I was having tea on my balcony when I saw it - one of those small tempos people use for moving, backed into the lane below. The flat next door had been empty for two months since Bose Uncle passed away. His son lived in Bangalore and had been trying to rent it out.
A woman got out. Late twenties maybe, wearing jeans and a kurta, hair tied back. She looked up at the building, then started directing the workers with the boxes.
I finished my tea and went back inside. The Durga Puja pandal was going up down the street - the hammering had been going on for days. Another week until the festivities started.
I ran into her near the building gate that evening.
"Hi," she said. "I just moved into 3A. I'm Anukriti."
"Oh, welcome. I'm Aditya. I'm in 2B, right next door." We shook hands. Her grip was firm. "Need any help settling in?"
"No, I'm managing. Thank you though."
"Cool. Well, let me know if you need anything. I work from home mostly, so I'm usually around."
"I will. Thank you, Aditya."
She smiled and headed upstairs. It was a nice smile. I found myself thinking about that it while I made dinner. And the way her cheeks dimpled slightly on one side. It had been a while since anyone interesting had moved into the building. Most of the flats were families or retired couples.
I'm a freelance writer, so I keep odd hours. Over the next few weeks, I started noticing Anukriti's routine. She'd leave at 8 AM sharp, come back around 7 PM. Sometimes we'd cross paths at the gate. She'd smile, ask how my work was going. I'd ask about her day. Her eyes were dark, and she had this way of tucking her hair behind her ear when she talked that I found myself waiting to see.
"What do you do?" I asked once.
"IT. Software testing," she said. "Boring stuff."
"Ah. You from Kolkata originally?"
"Darjeeling, actually. Moved here for work."
Darjeeling. That explained why she didn't seem bothered by the cold snap we were having. It was early October and already freezing at night - unusual for Kolkata. Her cheeks had a slight flush to them from the cold air, I noticed. It suited her.
She was easy to talk to. Quiet, but in a comfortable way. I found myself timing my cha breaks for when she might be coming home. Casually running into her at the gate. We'd chat for a few minutes about nothing important - the weather, the Puja preparations, the stray dog that had adopted our building. Sometimes she'd laugh at something I said, and I'd catch myself trying to be funnier just to hear it again.
Ria, my friend, noticed when she visited.
"You've been smiling at your phone a lot," she said. "Who is she?"
"What? No one. There's a new tenant, that's all."
"Uh huh. And?"
"And nothing. She seems nice."
"Nice," Ria grinned. "You should ask her to the Puja with us. We're doing the pandal hopping thing on Ashtami, right?"
I thought about it. Why not? "Yeah...Yeah, maybe I will."
About three weeks after Anukriti moved in, I was working late one night - probably around midnight. I got up to get water and glanced out my window. My balcony faced the side, and I could see directly into her flat through her living room window.
Her flat was lit up.
Every single light. The living room, bedroom, kitchen, even the bathroom. Every light in the flat was on.
I figured she'd fallen asleep studying or something. Went back to work.
But the next night, same thing. Every light blazing.
And the night after that.
I mentioned it to Ria when she called. "Maybe she's scared of the dark?" Ria said. "Some people are like that. Or maybe she's studying for something? My cousin used to do that during her MBA."
"At 2 AM?"
"I mean, everyone has their quirks."
That was fair. And it wasn't like it affected me. If anything, there was something endearing about it. This girl from the hills, alone in a new city, keeping all the lights on for comfort. I liked the idea of her feeling safe that way.
The cold got worse. By mid-October, the city was shivering through an unexpected cold wave. The newspapers were calling it the coldest October in thirty years.
I was coming back from the market one morning when I saw Anukriti washing her balcony. She was wearing a thin cotton kurta, no shawl, no sweater. It was maybe 12 degrees.
"Morning!" I called up. "You're not cold?"
She looked down and smiled. "Good morning, Aditya. No, I'm fine."
"It's freezing. You should wear something warmer."
"I'm from Darjeeling, remember? This is nothing."
Fair enough, I guess. Mountain people are built different.
I watched her finish washing the balcony. She moved methodically - scrub, rinse, step. Scrub, rinse, step for twenty minutes straight. Never stopped to adjust her grip. Never paused to rest.
When she finished, she went back inside. A minute later, I saw all the lights in her flat turn on at once. Even though it was 10 AM and bright outside.
I started noticing small things after that.
Her newspaper was always picked up at exactly 7 AM. I knew because mine came at 7:15, and hers was always already gone. Sometimes I'd see her on her balcony in the early morning, coffee in hand, looking out at the street. The morning light caught her face in a way that made me want to remember to look out my window at that time more often.
The maid complained once that Anukriti's flat was always spotless. "Nothing to clean," she grumbled. "What does she even do in there?"
Her scooter was always parked in exactly the same spot in the building's parking area. Same angle, same position, every single day.
And the lights. Every night, from about 9 PM until 6 AM, every single light on.
I told myself she was just really organized. Routine-oriented. Some people are like that. It didn't make her any less interesting. If anything, there was something intriguing about her precision. The way she moved through the world so deliberately. I wondered what it would be like to know her better.
I still wanted to ask her about the Puja.
Durga Puja arrived with the usual chaos. The whole neighborhood transformed - lights, decorations, the smell of dhunuchi and bhog everywhere. The sound of dhaak filled the air.
On Saptami evening, I saw Anukriti coming home. I'd been working up the courage all week.
"Hey Anukriti! Got plans for Ashtami?"
She stopped. "Plans?"
"Yeah, some friends and I are doing pandal hopping. You should come with us. You haven't experienced Kolkata Puja properly until you've done the midnight pandal circuit."
She looked at me. Really looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were dark brown, beautiful, but there was something about the way she held eye contact. No shifting. No natural wavering.
"That's kind of you," she said. "But I don't celebrate Puja."
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to assume—"
"It's alright. I appreciate the invitation."
"Maybe just for the food then? The chicken roll at the Singhi Para pandal is amazing."
"I don't eat outside food."
"Oh. Okay."
She smiled - that same perfect smile. "Thank you though, Aditya. It was thoughtful of you to ask."
She went upstairs.
I felt stupid. Of course she'd say no. I'd probably read the whole thing wrong. The friendly chats were just her being polite. Nothing more.
Ria laughed when I told her. "At least you tried. Come on, forget about it. Ashtami night is going to be crazy."
Ashtami was everything it always was - crowds, music, lights, the energy of the whole city out celebrating. We hit six pandals, ate our weight in luchi and cholar dal, and got home around 3 AM.
I was exhausted but wired. Couldn't sleep.
Around 4 AM, I got up for water and glanced out my window automatically.
All of Anukriti's lights were on, as usual.
But she was standing on her balcony. Just standing there. Looking out at the empty street.
Looking up at my window.
At me.
We made eye contact.
She didn't move. Didn't smile. Didn't wave.
Just looked.
I stepped back from the window. Drew the curtain.
When I looked again a few minutes later, she was gone.
The next morning, someone knocked on my door.
It was Anukriti.
"Good morning, Aditya."
"Uh... morning. What's up?"
"I wanted to apologize for being rude yesterday. About the Puja invitation."
"Oh no, you weren't rude at all. I understand if it's not your thing."
"It was kind of you to think of me." She tilted her head slightly. "I notice you look out your window often. At night."
My stomach dropped. "I don't - I mean, I just—"
"It's alright. I understand. When you live alone, you notice patterns. Who comes and goes. Who keeps what hours." She paused. "I notice things too."
"Right. Yeah."
"Would you like to come down sometime? See my flat? You seem curious about it."
Everything in my body said no. But my mouth said: "Sure. That'd be nice."
Her flat was strange.
It was completely bare. No furniture except a single plastic chair in the living room. No TV. No decorations. The walls were empty - Bose Uncle's family had taken all the paintings and photos.
In the kitchen, a single steel plate, a single steel glass, a single spoon, all arranged in a perfect line on the counter.
"You just moved in, right? Still getting furniture delivered?"
"No. I have what I need."
"Anukriti, you don't even have a bed."
"I have a mattress."
I looked around. Something felt off. Not threatening. Just... wrong. Like seeing a word spelled incorrectly.
"Don't you get lonely? Living like this?"
"I don't experience loneliness."
Weird way to phrase it. "You mean you don't get lonely?"
"Yes."
We stood there in silence.
"Can I ask you something?" I said half jokingly.
"Yes."
"Why do you keep all your lights on at night?"
"I prefer it that way."
"But why?"
"Does there need to be a reason?"
I laughed nervously. "I guess not. It's just unusual."
She looked at me with those steady, unblinking eyes. "Aditya. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Do you think I'm human?"
The question felt like stepping into cold water.
"What?"
"Do you think I'm human?" she repeated. Same tone. Like asking if I'd had lunch yet.
"That's... that's a weird question."
"But do you?"
I wanted to laugh. To make a joke. To fucking leave.
"I don't know what kind of question that is," I said quietly.
She smiled. Her lips pulled back and I could see her teeth.
"Thank you for visiting, Aditya."
I left.
That was ten days ago.
I still see Anukriti. She still smiles when we cross paths.
But I don't smile back anymore.
And at night, when all her lights are on, I keep my curtains closed.
Because two nights ago, I made a mistake. I looked.
She was standing in her living room. Facing the wall.
But she wasn't alone.
There were others with her. Three of them. All standing in a row. All facing the same wall.
All completely still.
I don't know where they came from. I don't know who they are.
But this morning, I saw them leave. One by one. Getting onto scooters. Driving away.
To other neighbourhoods.
Other empty flats.
And Anukriti is still here.
I can hear her sometimes, through the walls. Not walking. Just... standing. For hours.
The Puja ended yesterday. The pandals are coming down. The city is returning to normal.
But my flat feels different now.
I realized it this morning when I was making tea.
I only have one cup now. One plate. One spoon.
I don't remember getting rid of the others.
I don't remember doing that at all.
Tonight, I'm going to turn on all my lights.
I don't know why. But I know I will.
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