The Trouble Next Door

B. Halwa and Cigarettes

Finally reached Mumbai. I visited a few art galleries, it felt nice, but I couldn't afford anything. I love sketching and art, but all I've really accomplished is a lifetime of doodling in notebooks. At least I can pretend I'm "achieving something" by walking through galleries.

I had just finished college, and honestly, I hadn't done much with my life. I checked my phone and saw a message from my mom:

"Bring some potatoes on your way home."

"Okay, mom," I texted back, trying to hold in my frustration.

When I arrived home, my mom's first question wasn't about how I was doing or where I'd been for four years. Nope, it was, "Did you bring the potatoes?"

"Yes, I did," I said, already annoyed.

"You like potatoes, right? I'm making potato halwa for you, it's your favorite," Mom said, as if she hadn't already traumatized me with her potato obsession.

And then, just to top off the perfect day, I heard a girl laughing behind me. She had glasses on, a book in her hand, and for some strange reason, just looking at her face made me want to scream. Who the Heck is This Girl?

"What?" I asked, blinking at her like she had just asked me to run a marathon in flip-flops.

" Potato halwa kon khay? (Who even likes potato halwa?) Who even likes it? " she said, smirking like she had just uncovered some deep, dark secret about me.

I turned to my mom, eyes wide. "Mom, did you adopt another child? I told Dad—no more kids! Kick out this Gujarati chudail (witch)!"

Mom shot me a look that could kill. "Shut up, you idiot! You still can't speak properly. She lives in the room next to yours, it was empty, so I rented it out."

"Mom, I told you not to take any tenants," I whined.

"Fine, you pay 10,000 rupees, and I won't keep one!" she fired back, clearly enjoying the chaos.

"Mommmmm!" I half-screamed, half-cried. My mother's way of solving problems was as straightforward as a brick to the face. And being an only child? Fantastic—except when it comes to dealing with her all alone. Sometimes I think a sibling would've been a blessing. At least I wouldn't have to endure her "solutions" by myself.

I grabbed my bag and stomped upstairs, shooting a glare at the girl on the way. Who would've thought someone would move into the haunted room next to mine? Four years ago, it was the site of a terrifying horror movie set. Now, thanks to my mom's "renovation skills," it was slightly less haunted.

Once inside my room, I unpacked like I was being timed for a race, shoving clothes into the wardrobe and aligning my precious chess trophies like they were sacred artifacts. Chess is life. I even make tutorial videos to fund my unhealthy obsession with the game.

Living in an open-roof house in Mumbai has its perks, though, like fresh air, sunshine, and occasionally not killing each other with my mom. If we hadn't had that epic fight four years ago, I might've still been in Mumbai. But hey, mom and I just don't vibe. Thought she'd understand me by now, but apparently, that's not on the cards.

Just then, the girl burst into my room like she owned the place and handed me a bowl. "Aunty sent halwa."

"I don't want it. Bawali chhori! (Stupid girl)" I said, pretending my life was a dramatic movie.

"Arey, sure che? Toh teri favorite hati na? (Are you sure? It used to be your favorite.) " she teased, clearly enjoying my frustration.

"What's it to you? Thari bhasha maine koi samjh aave, Gujarati Kamal dhokla," I snapped, feeling oddly defensive. (What's it to you? I don't understand your language, you were speaking in Gujarati, you fool.)

She smirked and closed the door behind her, looking like she was ready to cause trouble. Then, she actually handed me a cigarette.

"Here, calm your mind," she said, acting like she was offering me a magic potion.

"I don't smoke," I shot back, giving her the side-eye.

"Yeah, right! Look at your lips, I can tell you smoke. People with lips like yours smoke," she said with an exaggerated wink.

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh. "Oh, so you've been checking out my lips?"

She froze. The awkwardness was real. "I—uh... No. I just... um..." She trailed off, all flustered and weird.

She wore a suit and salwar with a dupatta that was trying to be a statement but gave up halfway. Her hair was a mess, with strands falling like they had their own personality. And her lipstick? Well, it looked like she had eaten it instead of wearing it. Lovely Gujrati Kamal Dhokala (Gujrati -dish).

I took all this in within a fraction of a second. It's just my habit, I'm a people-watcher, an expert in judging every tiny detail. Don't judge me. it's a gift. She left the room quickly, probably realizing I could out-analyze her at this point.

I stared at the halwa and mumbled, "Fine."

I took a bite. It was so good it felt like I had just eaten the whole of heaven in one spoonful. I couldn't help but smile a little.

And of course, just then, I saw her standing in the doorway, watching me with that damn smug grin. On the surface, she seemed shy and innocent around my mom, but something about her screamed trouble. Definitely not the sweet, innocent type. She'd need to be kept on a short leash.