Flat 14-B
- Luvv A Sanwal
- Jun 2
- 5 min read
The binoculars arrived in eleven minutes.
Manish had ordered them the way you order something you've already decided on - fast, before the rational part catches up. Blinkit. Add to cart. Place order. Done.
Anuj watched from the kitchen doorway, tea in hand, saying nothing.
"It's not weird," Manish said, though nobody had called it weird yet. "They literally leave the lights on."
Anuj looked at the building across the garden. Fourteen floor, third window from the left. The curtains were sheer. The lamp behind them warm and amber. Two shapes moving against each other - unhurried. Deliberate, almost.
"Close the window," Anuj said.
Manish didn't.
---
She had red hair. Not Indian red - the kind that comes from a bottle and costs something. It fell past her shoulders in a way that seemed careless but probably wasn't.
The man with her was tall, broad, with the kind of stillness that makes you notice him even when he isn't moving. Her dress which was offering a fair display of bosom was somewhere on the floor now. His shirt too. Just two people and the amber light between them.
Lips had never been caressed like this before.
They moved the way only the completely reckless move. Slow. Unhurried. As if time itself had agreed to wait for them.
His lips found her neck first. Then lower. Each touch deliberate. Each pause carrying its own silent conversation.
Even the beads of sweat seemed reluctant to fall, trapped between warmth and anticipation. They weren't just feeling each other's skin. They were feeling every breath, every shiver, every small reaction that passed between them. Warm breaths lingered behind ears. Soft kisses traced their way along her neck and lower, leaving her lost in the moment.
She trembled a lot, caught somewhere between reality and fantasy, surrendering herself to the rhythm of it all.
Manish didn't lower the binoculars.
---
What started as a guilty accident slowly became a routine.
Every evening, the couple appeared.
The strange part wasn't what they were doing.
It was how comfortable they seemed doing it.
The curtains never closed.
Manish had started keeping a mental file.
Tuesday: lights on by nine, curtains parted exactly halfway. Thursday: she wore white. Saturday: they moved closer to the window - as if the window was the point.
"They know," Anuj said one evening.
Manish lowered the binoculars. "Know what?"
"That someone's watching." He nodded toward the building. "Why else always the same time, same window, curtains open just enough?" A pause. "It's not accidental, Manish."
Manish looked through the binoculars again. The woman was laughing at something. Head thrown back, throat exposed, genuinely delighted.
"You're overthinking," he said.
But he watched her laugh for a long time after that.
---
The dread, when it arrived, came quietly. The way cold does - not a moment but a gradual understanding that you've been cold for a while now.
It was a Wednesday. Anuj was at his laptop when Manish grabbed his arm.
The man at the window was looking back.
Not at the building generally. At their window. Their floor. He raised one hand - slow, unhurried and gestured.
Come.
Then he stepped back. And two women entered the frame. One by one. Like they'd been waiting just out of sight. They stood together, amber light catching them, and the man gestured again.
Come.
Manish was already reaching for his shoes.
"Don't," Anuj said.
"Bhai-"
"Think. From the beginning. Same window, same time, curtains always open. Now two women, on cue, perfectly lit." He looked at Manish. "This was never accidental."
Manish looked at the window. One of the women smiled - directly at him, he was sure and lifted her hand in a small wave.
His stomach did something complicated.
Anuj went because leaving him alone felt worse.
---
They didn't speak in the elevator. The building smelled like old wood and something sweet underneath - fruit, maybe. Something slightly past ripe.
The man opened the door before they knocked. Up close he was even larger, filling the frame easily. His smile showed all his teeth.
"Welcome," he said warmly.
The apartment glowed amber. Music played something without words, low enough to feel rather than hear. The two women were arranged across the room with a casualness that felt rehearsed. Each watching the door. Each already smiling.
The red-haired woman crossed the room toward Manish the way water moves - inevitable, unhurried. She smelled like something warm. Sandalwood, maybe. Maybe something older.
"We've seen you," she said softly. "Every night."
Manish laughed, embarrassed. She didn't. She held his gaze and reached up to touch his collar - just straightening it and her fingers grazing his jaw in the same motion.
Across the room, the other two women had positioned themselves around Anuj the way a conversation positions itself - naturally, until you realise you're surrounded. One sat beside him, close enough that her bosom pressed his strong arms. The other stood just behind, her hand resting lightly on the back of the sofa. An inch from his neck.
Anuj felt the wrongness before he could name it.
The red-haired woman was leading Manish somewhere now - a hand in his, walking backward, watching his face. Her fingers found the first button of her kurta. Just one. A question, not an answer. Manish followed her the way the hungry follow the smell of food -without decision, without thought.
"Manish." Anuj's voice came out smaller than he intended.
But Manish was already through the bedroom door.
The woman behind Anuj leaned down. Her lips near his ear. "Don't worry about him," she whispered. "Worry about yourself."
The other one laughed softly. Not at anything funny.
Anuj stood up.
The tall man was already there. Between him and the door. Still smiling, but the smile had changed - the way a held breath changes when it's finally released.
He said something to the women. One word. Quiet.
The music stopped.
---
The red-haired woman stood in the amber light, her back to the door, and she was not what she had seemed from a distance. Close up, in the full light, there was something wrong with how still she stood. How completely, utterly still. The way a hunter stills. The way a thing stills when it no longer needs to perform warmth.
Manish didn't see it. He only saw what he'd wanted to see from the window of flat 14B.
He'd been watching so long.
The lights went out.
---
The binoculars sat on the windowsill of 4B for three weeks before the landlord noticed.
The police report listed two names. No signs of struggle. No witnesses. The apartment had been vacated quietly.
The lamp was still on. Amber. Warm. Curtains parted exactly halfway.
As if someone, somewhere, was already looking for the next lit window.
---
Far away, in another city, a penthouse window overlooked a different residential complex.
The red-haired woman sat at a dining table with the tall man and the two women.
Dinner was nearly finished.
The red-haired woman placed her fork down and smiled.
"I have to admit," she said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "the curious ones always taste better."
The others laughed.
Not loudly.
Just the quiet laugh of people sharing an old joke.
The tall man raised his glass.
"To good neighbours."
Four glasses clinked together.
Outside, hundreds of apartment windows glowed against the night.
The red-haired woman glanced across them casually.
Then her eyes settled on one.
A young man standing at his balcony.
Watching.
Curious.
Exactly the way Manish had once watched.
She smiled.
And left the curtains open.
Well written 👏👏