Chapter 8: The Stairwell
I cleared my throat, and the motion sensor flicked the stairwell tube light on. Bracing myself, I walked over slowly. She stayed just inside, watching through the narrow crack of the door.
I adjusted my collar, took a deep breath, and told myself, "Bhoot-voot kuch nahi hota, Rohan. Sab dimaag ka khel hai." Still, my heart thudded, and I felt her gaze clinging to me like a prayer.
For a moment, her eye met mine through the slim opening—wide, glistening, wild with fear. She seemed to want to say more, but words wouldn’t come.
As I reached the stairwell, the light timed out—darkness swallowed me. I stomped; the light flickered on again. Empty stairs, leading up and down. No one there.
Relief rushed in, and I nearly laughed at myself. Made a mental note to buy more agarbatti for my mandir. Modern flats, but so cold at night. From somewhere below, a TV played a late-night serial.
A click behind me—the woman had closed her door. Looked like a false alarm. I exhaled, started packing up. “Bas, ho gaya. Time for chai and sleep,” I thought.