The red-hot sun dipped behind the mountains as I finished work and made my way home, brushing past the strange, lingering look from my house owner, who lives just adjacent to my house. I switched on the television and ate my supper in silence. It was midnight when I sat down with my new diary, unsure of what to write. I stopped ticking my pen and tried to recall my day. A burst of noise from the street snapped me back to reality, but I was reluctant to know what was going on. Time flew by, tripping on memories of my childhood and the regrets of my life, pulling me away from the idea of writing in the diary. Maybe it’s not my thing.
Then, a knock at the door.
It was sharp and sudden. Who the hell is it at this time of night? Cautiously, I peeped through the peephole. A stranger. I opened the door slowly.
“Hello,” he said. “Sorry to disturb you this late. I’m Rahul, cousin of your friend Suresh. I just arrived in the city and Suresh mentioned I could stay here for a few days, Mr.…?”
“Karthik,” I introduced myself. “Mr. Karthik,” he completed. Then I remembered that Suresh had indeed told me about his cousin’s arrival. I let him in. We sat and talked for a while, the awkwardness slowly melting away. After some time, before he got up to sleep, he said, “Just… don’t bring me up when you’re with others, alright? I hate being discussed like I’m not in the room.” He said it casually.
“Why would I—what’s wrong with talking about you?”
“I just don’t like it.”
Then I brought up the loud noises I'd heard from the street earlier. Rahul leaned back casually and said, “A drunkard rammed into the cab I was in. I got out and asked him what he was doing. He started mouthing off—completely disrespectful. So, I slapped him. Made sure he paid for the damage before walking off.”
I stared at him, startled. “You hit him? But he was drunk—and a stranger. Why would you escalate it like that?”
He looked at me, unfazed. “And why not?” he said calmly. “Is there some rule that says I need to be nice to everyone I meet—even if it means swallowing my anger and staying silent when I’m wronged?”
He stood up and walked toward the spare room. “I’m not in the business of being everyone’s idea of a ‘good guy’—especially if that means compromising who I really am.”
And just like that, he disappeared into the room, leaving me with a strange mix of discomfort and envy—envy of the freedom he had to be unapologetically himself, something I had always denied myself.
I started writing in my diary:
“I opened my eyes, started my day afraid—as always—of saying no, of standing up, of being honest. My house owner greeted me with his usual fake smile and immediately brought up the rent. It’s only the second of the month, but he acts like I’ve owed him for a year. I asked for a few more days. He nodded, then called his son and asked me to drop him at school. He knows it’s in the opposite corner of my office, which is evident in his wicked smile. I was almost close to giving a polite denial but paused. He stated that he knows me well and I’d never deny him because I’m a 'good man'. Then, I had no choice.
Later, I got to work late, and the boss lashed out. Sales were bad. Being a salesman—well, you’re just everyone’s punching bag. People always save their intolerance just to show it to someone like us. I went to houses that had complaints about our product; a few ended up scolding me. I reached home exhausted…”
Days passed. Things went as usual until, one afternoon; Rahul spotted me being publicly berated by a rich customer over a product defect. I held my composure, even as he humiliated me. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t something I deserved. Suddenly, Rahul stepped in and punched him. I felt a strange thrill—he did what I couldn’t. But again, snapping back to my conscience, I rushed to apologize to the customer and pulled him back. The customer stared at me, confused, and walked away without a word. I didn’t understand his look but drove back to the office with Rahul in the back seat.
At the office, my boss was waiting. I didn’t know why. Had the news already reached him? I wasn’t sure. As soon as I met him, he handed me an envelope—my termination letter. I had expected it, but still held on to a little hope. Broken, I drove back home. On the way, Rahul tried his best to console me and apologized for what he had done. All his words were white noise—just my thoughts about how to handle the expenses, EMIs, and house rent for the whole month crowded my mind.
I stepped into my house and turned on my mobile only to see that half my salary had been credited for the month. I was shaken. I fell into the chair in despair. Having no clue about my future, I stepped outside. My owner, who had come home for lunch, threw a suspicious look at me—seeing me at that hour, which was not usual. I lied to him about having a half-day. But he pressed again about the rent. I promised to pay tomorrow, even though I had no means to.
I dialed my parents. They replied with their own financial burdens. I couldn’t ask Rahul—he was a guest. My friends had no help to offer. They couldn’t even put in the effort to weave some believable lies to deny me.
The next morning, I dressed for work out of habit—then remembered I was jobless.
No matter what, he had to know the truth. So, I confronted my landlord and told him.
“I’ve lost my job, sir. I got only half my salary. Please understand—”
Before I could finish, his face turned red. “I’m not heartless, Karthik. But I’ve been burned and taught a lesson by my previous tenant. And this isn’t out of the blue. I told you from the start—I won’t extend the deadline. Yesterday was a warning. I meant it.”
I begged, but he didn’t budge. He used me for every little household chore, taunted me for even a day's delay in rent—and what did I get for being the most polite guy?
There isn’t much in the house either—a table, a couple of chairs, a television, my luggage, and some other little stuff. He patiently waited for my cooperation in vacating the house, but I didn’t give him a chance. Then, he began pulling my things out.
Rahul emerged, watching the scene. Without hesitation, he grabbed the landlord by the collar and stopped him.
“Are you in your senses?” Rahul shouted.
I was glad he didn’t manhandle him. People in the neighborhood were staring like there was a circus happening. I felt embarrassed. Our owner, angered, tried to hit Rahul. But to defend himself, Rahul shoved him back—hard.
I rushed over, asked him if he was alright, and apologized to him on Rahul’s behalf. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s short-tempered. He didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said, pointing to Rahul and helping him up slowly.
But the landlord looked bewildered.
“Are you crazy? Or do you think I’m crazy?”
Now I was confused. I stared at him and said, “I’m sorry, sir. I know how embarrassed you are right now, but give me two more days for the rent so that—”
“Man, leave that aside,” he stammered. “If I’m not insane—which I’m not—you begged me, insulted me, and now you act like you weren’t alone? Apologizing on whose behalf?”
I lost my mind. Is he ill? I pointed to Rahul. “Him.”
“Karthik, are you alright? Is this some kind of joke or are you sick? There’s no one beside you.”
My heart stopped.
“What are you saying, sir?”
Rahul stepped back and hissed, “I told you never to talk about me when others are around.”
I ran after him, caught him, and shook him.
“Who are you? What’s going on?”
He glared. “I’m you. And you’re me.”
My mind spiraled. The look from the customer, the confused owner, the stares from the neighbors—it all made sense now. My knees buckled. The street tilted. Somewhere far away, a child laughed—and it sounded like me. Darkness swallowed me whole.
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