Laya:
The afternoon sun is unforgiving.
By the time the cab driver unloads my luggage onto the pavement, sweat has already gathered at the back of my neck. The heat clings to my skin like a second layer, refusing to let go.
I thank the driver, watching as he disappears down the road without so much as a backward glance.
And suddenly it's just me.
Two suitcases.
Three cardboard boxes.
A backpack.
And a four-story apartment building that somehow looks much less impressive than it did in the online photos.
I tilt my head back and stare at it.
This is it.
My new home.
For the next three years, at least.
The thought sends a nervous flutter through my stomach.
New city.
New hospital.
New people.
New responsibilities.
I tighten my grip on the suitcase handle.
"Come on, Laya," I mutter.
"You've survived worse."
Every fantasy heroine gets a fresh start eventually.
Mine just happens to come with medical textbooks, two suitcases, and a broken elevator.
The lift is out of order.
Of course it is.
By the time I drag my belongings to the third floor, my arms ache, my back protests every movement, and I'm seriously considering filing a personal complaint against whoever invented stairs.
The apartment key sticks for a moment before the lock finally gives way.
The door swings open.
Silence greets me.
Not the peaceful kind.
The unfamiliar kind.
The kind that reminds you nobody is waiting on the other side of the door.
A faint scent of floor cleaner lingers in the air, mixed with the warmth of a space that has been shut all afternoon. Somewhere outside, a pressure cooker whistles from another apartment. A dog barks from the street below.
I step inside and let the door click shut behind me.
For a moment, I simply stand there with my suitcase beside me and take it all in.
Sunlight pours through the balcony doors and spills across the living room floor in uneven golden patches. Dust particles float lazily through the beams, dancing whenever the ceiling fan turns overhead.
The couch has clearly seen better days. One cushion sags slightly in the middle and there's a small coffee stain on the armrest.
Someone has managed to kill a plant in the corner.
I immediately feel better.
A perfect apartment would've been intimidating.
This one feels lived in.
The living room opens into a small dining space and an equally tiny kitchen. Nothing fancy.
Just enough.
YOU ARE READING
Things we never said
RomanceLaya never expected to see Rohit again. Years after school, an apartment mix-up forces the former friends to become roommates. Now both doctors, they spend their days saving lives and their nights navigating the unresolved feelings, misunderstanding...
