‘Where is that divorcee friend of yours?’ she said. ’Saree and what
all she wore today.’
‘Her name is Riya, Ma. Not divorcee friend,’ I said, irritated.
‘I didn’t make her a divorcee.’
‘She’s dying,’ I said.
‘What?’
I told her about Riya being ill.
‘Poor girl. So young.’
‘I have to go to Patna.’
‘You are telling me or asking for my permission?’
‘I will call you,’ I said and left.
*
Locked. That’s how I found Riya’s house. The neighbours had no
clue.
‘Madam is strange. I have never had a client like this,’ said the
broker, Hemant, I had called him in case he knew anything.
‘What happened?' I said.
‘Where are you?' he said,
‘At her apartment. It’s locked.’
‘Wait, I need to come there anyway.'
Hemant arrived in twenty minutes.
’She called me last night. She said the keys will be in her letter
box,’ he said.
‘Keys?’
Hemant and I walked over to the letter boxes in the building
compound. He slid his hand in and drew out a bunch of keys.
‘When madam called me yesterday, she told me she was leaving
town. Needs to surrender the house,’ Hemant said, panting as we
climbed the stairs.
‘Surrender?’ I echoed stupidly.
‘I told her there is a notice period. Her security deposit will be
forfeited.'
‘And?’