, and told me how much you enjoyed my book.
Cheerios people!