Chapter 1 - Human Condition

 

I now know why people recommend waking up early; it gives them ample time to have a mini existential crisis before getting on with their day. This morning, I sat by the window, the sky blushing faintly with dawn, and questioned, for the third time this week, why I even bother. It was therapy day, after all.

I shuffled into the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath my feet. A quick shower and my essential skincare routine—because if nothing else, at least I could convince myself I was taking care of something. Dressed in my favourite pajama set, I stared at my reflection. My smile didn’t quite reach my eyes, but it was close enough.

Breakfast was nothing fancy—a hot cup of chai and yesterday’s leftovers. It doesn’t sound glamorous, but trust me, it isn’t as bad as it seems. Besides, chai makes everything seem better, even mornings like this.

The world is full of strange people if you ask me, but I might be the strangest. I am this independent woman who doesn’t need other people for fulfillment most days. But today, I feel a constant lump in my throat that refuses to turn into tears. I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know why it’s here. I don’t know if it’s the universe trying to tell me something, or if it’s some old trauma stirring as it heals. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s self-loathing. Or maybe it’s just one of those days when everything feels heavy, and you have no idea why.

I decide to skip therapy today. It’s bad enough to feel this way—why on earth would I want to make eye contact with a stranger and then say it out loud? No, thank you.

For me, when I’m at my lowest, the idea of sharing my feelings with another human being feels as plausible as signing up for a marathon while eating a family-sized pizza. My version of "processing my emotions" is wrapping myself in a blanket burrito and pretending the universe doesn’t exist. Now that’s therapy.

So I open my laptop for a binge-watching marathon, but first—deciding what to watch is a marathon in itself. My time is precious, I tell myself, which is a such a joke i chuckle a little, I am great at pulling my own leg. I need to watch something that isn’t completely dumb, something that requires at least one functioning brain cell. And ofcourse, it has to be a show I can comfortably watch while scrolling through social media.

The search begins. I start with Netflix, scrolling through my bookmarked shows—some great options, really. Then on to Prime Video, Sony Liv, Jio, Zee5, Hotstar, Apple TV... and back to Netflix. After what feels like hours of indecision and enough scrolling to qualify as an Olympic sport, I finally do what every self-respecting procrastinator does: I click play on The Office for the nth time. Because who needs new plotlines when you can recite Dwight Schrute’s monologues by heart?

And as the familiar theme song starts, I realize this is the true comfort zone: predictable jokes, zero emotional investment, and no surprises. Just me, Michael Scott, and a mountain of snacks. Functional Adult? Maybe tomorrow. Today, I’m busy rewatching a show about people pretending to work while I pretend to have my life together.

I eat and watch and eat and watch some more. I get up for precisely two bathroom breaks, and lo and behold, it’s 6:30 PM. I shut the laptop and finally get out of bed. The sun has already set. I stretch and take a mini walk around my one-bedroom rented apartment, my work out for the day, i tell myself. "That oughta cure my depression" I smirk at myself. I glance outside, and as the lights turn on, a wave of despair washes over me. Another day gone, wasted. I know tomorrow won’t be any different.

I sit on the living room sofa, staring at the fan. The dust settled on its blades used to bother me once, but not anymore. My gaze shifts to the window as though searching for a familiar face, and tears roll down my cheeks without warning. The incoming night is going to be tough, I tell myself. Memories of my childhood resurface, unbidden. Back then, "tough nights" meant staying up all night studying. I used to love studying, especially math. I was always good at math.

With watery eyes, I glance up at the fan again, and a chilling thought crosses my mind: "could I calculate the length and width of a rope hanging from the fan that could bear MY weight?".. I myself am appalled by this thought so much so, i make an audible gasp, but the thought doesn't leave my head.

This is when the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting any deliveries. I quickly wipe my tears with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and shuffle toward the door. The peephole remains useless as always—I’m too short to see through it. "Who is it?" I call out hesitantly.

"It’s Rehaan, your neighbor. I moved in last month and thought I’d say hi."

My neighbor? That catches me off guard. I vaguely remember the flat next to mine was up for rent, but I hadn’t realized someone had moved in. On most days, I can hear the happenings in all six flats on this floor—the elderly woman playing bhajans in one, the young mother scolding her children in another. But someone moved in? I heard nothing.

"Okay," I reply, still cautious. "What do you need?" I make no move to open the door.

"I think one of my parcels might have been delivered to you by mistake," he says, his voice polite but slightly awkward. "The status says delivered, but I don’t have it."

I roll my eyes instinctively, glancing at the pile of parcels cluttering my living room. Late-night online shopping binges have become my guilty habit—most orders placed after 3 a.m., most packages unopened.

"It should be a small packet," Rehaan adds. "Just some spoons. I couldn’t find mine while unpacking, so I ordered a set."

Spoons? Of all things. Suppressing a sigh, I kneel by the heap of boxes and begin sifting through them, muttering under my breath about the absurdity of it all.

"Spoooonnss!!  Why don't you leave s'p'oon" I murmur and smile dryly at this awfully crafted joke. "Oh that's funny!" says the guy, "you should be a writer hehe".How did he hear me? I think to myself.. and did he really SAY "hehe" and not type it? What a dufus. "I can't find your spoons" I yell out loud."Oh, Ok.. Thanks anyways, do you have any that i can borrow, plastic/wooden ones would do too.. the ones that come with food delivery?"

Do I have spoons? What a silly question.. of course i do, and I exclusively have the plastic ones, I do not cook at home and all my meals are ordered from Zomato, and i always choose the 'Send me cutlery" option. Cause why not? I am not gonna search for cutlery when my food arrives and fuck the environment.I sigh, go to the kitchen and grab some from the pile of unused spoons and move towards the door. I then realise I will have to open it to hand them to him, so I do the 3 door opening steps, 1. Tie my hair 2. Wear my bra 3. Check the knife on the console table.I open the door, and had to squint my eyes as soon as i do.. the hallway lights are too bright.then, I see Him, Rehaan. With the biggest smile I have ever seen and the kindest eyes of them all. He wore a white floral shirt with bright sunflowers and lillies all over them and  pajamas of the same print, like he was going on a queer cruise . He stood away from the door, at a respectable distance, which made me a lot more comfortable.

"Hiiii," he said, beaming. Then he started at a speed of 250 words per minute, "Thanks for the spoons. Listen, if you're not doing anything, would you like to join us? I've got some friends over—guys and girls—for a game night, and we could really use another player. Of course, you can say no, and I know it's a bit of a strange request, but I promise it'll be fun if you decide to join. No dress code—it's a pajama party, quite literally, as you can probably see." He gestured to his bright, floral pajama set with a little chuckle. "We've got a ton of food and drinks, but totally up to you. Honestly, you'd be doing us a favor by saving our game night," he added, finishing with an exaggerated puppy face. He seemed desperate and composed at the same time.

 I couldn't get a word in during his monologue, and honestly, that was probably for the best. He spoke with such ease, such warmth, that for the first time in a long time, I felt included rather than imposed upon. And then, I did something unthinkable. I grabbed my keys, stepped out of the apartment, bolted the door behind me, and said, "Sure."

Why did I decide to go to a stranger's house? Where were my usual social anxieties, my careful excuses to stay home, my self-imposed isolation? And yet, for some reason, standing in the glow of Rehaan’s ridiculous flower shirt, I felt… safe. Safe enough to step outside. Safe enough to do something I hadn’t done in a long time—say Yes. I was in a trance—so much so that, for once, I didn't find myself imagining 147 different ways I could be murdered tonight. 
I entered the next door apartment which was exactly like mine, but this feels...different. It was a bright, peaceful oasis, yes those were the exact first words that came to my mind. The air is fresh, the lighting is warm, and there’s a calm energy.  Despite it being the exact same layout as hers, his apartment feels bigger somehow—almost as if it exists outside normal dimensions.I noticed the girls first. Hair in a bun, no makeup, in their pajamas and had the biggest smiles. Ananya, Suhana and Diya came up and greeted me with a handshake and offered me a drink. I only wished they didn't see dried up tears on my face. Suhana introduced me to the guys, Dhruv, and ofcourse Rehaan. I politely decline the drink, no alcohol is my first rule of hanging out with strangers( not that i ever do it). I pick up a can of diet coke instead. Packaged, couldn't have been tampered with. I sit down on a dining chair kept near the sofa, "So, what are we playing?" - I ask plainly, I was aware that i was single handedly bringing down the energy of this group more than a couple of joules. They tell me the games planned for the night, charades, pictionery, heads up.. the usual. I haven't played these games in the longest time and i tell them as much. We are divided in two groups, I am with Rehaan and Suhaana. 

I spend 4 hours with the group, holding the same diet coke for the entire night, eating a little when they filled their plates, mildly smiling when they laughed out loud, sitting on the sofa and clapping slowly when the entire group got up to dance, and that was my cue to leave. I said my goodbyes and thank you's, I exchanged numbers with Rehaan and Suhaana. "See you soon… or, well, whenever you need me." he says, it sounds normal enough, but something about the phrasing sticks with me. I smiled as widely as I could, and left. 

I entered my dull apartment, still carrying a meek smile, careful not to let it grow too much—lest I offend my depression. I had a decent time, I tell myself, and that’s all I allow myself to feel. Just enough, nothing more. Moderate.

Deciding to call it a night, I change the sheets of my bed, giving my room a brighter, cleaner look. It feels like an attempt at self-care, even if it’s just surface-level. I usually can’t sleep without melatonin, and tonight is no different. As I lie down, I fight the urge to dissect the evening—what I said, how I behaved, whether I offended someone, and most of all, if I’ll ever talk to Rehaan again.

Instead of indulging in that exhausting loop, I take the melatonin, pick up my book—a decorative prop more than anything—and, surprisingly, within fifteen minutes, sleep claims me.