The Stranger at Twelve
Some love stories begin with a meeting. Others begin with a memory neither person remembers. Neha's parents had gone to their native place for three days. She had refused to accompany them, choosing instead to prepare for her postgraduate entrance examinations. The house was quiet, the streets outside nearly deserted, and her books had occupied every available corner of her bedroom. At midnight, she decided she needed coffee. She had barely reached the kitchen when the power went out. The darkness was absolute. She fumbled along the wall, searching for a switch that no longer mattered. The inverter had stopped working weeks ago, and she had been too occupied with her studies to have it repaired. She tried to find her phone, but it lay somewhere in the darkness beyond her reach. Then it rang. The sudden sound startled her. Guided by the faint illumination of the screen, she stumbled into her bedroom and found the phone. The call had ended. She returned to her books, anno...
