Chapter 8

6 Years Ago.

The car stops.

I press my nose against the window, my breath fogging up the glass as I stare.

The house in front of us is huge.

Not just big. Huge.

Like the kind I’ve only seen in movies. The kind where people in fancy clothes live. The kind that has two whole floors like it’s showing off.

Our old apartment was tiny. One bedroom. Walls so close together that if I stretched my arms out, I could probably touch both sides of the living room. The tiles were cracked. The fan made this dying robot noise whenever it moved. And the neighbors fought so loudly that sometimes, I didn’t even need cartoons for entertainment.

But this?

This house has a gate. And a garden with actual grass. And big windows that probably don’t leak when it rains.

I sit frozen, afraid that if I move, the car might suddenly drive away, and it’ll turn out that this isn’t actually our stop.

Mom steps out first. I scramble after her, immediately grabbing her hand, my fingers curling around hers tightly because what if I get lost in all this space?

She squeezes back. “What do you think?”

I gawk at her. “We get to live here?”

She laughs softly. “Of course we do, silly. It’s our home.”

“Ours?”

She nods.

I yank my hand from hers and run straight to the door.

The floor feels different under my shoes—smooth, polished, like the kind of floors where you have to take your slippers off before stepping inside.

Inside smells like paint and new furniture and something that makes my stomach feel all weird and excited.

Mom steps in behind me, watching me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to say something.

I turn to her. “We don’t have to share with neighbors?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“The bathroom is just ours?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s gonna bang on the walls when I jump too much?”

Mom laughs, ruffling my hair. “No, Dev. You can jump as much as you want.”

I beam.

She smiles back, then nods toward the stairs. “Come on. Your room is upstairs.”

I freeze.

“I get my own room?!”

She laughs again. “Yes. Come see.”

I don’t even wait for her to finish before bolting up the stairs.

The stairs are big. Wide. They don’t creak under my feet like the ones in my old building.

At the top, I hesitate—because there are so many doors. But then I see one already slightly open.

I push it wider.

And—

It’s mine.

My room.

It has a bed that isn’t just a mattress on the floor. It has a window—no, wait, a glass door that leads to something outside. It has shelves, even though I don’t have enough stuff to put on them.

I walk in, slowly, scared that if I touch anything, it might disappear.

The walls are plain, but that’s okay. I can put up posters. I can draw on them if Mom doesn’t catch me.

The bed has a headboard, not like the one at our old place that was just against the wall.

And the best part—

The glass door!!

I walk toward it, pressing my palms against the cool glass.

It slides.

I stumble onto the balcony, blinking at the sudden brightness.

And then—

I see him. A kid.

On the balcony across the street.

He’s my age, I think. Maybe a little taller. And—

What the hell is he doing?

He’s crouched on top of a chair, wobbling dangerously, holding a plastic bag in one hand, and what looks like a badminton racket in the other.

I squint.

Is he trying to hit something?

The kid swings the racket wildly—misses—nearly loses his balance—then shouts, “COME BACK, YOU COWARD!”

I blink.

What.

The kid pauses, finally noticing me.

We stare at each other.

Then—

He grins.

A big, toothy, completely unbothered grin.

Then he salutes me with the badminton racket.

Like this is normal. Like this is just a regular Tuesday.

Weirdo.

I step back inside, close the glass door, and lock it.

***

I first saw him last week.

The boy with the big grin and the loudest energy I had ever seen in my life.

I don’t know his name. I don’t want to know his name. Because every day since, he’s been doing things.

Weird things.

One time, he stood on his porch, holding an empty Coke bottle to his eye like a telescope. He wasn’t looking at anything. Just standing there, spinning in circles, like a malfunctioning satellite.

Another day, he tried to walk on the garden wall like a tightrope. He fell. Got back up. Fell again. Kept doing it for twenty minutes.

Yesterday, he spent an entire hour chasing pigeons with a paper plate.

And every single time I make the mistake of looking—

He waves. Big, dramatic, like I’m his long-lost brother returning from war.

And every single time–I run inside.

Because that’s not normal behavior.

But today, he isn’t outside.

I let out a breath of relief and sit on the balcony, pulling my book onto my lap. The street is quiet. No spoon wands. No pigeon wars. I can finally have some peace.

Then—

BANG.

I flinch. What now. I look up. He’s there. Standing in his driveway. Holding a broom like a sword.

Before I can process this, he lifts it high in the air—

And slams it onto the ground.

BANG.

I blink.

He does it again.

BANG.

…What. Then, without warning, he points the broom directly at me. My soul leaves my body.

And then—

He waves.

Oh no. I drop my book, grab it, fumble, and—RUN INSIDE.

***

Safe. I think.

I sit on the bed, trying to erase whatever that was from my mind, when—

DING DONG.

The doorbell. I don’t move.

Maybe it’s a delivery. Maybe if I stay completely still, reality will fix itself. Then I hear Mom’s voice downstairs, opening the door.

And then—

A new voice. A loud, excited voice.

“Oh, hello, Auntie!!”

I freeze.

No.

No no no no no.

I crawl to the edge of the stairs and peek down. And there he is.

Broom Boy. Standing in my house.

His hands are on his hips, his shoes still on (who does that?!), and he has that same big toothy grin.

Mom is smiling at him, like she doesn’t realize the danger we’re in.

“I just wanted to say hi!” the boy continues. “Because we’re neighbors! And neighbors should be friends!”

Mom laughs. She’s encouraging him. I need to leave the country.

“I saw a kid here!” he says, looking around. “A boy! Is he home?”

Mom betrays me immediately.

“Dev!” she calls. “Come down!”

I consider never moving again. But I can’t just disappear, so I slowly walk down, step by step, like I’m walking to my own execution.

When I reach the bottom, he gasps.

“OH WOW. YOU’RE REAL.”

I blink.

“Hi!” he says. “I’m Amit! What’s your name?”

“…Dev.”

His smile grows. “DEV!! Cool name! Do you talk?”

“…Yeah?”

He gasps. “OH GOOD. I wasn’t sure! You always run away like a scared cat!”

I blink. “I don’t—”

“IT’S OKAY,” he says. “If you don’t know how to talk, I can teach you!”

I frown. “I do know how to talk—”

“Lesson one!” Amit claps his hands. “Say ‘hi, my name is Dev!'”

I stare.

“…Hi. My name is Dev.”

Amit cheers. Mom is laughing. She is on his side.

Amit leans in. “Wanna play?”

“…Play what?”

“ANYTHING!! We can play cricket! Hide and Seek! Or—” his eyes light up, “we can make a secret base under the stairs!”

I blink. “…Why?”

“BECAUSE I’M BORED, DEV.” He throws his arms up. ” There’s not a single kid in this area.”

I frown.

“Okay!” He raises arms to surrender dramatically, “Not a single kid who wants to play with me. But now you are my neighbor! And also, I have decided that we are friends now!”

Mom chuckles.

I stare.

“…You decided?”

“Yes.”

Mom smiles. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

No.

Amit grabs my wrist. “COME ON!”

Before I can protest, he’s dragging me outside. I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand him.

All I know is—

I think I just lost this battle.

***

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