Letting out ragged breaths, shivering and trembling, the heavy, steel pan raised above her head, she squeaked in fear, her unsteady fingers going to the handle of the main door of her apartment. What luck she had that despite sleeping off, she had to wake up because her throat was parched! And lo behold! There was a ghost inside the side cabinets of her dresser. That terrified her out of her wits, for she could overhear the distinct buzzing, the sporadic silence, and then the pick up of the same hiss—intenser and shaper than before.

Her eyes widening, squealing, she had rushed out of the room, her arms and legs flailing in every direction, her hair flying behind her, and she waited, occasionally peeping back inside the room to check if the ghost left. However, it didn't, continuing to create the sounds that frightened her. Finally, left with no option, she gulped her saliva and dialed the first contact listed in the recent call logs.

Praying to the Gods above in front of the mini temple she had set up, lighting up incense sticks and lamps, reciting every mantra she ever knew of—something that both her maternal and paternal grandmothers had taught—she stubbornly kept out of her room, weeping, quivering, mumbling apologies to everyone she ever offended. Even to Aditya, whose car she had unintentionally dashed into.

But when the bell to her apartment rang, a lengthy, raucous gasp escaped her throat, her eyes swelling to the point of coming out of their sockets. Hence, she had the steel pan clasped in her hands, raised above her head. The incessant ringing of the doorbell hadn't stopped, and she was certain this was her end, for devils don't get injured by the mere banging of a pan against their heads.

Shaking her head, erratic squeals leaving her mouth, she twisted the knob, swung the door open, shrieked her lungs out when she saw the black hoodie-clad devil standing in front of her in partial darkness, and tried to land a blow on its head with the heavy pan she had in her hands.

However, the intensity of her screams grew further when the devil held her wrists in a firm clasp, and her grip on the pan loosened, falling on the carpeted floor below with a loud thud, barely dodging her feet. Wringing her arms, she almost managed to thwart the devil and go back in, but the lights in the corridor outside flickered before fusing.

The remnant dregs of her patience and bravery receded, and she squawked, smacking the devil in his chest. "Oh my God! There is a devil at my door."

Letting out a puff of air, the devil groaned when her tiny palms hit his shoulder. "What the fuck?" He pushed his hoodie off his head. "It's me, you idiot."

He finally let go of her hands, and she took her time to calm her furiously racing heart, pushing her hair away from her face and taking a good look at the man standing at her door. Thankfully, she could discern him despite the light in the corridor going out, for the artificial illumination from her living area sufficed. Frowning, she yelled, "What are you doing here?"

He huffed, picking up the pan and pushing her inside. "You called me, screaming that there is a ghost inside your house. Since then, you are neither picking up my calls nor are you replying to my texts. I got," he pursed his lips, "a bit worried."

She stepped back, deliberating over his words. "I called you? I thought I called Mom."

"Nuh-uh. You called me. You can check the logs if you want. It's not my intention to stalk you or flirt with you at," he checked his watch, "2 a.m. in the morning."

Biting her lips, she weakly nodded. "Thanks, but... how did you come up? The main entrance—"

"Wasn't locked. As in a few people were coming in. So, I—"

She gasped. "You are intruding." Scowling, she pointed a finger at him with her eyes narrowed to slits. "I was right about you. Such a stalker! Such an intruder! Has come here to harass me."

"I am so gonna kill you today," he said, gritting his teeth. "Why were you attacking me with a frying pan? And why did you think I am the devil?"

Another gasp rolled out of her mouth, and her eyes went as wide as saucers. "There is a ghost in my house."

***

He peeped inside the side cabinet of her dresser and then glimpsed back at the sheepish girl, who could barely look him in the eye anymore. Snorting, he bit his cheeks to prevent himself from sniggering, but the way she was frowning and pouting caused him to break into a fit of giggles until he began roaring with laughter, holding his stomach.

"I cannot believe this." He banged his palm on the wall. "You got scared because of a bumblebee?"

Her lips puckered furthermore, cheeks reddening in mortification. "The buzzing, the weird noises scared me." She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find the appropriate profanity to use for the chortling man, but when nothing came to her mind, she strode back to the living room.

He followed her close behind. "Miss High and Mighty is scared of bees."

The teasing intonation prompted her to twist her lips. "Fine! I have no clue how it got trapped in there, and in utter silence at night, the sounds amplified. That's all."

Shaking his head, he said, "Lock your door properly. Who knows if there is actually a devil waiting to feast on you?" He wiggled his brows at her. "Perhaps your intestines will also turn noodle-shaped like that god-awful movie we watched."

She clicked her tongue when she realized that goosebumps had risen on her skin yet again despite the mere quip he had made. "Shoo! Meanie!" She glowered at him.

Chortling, he made his way to the door. "Bye, Miss Car Murderer."

"Don't go," she squeaked, clutching onto the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He halted in his steps and his gaze went to the way she had the fabric of his shirt clasped between her fingers. "What?"

"Please don't go."

"What?"

"Don't go, don't go, don't go."

"What?"

"I would rather be with my mortal enemy than be alone with a ghost and become one," she cried. "Please! Please! Please! Please! Plea—"

He clicked his tongue in exasperation. "No need to whine. Shut up, and leave my shirt. I am not going anywhere."

She heaved a sigh of relief as color finally flooded her face. "Thank you. You are not half as bad. Please take a seat, and don't you dare leave before the sun rises in the eastern sky."

Rolling his eyes, he collapsed on the couch in the living area. "Sun rises in the eastern sky, and it's common knowledge. No need to articulate it explicitly."

She scrunched her nose in disgust. "Out of all the people in the world, I had to call you."

"Good that you called me." He flashed her a sardonic smile. "Otherwise, your mother wouldn't have been able to reach you in such a short span of time, and we would've discovered a mentally unbalanced Nandini Basu tomorrow morning because she is oh so scared of the buzzing of a bee."

Flashing her eyes at him, she assumed the single-seater next to the sofa. "Happens with people from time to time. No need to remind me. Also," she glared at him, pointing a finger, "don't you dare narrate this story in front of everyone, alright? They are my new friends, and if they find out that I," she pouted, "am a chicken, they will—"

"Laugh at you," he yawned, "mock you, ridicule you, crack jokes at your expense, and Rishi might offer to come to your house past midnight every day so that you can sleep peacefully." He glanced at her. "But no one would stop being friends with you or treat you like an outcast or think low of you."

She inhaled sharply. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

He didn't answer right away, letting his eyes sweep the spick and span apartment. Although only one dim light in the living area was switched on, he could perceive everything quite clearly.

A shoe rack standing beside the door had every kind of shoe imaginable in every color possible. Towards the left of the entrance was the living area where a three-seater L-shaped couch and two single-seater sofas were placed facing the TV on the wall and the mantlepiece below it. A glass-top center table and two bean bags accentuated the aesthetics, lying between the wall and the couch. On the right side of the entrance was the four-seater dining table with cushioned chairs, the wooden table dark brown in color.

Behind the living area was the open kitchen with slabs on three sides. All kinds of appliances and embellishments were present there, and the stainless steel components were gleaming, be it the fridge, the microwave oven, or even the sink. Right next to the kitchen was the glass door to the open balcony. Sitting on the couch, he could perceive the silhouettes of multiple potted plants outside.

A narrow corridor led from the hall to the bedroom, and tucked away in one corner of the living area was a small temple dedicated to Hindu Gods and Goddesses, where a small lamp was lit up, and the ashes of the incense sticks had pooled on the wooden table over which the temple was placed. The walls were ornamented with portraits and pictures of her family and friends apart from tapestries and decals.

Finally, he glimpsed at her, answering her question. "You have OCD about everything. That's quite evident. You will obsess over the friendships you have forged recently, trying to appear your perfect self in front of them, hoping they never get the chance to laugh at you. But then friendships don't work that way. Unless your friend teases you because of your stupidity, they ain't your friend, Mademoiselle."

She giggled. "Wow! That's Nandini Basu in a nutshell. I do have this weird habit of trying to be perfect in front of my friends so that no one can... you know... laugh at me. It troubles me otherwise if they do."

He rolled his eyes. "No one is perfect. You, out of all people, most certainly aren't, Miss Car Murderer."

She twisted her lips. "Can we please put that behind us? I am so bored of this discourse."

He shrugged. "Until I choose to let it go, I am going to make sure to trouble you the most in the world. I have my eyes on you, Basu."

Her gaze flickered towards the wall because of the way he uttered her last name, reminding her of the way Shubham used to let her surname roll on his tongue, almost as if he savored saying that. Right next to the TV, she had framed the picture from the first and last date they ever went on. She was busy messing with his perfectly set hair while he had his palms wrapped around her wrists, trying to tug her away, expressions of pure distaste etched on his face. She chuckled as she recollected how touchy he used to get when it came to his hair and how she had asked the waiter at the restaurant to get her that click. To date, it was the most popular picture she had ever posted on her social media profiles.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked upon hearing the weak chortles escaping her throat. Following her line of sight, he took a moment to discern the picture in partial darkness. She looked extremely jubilant in that photo—grinning from ear to ear, and the young boy sitting next to her had the same scowl on his face that Aditya adorned from time to time whenever someone called him 'cute' or 'sweet'. Chuckling, he said, "Boyfriend?"

She heaved a deep sigh, walking up to the frame. "A very good friend, but I am no longer in touch with him. The memories I hold of him are way too precious to let go."

He observed her pace around the hall, heard the softness in her tone, her eyes twinkling with joy, her demeanor as excited as a toddler receiving chocolates. He hadn't seen her this cheerful in the few days he had known her, and unknowingly, a smile developed on his face too upon seeing her grin that effortlessly.

"He... he kinda grows up on you. I swear I hated him for making me write all those lab practicals, not giving me enough time to write my exams, sitting behind me, copying my answers." She laughed, smacking her forehead. "But then once we graduated, and he completely cut everyone off from his life, I realized how much I value his friendship. I missed getting teased by him. I missed ruffling and messing up his hair." She tittered. "He hates that, and I love doing it."

He didn't even know when his lips curved upwards. "Why did he cut everyone off from his life?"

She collapsed on the bean bag across from him. "I don't know. Things were fine until the last day. We met before I left the campus, shared a cup of coffee. He told me he would miss me. He told me he would call me. And then I came here for my master's degree, hoping against hope that he would make good on his promise. I sent him numerous text messages, called him so many times, but he never picked up. His friends don't know of his whereabouts either, and..." Her voice cracked. "And..."

Aditya sensed the kind of mental anguish she was experiencing, and despite the aversion he held in his heart for her, he got up from the couch and plopped on the carpet next to the bean bag, his palm finding her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Must be something life-changing for him to cut everyone off."

"That's what I am scared of." She let out a labored breath. "Is he okay? He is fine, right? Nothing untoward has happened to him, correct?"

He didn't know what to say anymore. The way she was peering at him with a lot of hope, vulnerability along with unshed tears pooling in her eyes, the trembling of her lips, the dejected manner in which she was sniffling discreetly—all he wished to do was take away her confusion, her agony, her fears at that moment and give her everything she desired.

"Tell me, Aditya." She sniveled. "He is fine, right?"

An incomprehensible shudder rushed down his spine upon hearing her take his name in such a lucid manner. Smiling weakly, he said, "I am sure he is indeed fine. Perhaps he got busy with life. College students have it relatively easy. Adults? Not so much."

She nodded vehemently, wiping the tears that had successfully leaked out of her glistening orbs. "He is fine. Absolutely fine. It's just that I miss my friend so much. I really, really hope I find him someday. One fine day."

His fingers went ahead to wipe the remnant teardrop on her cheeks, gently flicking her nose, beaming at her. "You will."

"That picture is from our first date."

His brows shot up in amusement. "Baby elephants date these days, I see. Do they comprehend the language humans speak?"

Groaning, shrugging his hand off her shoulder, she pushed his guffawing face away from her before lying on the bean bag while he landed on the carpet with a soft thud, holding his stomach as fits of laughter convulsed through his body. "I almost grew fond of you. Almost. But you had to ruin the moment."

Controlling his sniggers, he propped himself on his elbows, peeking at her. "It's pretty late. Do you want to go to sleep? I will take the couch here. You can go to your room."

"No!" she shrieked, sitting upright, her eyes widening. "I can't be in that room."

He snickered. "There was no ghost in your room."

"I know! But I am scared, alright? I..." She shuddered. "I can't. I don't think I will be able to sleep. You can sleep here on the couch. I will sit on this bean bag." She withdrew her knees to her chest and nodded vigorously.

Grumbling under his breath, lying down on the carpet again, he huffed. "I would need coffee to stay awake."

"I said you can sleep."

"No way!" He rolled his eyes. "You have already attempted to murder my baby once. I can't risk my life in your enigmatic and eccentric presence."

Throwing a look of pure loathing at him, she went to the kitchen, flipping on all the lights on her way, putting a pan on the stove, and adding water and milk to it. "I am making tea. You have to drink tea."

"Why not coffee?"

She glared at him. "I want tea now, and you have to drink tea. This is my house. My rules."

Pursing his lips, he clicked his tongue. "Fine! Whatever!"

Silence ensued apart from the burbling of the hot mixture atop the stove, and soon enough, the sweet aroma of ginger and cardamom wafted through the air, hitting their nostrils—invigorating, refreshing, activating each of their senses despite the exhaustion running through the cells of their bodies.

However, he was still cherishing the massive smile on her face, the bright shimmering of her eyes from when she spoke of her friend. He wished he could see that again, relish it again at least once more in his life, for it was one breathtaking smile—something he wouldn't be able to forget for years. Something that would remain etched in his memory till the last breath of his life. "Miss Car Murderer?"

She poured the tea into two cups without glimpsing at him. "Yes?"

He fiddled with the sleeves of his t-shirt, contemplating. "What's this friend's full name?"