CHAPTER I
• I •
Yara snorted hopelessly, scrolling through the comments on her advertisement for renting out a one-BHK flat with an attached washroom, balcony, and a not-so-spacious living room with a tiny semi-furnished kitchen.
It was located on the fourth floor of a seven-story building in one of the city's prime locations. Even parking space was available.
In short, it was an ideal deal for any solitary person or couple at a negotiable low price.
Yet, after thirty-seven days of posting it on numerous apps, she had not found a single genuinely interested person.
The first week had seemed promising. She had received blank calls, seven random visits from nosy couples, reckless teenagers, and even an old bachelor. Among them, one couple had seemed almost certain they would proceed with the paperwork right away—but alas.
The old man had been serious too, but just a morning before their final discussion, he got a better deal elsewhere.
After that week, notifications about the ad faded like autumn leaves.
It wasn’t that Yara urgently needed the money or was desperate to find a tenant. But earning a little extra at the end of the month to stash away in her savings sounded nice—plus, she had a plan.
A gift for her parents’ anniversary. Something useful. Something timeless. Maybe an antique record player.
She hadn't decided yet.
Yara came from a wealthy middle-class family—her father was a lawyer, her mother a scientist in the aeronautics department. She could have followed in their footsteps, but she wanted something different, something uniquely her own. Even if it wasn’t a well-paid job.
She had once worked as a forest officer, earning a decent sum—enough to afford two flats in NCR. Though she never lived in them, given that her transferable job provided residence quarters and sound concessions. But an injury to her forearm led to early retirement—her medical condition no longer met the requirements.
She hadn’t minded.
Several options were offered to her, but she chose pre-retirement to pursue something else. Something she'd loved since childhood.
Dubbing artist.
Not the most dominant profession, but for Yara, it was a passion.
She had the required education, the skill of imitating and transforming her voice effortlessly—it wasn’t hard to land the job.
After living in her apartment for seven weeks, she realized the second flat was unnecessary. Renting it out seemed the logical move. And with two separate entrances, it was all the more convenient—though the interconnected bedroom and living room doors had been temporarily sealed for privacy.
The maintenance fee would still be on her, making it an easy deal for the tenant.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts—it was the alarm she had set for seven PM. Time for her evening walk.
She groaned in irritation, tossing the phone onto the bed with a dull thud before grabbing a fresh pair of track pants and a t-shirt, heading toward the washroom.
Her annoyance wasn’t just from the alarm—it was the failed advertisement.
A couple of minutes later, she reappeared, slipping on her watch from the desk. Yara sat at the mirror-attached table, running a wooden comb through her shorter-than-shoulder-length hair.
“Ughhh,” she muttered as the comb snagged on stubborn tangles.
Did anyone else’s hair get this tangled, despite being short? Apparently, hers did.
Grabbing a rubber band, she tied it into a tiny ponytail, gulped down some water from the bottle on her table, and slipped on her sneakers.
She struggled with the door lock, as usual, but after a brief battle, she managed to close and lock it with a final bang.
Then, her eyes drifted to the door beside hers, recalling her failure in renting out the second flat.
...
Yara's cell phone rang—a flute melody breaking the evening silence.
Lazily, she pulled it out from her pocket and glanced at the caller ID: Unknown Number.
The thought of disregarding it crossed her mind, but instinctively, she swiped up and answered, pressing the phone against her ear.
Silence.
Then, a deep voice.
“Am I speaking to Ms. Yara?”
“You are,” she replied.
“I came across your advertisement for renting a flat near NCR. It's still available, I assume?”
The inquiry made Yara sit up straight on the bench in the garden.
“Yeah, it's still available. Are you interested?”
“Of course, I wouldn't have called otherwise.”
A pause.
“I’m fine with the details and the price as well, so I want to visit the location and take a look. Would seven this Friday evening be convenient?”
“Sure, just ring me up an hour before you arrive.”
“Alright, I will,” assured the man.
“And yeah, your name?” she asked.
“Shravan Rawal.”
“Alright, see you on Friday then.”
“Yeah, thank you.”
The call ended.
She let out the breath she'd been holding for too long.
After so many weeks, finally, there was a small ray of hope, and she couldn't deny her instinct that this was the moment she'd been waiting for.
She was going to get a neighbor—excluding the already existing grumpy, noisy, over-energetic lass next door.
That girl was truly infuriating. Who the hell played MJ's songs on full volume at eleven at night? Maybe she wanted to be the kid featured in MJ’s "Black or White" music video.
God knew what the new neighbor was going to be like. Perhaps he would be ten times worse than her.
She didn’t even have to struggle to recall her name—it was permanently etched in her memory thanks to those dreadful history lessons on the Renaissance.
Renessa.
Leisurely, she sat back, letting all sorts of thoughts occupy her mind.
The cold breeze brushed against her face with gentle waves; the rustling of leaves, the buzzing of crickets, and the soft cooing of an unknown bird intensified her thoughts, luring her mind into an unfamiliar foreign land.
The garden in her complex had always been her go-to place during the last few months of living here.
Leading a solitary life was peaceful, grounding, independent—yet it also made her a lone wanderer, pulling her back to memories of home, memories she embraced.
At some point in life, everyone relied on dependence. And despite choosing independence, she knew that, in the end, home never truly felt like home without dependence, sacrifice, and, most certainly, solace.
A few wet drops landed on her cheeks and palms from above, jolting her out of her daze.
She crumpled the wrapper of her long-ago munched snack and tossed it into the trash like a ball into its goal. Then, she leapt back to her room.
...
Friday arrived, and Yara's concentration was buried in the television, telecasting the animated series she had recently dubbed. She found the dubbing melodramatic and started picking out her own errors.
"It needs a deeper, hoarse voice for the character—he’s way too grumpy. I unnecessarily emphasized the accent. He sounds kinda narcissistic, which isn’t how the cartoon artist portrayed him at all. Heck, I need to work on my voice and skills. No more off-season ice cream from now on. But does ice cream really affect my voice? I mean, I can have it occasio—"
A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought.
Muttering a curse under her breath, she got off the couch and answered the door, her face visibly annoyed—an I-will-kill-you expression that could terrify any decent guest or intruder.
But the intruder wasn’t decent, nor naïve enough to be scared. Instead, she flashed a wide grin, showing off her pearl-like teeth.
Yara returned the smile with a tight-lipped, exaggerated version—if it could speak, it would yell, "Haha, I am the fakest smile ever."
"What do you need, my beloved Renessa?" she asked, exuding a psychopathic level of alertness, her unnervingly wide smile paired with piercing eyes. Her messy hair was tied up with a tiny clutch, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt that looked suffocatingly tight.
Apparently, her irritation stemmed from Renessa’s habit of playing rock and jazz music at one in the morning, which had eventually led to a late-afternoon hangover and a pounding headache for Yara—plus her excellent dubbing skills as the cherry on top.
"Well, could you pass me some cocoa powder if you have any?" Renessa said. "I’m making hot chocolate—no worries, I’ll share some with you."
Yara couldn't turn down an offer like that. In exchange for some cocoa powder, she’d get a mug of Renessa’s heaven-sent hot chocolate, which she had tasted several times before and never regretted.
Mouthing a "wait," Yara sauntered to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets for the cocoa powder she had bought just last week. After a few minutes of shuffling through the stuff, she found the jar in one of the left-side cabinets. Taking it out, she shoved a tablespoon into the jar and transferred more than the required amount into a small container, sealing both tightly.
As she walked back to the living room, she spotted Renessa kneeling in front of the little squirrel who often paid her visits. She was gently brushing her fingers along its furry spine, her lips curved into a gentle smile.
Yara paused, appreciating the scene before her. Renessa, the loud chaos herself, looked so oddly delicate in that moment, adoring her tiny pet.
"Here’s your order, madam!" Yara announced playfully, snapping Renessa’s attention back.
Renessa smiled, still lingering in her moment of admiration. "I wish it would lay some babies—I’d keep one."
"Oh, as if you’d manage to hold on to such a minuscule offspring," Yara scoffed, passing the sugar.
Renessa chuckled, taking the cocoa powder. "Thank you! And you look quite captivating in these clothes of yours," she called out with a wink before darting off down the hallway.
Flushed.
But.
Yara shut the slightly ajar door and whispered, "Hot chocolate..."
---
The screen came to life with an incoming call.
Yara tilted her head toward the wall clock.
And.
Whiplash.
Groaning, she rubbed her neck and muttered, "Damn you, whiplash."
The melodic flute ringtone snapped her back to reality, distracting her from the ache. She strode from the kitchen to her room and picked up the call.
"Yeah?"
"Good evening. At seven, I’m supposed to visit the apartment. You’re available, right?" The voice on the other end was steady, unfamiliar.
"Huh? What’re you talking about? Not following." Yara frowned.
"My bad, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Shravan—I called you two days ago. You’re looking for a tenant near NCR, right?"
It took Yara a second to process the information.
"Oh, yeah! Sorry, that completely slipped my mind," she admitted, glancing at the clock. "It’s quarter to seven—are you at the location?"
"Not yet, but I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just thought I should inform you."
"Alright, I’m waiting near the fountain aligned with ‘Eric Serves.’"
"Sure, thank you."
The call ended.
Yara let out a breath. Finally—a serious tenant.
After weeks of nothing, maybe this was it—the one neighbor she had been waiting for. Hopefully, he was less insane than Renessa.
Or was she about to welcome another nuisance into her life?
She’d find out soon enough.
Happy Readin' <3
ROY.
