When Moushami waited for the door to open, she thought she was going to see the milkman. With pan in her hands, hair disheveled and a rag like pyjamas and Tee, she didnt look like anyone’s morning treat. But then most embarasing part was staring right into the face of a new neighbor. Virat Rathore, the new addition to Starshine Appartments who was making his debut as the hunk who never got fished. The noise and the clatter of his furniture moving had slowed down now and she was way into thinking of making a homemade cake to get an introduction. But what the hell, he was here and she was staring like a fool.
“I need a favor”.
No, Hi, hello. This guy seriously needed some lessons on etiquettes.
“Hi”, she deliberately put out her palm for a handshake. the milkpan in her other hand dangling, “I am Moushami…I…”
“I know who you are”, he brushed off brusquely, “I am getting late for my jog and my daughter is having a serious break down on going to this new school. I was wondering if you could talk to her”.
“I am stranger!”
Where is her mother? she wasnt too keen on knowing the answer but the way he screwed his face, she had an idea that it wasn’t one of his favorite topics.
“I need your help”.
How ironic! Moushmi was soon turning 29 and she had no clue about men, kids or handling anything in life. Isn’t that why her mom always complained about. The fast Kolkatta culture that was soon making the youngsters hobos with independence. But then she was independent for her own sake. For the sake of her insanity.