The flight seemed endless….The steady monotone of Grogan Guy was too much to bear.
I added another crime to the growing list of crimes guys commit…talking endlessly about themselves when their life is an uninteresting spiral of food, work, and I’m assuming some psycho pastime like serial killing ants or dismembering computers.
As I pretended to listen, I evaluated each and every air hostess on looks, personality, and attitude. Yeah…they all failed! A simple fact of life: Women don’t like other women, especially the good looking ones who are not their friends, family, or in-between. “Why don’t airlines get that?”
“Give us more men! They’re nicer, not looking for a rich husband, and are definitely not distracting the pilot or the rare good-looking male passenger!” None of whom were on this flight.
After escaping the ‘nerd freak’, I picked up my bags and made my way to the apartment that Magnus had leased for me. It was a gated complex and the building was almost 20-storied with a grumpy watchman at the gate, who didn’t offer to help me with my luggage even as I fell over a few times. Obviously, he preferred to sit back and enjoy watching me make a complete ass of myself.
As I got off the elevator and made my way to door no. 666(could it BE more sinister?), I saw a guy struggling with his key in one hand and his laptop in the other at door. No 665. Being the saintly sinner I am, I said ‘Can I help’ and he turned towards me making my heart flutter all over the place.
He was drop-dead gorgeous! Surely, he moonlighted as a model? His spiky gelled hair looked like someone had just ruffled it. Oh no! I wanted to be that person.
Interrupting my rather risqué thoughts, he spoke in a deep, sexy voice that made my feet tingle and encouraged blood flow to every cell in my body.
‘If you could, I’d be indebted to you, but you seem to have your hands full’.
In perfect English…and a cultured accent, too. As I desperately tried to drop, chuck, and just fiercely kick away all my luggage to help him, his damn key turned and he smiled a heartwarmingly electrifying smile as he went into the apartment and shut his door.
There I was standing-- with all my luggage around my feet, still looking at his door, trying to convince myself that looking through the peephole of his door could not be construed as deviant. It was just sociable to keep an eye on your neighbour, right? Well, even if that wasn’t the rule, surely a drop-dead gorgeous neighbor merited a rewrite of those rules in the “What constitutes stalking” handbook.
After a few moments of just standing and staring at my door, I collected myself, let myself into my apartment, and rested my sore feet on the ‘sink and be cosy’ white futon.
The absolute stillness around me was shattered with the jarring tune of my cell phone. I made a mental checklist of things to do with “Must remember to change tune” being the only entry.
It was Aanya returning my call. I settled in to recount the whole day’s events including ‘nerdy freak ‘and ‘Gorgeous stud muffin’ next door. By the end of the call, she had convinced me that with my track record, ‘Gorgeous next door neighbour’ was bound to be either a ‘shrink’s delight’, confused with his sexuality, gay, or just plain whacko with a few stalker complaints against him.
Relegating him to the dark corners of my mind, I started to unpack and enjoy the fabulous weather of Hyderabad. There was a nip in the air even though it was just June. How delightful! After living in Chennai, where the only weather I had ever experienced was hot, hotter, and hottest, this was a welcome change.”
There was a television set with a set-top box, a fairly comfortable bed, a night table with reading lamp, a tiny refrigerator, a big wooden wardrobe, the futon I was sitting on, and even a tiny balcony.
“I could get used to this”, I thought happily, my lips curving into a smug smile. Walking towards the windows, I pulled the curtains aside, only to realize with light-headedness that it was gorgeous neighbour’s den.
Was God telling me something?