Talk of the Town

39 //

Miraya climbs out of the car and shuts the door, wrapping her arms around herself. The streetlights shimmer, casting a melancholic glow on her puffy, tear-stained face. It feels eerie to be the only one wide awake on a dead street alongside all the houses sitting under a roof of darkness, accompanied by absolutely no sound except for the wind. Her shoes scratch against the road as she walks to Shray's house. The watchman is asleep and it gets a few loud thumps on the glass windows to wake him up from his nap. "Who are you?" he asks, groggily.

"Miraya. I've come here before, remember? I want to meet Shray."

"Are you insane, woman? At this hour?"

"It is an urgent matter. Can you please let me in?"

The old man grabs his spectacles and wears them. He steps out of his booth and leans over the gate. "Oh, you. I know you. You came that day with Sir."

"Yes, yes. Can you let me in? I want to see him," Miraya says, holding onto the cold metal of the gate.

The old man considers. "Sir told me to let you in if you ever come again. So I think it should be alright for you to go inside. But Sir is not here."

Miraya's voice wavers. "Why? Where is he?"

She had not heard from him after he had dropped her at her apartment that evening. He said he didn't have any work for a week. Where could he have gone?

"I don't know the details of his whereabouts. But he is not in the house. He left this afternoon," the old man says, scratching his beard and pulling the beanie on his head tighter.

"Did he say when he might be back?"

Miraya was desperate. She wanted to talk to him immediately. There was too much in her heart. It was pulling her down, curling her mind into madness like quicksand.

"I don't know. But I think he will be back by tomorrow. Otherwise, he would have told me," he says. "Do you want to wait inside?"

"I-I can?"

"You look quite shaken up and whatever it is that you want to talk about appears to be important. Sir has also been like that for a few days so I think that has to do with you. He will want you to wait inside," the man says.

Sir has also been like that.

God, she has put him through so much unnecessary pain. She feels the sobs rattle in her chest.

"Have you called him?" he asks, before letting her in.

She hasn't. Whatever she needs to say should be said in person. The moment Miraya hears his voice, she will break. She can't afford to do it through a phone call.

But she lies.

"Yes, but he never picked up."

The watchman nods and then lets her in. He leads her to the house. He is a lean tall man, skin thin and loose enough to show his veiny arms. His grey thin moustache gives him a stern appearance.

He pulls open a window and pushes his arm inside to grab a key from the flower pot inside. "Here."

"Thank you," she says, taking the key from him and unlocking the door. As soon as she switches on the lights, the watchman goes back to his booth. She closes the door and stares at the empty living room, so devoid of colour. At a time like this, when her life is so grey and bland, it would do her better to surround herself with some colours instead of the minimalistic black and white shit.

Everything feels cold. She sits in the living room, the same place she had sat the other day and pulls her knees to her chest. The time is 4:35 am. Her eyes are tired and heavy and hot from crying but she refuses to give it rest. She has to talk to him. It was her first priority.