UPDATE! || Seven Nights of Hell || Day 5 Page 11 - Page 7

Why must everything be so god damn frustrating!

First I break my door knob, the hot water decided to take a break right when I decided to shower, my laptop crashes, and now my pancakes are burnt.

...and she never came back ever since she left last night.

***

Ok it was 11 am. Now I'm getting worried. After all she is my responsibility. How will I answer the world when the ask me how I let a houseguest wander off with a rapist?

But I don't want to be intrusive. She has a personal life, like a real one, not this forced one. And I wasn't a part of it. I of all people should know what it felt like to not have any privacy.

I remember this one incident where she caught me talking to my cousin Leena, and asked me questions about her all the way till I got home. And then she continued on walking to her house trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. A weirdo from the start. She could have just asked me who she was. I mean obviously, I would have only preferred it because because it would have been better than spending the entire afternoon walking home with her.

And that's when I heard the door knob click.

Now how do I go about this without sounding over the top?

"Sharon? You're home? This early?" I sarcastically remarked walking through the hall into the front door only to see it was not...

"Yes?" I asked a woman, probably in her mid twenties holding some sort of wrapped present in her hands.

"Hi, I'm Diane, spelt D-I-A-N without the E but it's pronounced Diane NOT Dian which I've been told means 'witch' in Hindi. After 3 months in this country, you have no idea how much shit I've taken from my co-workers about this," the woman smiled, "...anyways, I'm here to deliver this gift to Sharon Rai Prakash, I've been told she's staying here."

"Yeah but she's not here right now," I answered not finding the details as to why not necessary for her to know.

"Really? Because there was no plan on meeting at the site today, and we dropped her off here last night. Well anyways, thanks," she started for the door.

"Wait what? Dropped her off? Here? Last night?"

I'm pretty sure she's not here, I checked back at the corner where her flats would be if she was.

"Yeah, we all had dinner last night and Zaid and I dropped her off here," she explained handing me the present as she stepped out, "Anyways, when she comes back just give her this, it's from Zaid," were her final words before she left.

I didn't even bother to mope over the perfectly wrapped present and head out the front door over to Mrs. Shukla, the old lady who lived across the street. Someone had to have seen her if she came back.

There was no way I could have lost her, that easily.

***

Defeated, my feet forcibly dragged me into the house. How could I-- I should have stayed up. Waited for her. To hell with the indifference. At this point, I am not going to bother stopping myself from admitting that yes, I do care. I, Swayam Shekhawat, care about Sharon Rai Prakash. I hate how I was lost against this destructive ego of mine which ending up affecting the one woman who, ever since she stepped into this house, made me feel like I wasn't alone.

But what was the point of this remorse now?

I lodged a complain in the police station but I'm not getting my hopes up, the man seemed more interested in the fact that the sweetness of his betel leaf wasn't to his liking.

I don't know why, but I felt like like the most helpless person on earth at the moment. And I know that's extremely unfair of me to say, but I've never felt worse.

What could have even happened? Kidnapping just seemed too unrealistic, maybe because the thought scared me. And how did she possibly get lost from distance between the street to the door? It's barely 15 feet. Did she get hit by a... no. Mr. BMW would have seen it.

Whatever the case was, I just... I don't even know. I wanna talk about her love/hate relationship with Ranbir Kapoor over freshly fried unhealthy churros, I want to obsess over her watermelon scented hair, I want to talk about her grandparents and their awesome story and my paranoia of never truly pleasing my dad. I don't even mind the awkward moments when we stumble upon college memories. I just want to talk to her, again, for hours.

And right now, I can't.

My sleep deprived eyes were forcing my legs to mount up stairs and get some sleep.

But it seemed impossible to persuade my feet into climbing these stairs. I didn't want to go to sleep unsure.

A soft snoring broke my train of thought. Tracing it, I found in front of me a dead tired Sharon, still in her dress, sound asleep.

And in her hands, was no teddy bear. Well that explains the absence of the flats downstairs.

Saying I let out a sigh of relief would be an understatement, I literally emptied my entire lung out and the metaphorical tension that rested within. Her soft snores managed to put the long day behind me.

She squirmed a bit, murmuring here and there. A few loose locks fell on her face.

I watched, fascinated at how she failed to move them by jerking her face to the side before finally giving up. I didn't want them to brushed them aside either, the obstructed view of her face was perfect.

***

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