My Busy Boyfriend
She needed a vacation to catch a break, but the trip turned out to be a nightmare.
Neha stared at the leave approval notification on her computer screen. Finally, a break from the relentless demands of her job at Deloitte. A weekend getaway to Goa seemed like the perfect antidote to the rising pressure that choked her every breath.
It wasn’t just the job. It was also Aakash. The once charming, attentive boyfriend now seemed like a stranger. The memories of their early days, when they would talk for hours, now felt distant. The present Aakash was a stark contrast: mostly sprawled on his couch, eyes glued to soccer matches, hands never without a bag of chips. The sound of his chewing was now more familiar to Neha than his laughter or voice.
She tried reaching out, hoped for a change. But every call to him mostly ended with the same excuse. “I’m busy, Neha.” The couch, the TV, and those chips seemed to have more of his attention than she ever did.
This trip to Goa, she decided, would be a break from everything — the unyielding work, and the crumbling relationship. She needed to breathe, to rediscover herself.
Why was she still drawn to Aakash? She found herself seeking his warmth, hating him throughout the week but melting into his arms and his bed every weekend.
She was on nearing 30s, and the pressure from her family and society to settle down was increasing.
Every gathering, every family dinner, people asked about her future plans. And Aakash’s aloofness only deepened her anxieties. He never offered clarity, evading talks of marriage, leaving her in a perpetual state of uncertainty.
Now, as she arrived in Goa, Neha hoped the crashing waves and golden sands would provide her the solace she sought.
She checked into ‘Crescent Lodge Beach Resort.’
The hotel, a sprawling white building with terracotta roofs against the backdrop of the vast Arabian Sea.
The balconies laced with bougainvillea in vibrant pink and purple.
The beach was a paradise, a seemingly endless stretch of soft golden sand.
Palm trees swayed gently to the rhythm of the sea breeze, and the sound of waves resonated with her restless heart.
As she approached the reception, the man behind the desk glanced up, his expression unreadable. “Miss Neha?” he asked, even before she could introduce herself.
“Yes,” she responded.
“We’ve made a small change to your reservation,” he began, choosing his words with caution. “Your room has been moved from the 3rd floor to the 1st.”
Neha frowned, “Why? I specifically booked room 303 because of its beach view.”
The man hesitated, glancing around as if ensuring they were alone. “There have been…issues with that floor,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Recent guests have reported…unusual smells.”
Neha countered, “I booked that room months in advance. I won’t settle for anything less. What sort of ‘smells’?”
“Just weird smells and umm disturbances. The TV is a bit too loud there in the rooms.”
She scoffed, “Look … I want my room.”
The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “A…Al…Alright,” he said. “Room 303 is yours.”
Stepping out of the elevator onto the third floor, Neha was immediately struck by the stillness of the corridor.
It was lined with old wall sconces casting an eerie glow on the maroon carpets below.
Antique portraits of women adorned the walls, their gazes seemingly following her as she walked.
The hush of the floor was interrupted by a sudden shriek — a woman’s scream.
She whipped around, eyes wide.
The porter, sensing her alarm, reassured her, “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am. Sometimes the guests play their TVs rather loudly. Old building, thin walls.”
Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Neha nodded.
As she entered room 303, she was immediately greeted by the panoramic view of the beach.
The room, with its plush furnishings and spotless bed linens, was comfort.
She unpacked, and let the rhythmic sound of the waves lull her into a nap.
Waking up in the early evening, a pang of hunger reminded her of the skipped lunch.
She quickly ordered room service and devoured her meal. Later, she decided to indulge herself in a warm bath.
As the water filled the tub, she couldn’t resist checking her phone. Opening Instagram, her thumb automatically navigated to Aakash’s profile.
The recent photos didn’t surprise her; he had noticeably put on weight. He still hadn’t replied to her message that she had reached Goa.
Slipping into the tub, Neha tried to push the unsettling feelings aside, focusing on the warm embrace of the water.
Her anxiety about her relationship began to melt away, but the undercurrent of unease remained, simmering just below the surface.
Neha leaned back in the bathtub, letting the warm water envelop her. She called her mother, a comfortable distraction from her turbulent emotions. Someone who cared for her.
But in between the conversation, a buzz from her phone interrupted their chat.
“Mom, hold on a sec,” she muttered, glancing at the notification.
It was a message on Instagram.
The sender’s name made her heart skip a beat — her ex-boyfriend, Rahul .
A whirlwind of emotions swept over her. Anxious, nervous, and a tinge of anticipation. Reluctantly, she tapped on the notification, opening his profile.
Raghav’s latest Instagram post showed him at the gym, flaunting his sculpted, muscular physique. A sharp contrast to Aakash’s recent photos.
As she scrolled through his pictures, she could feel an unexpected warmth rising within her.
She began to touch herself. Pleasure. Guilt.
But just as she was getting lost in the moment, a sharp doorbell rang out, piercing the moment.
Confused and annoyed, she wondered who it could be, especially since she had hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign outside.
Wrapping herself in a towel, she approached the door cautiously, wet footprints marking her path on the cold floor.
When she peered through the peephole, there was no one. The corridor stood hauntingly empty.
She was about to turn away when her room’s phone’s shrill ring pierced the silence.
As she picked up the phone, she was immediately greeted by the urgent voice of the man from the front desk.
“Miss Neha,” he breathed heavily, “please, whatever you do, stay inside your room and lock the door.”
Confused and growing more anxious by the second, she stammered, “What? Why?”
His voice trembled as he replied, “The old man on your floor… he’s hungry again.”
Before Neha could ask what he meant, a chilling scream echoed down the corridor, followed by another, and then another.
The sounds were unmistakably human.
Intermingled with the screams was a sickening, wet thud, like the sound of a butcher’s cleaver slicing through meat.
The vivid imagery that painted itself in her mind was horrifying: flesh being cleaved, bones cracking.
Panicking, she rushed to double-lock the door and retreated to the farthest corner of the room.
Her heart raced, every sound from the hallway amplifying her terror.
The phone rang again. She almost fainted.
On the phone, the receptionist’s voice was heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry, Miss Neha,” he whispered, “the old man is hungry.”
Before she could respond, a deafening crash echoed through her room.
A sharp edge of an axe had pierced through the door, splintering the wood.
With each thud, the blade inched closer to breaking through completely.
“Someone, help me!” she screamed.
Knowing that her chances of escape were dwindling, she scrambled for her phone to call Aakash.
She wanted, more than anything, to see his face one last time.
She video called him on WhatsApp, praying he’d pick up.
The ringing seemed to last an eternity. As the axe continued its relentless assault, she held onto hope, waiting for a glimpse of her boyfriend’s face on the other end.
But the phone just rang and rang, Aakash’s face never appearing, leaving her to confront her terror alone.
A week later, the atmosphere was starkly different in a posh room located in Greater Kailash.
Aakash lounged comfortably on a plush sofa, a bowl of popcorn by his side. Outside it rained heavily.
The room was dimly lit, the only source of light emanating from the big-screen TV.
It displayed a game of football between Liverpool and Chelsea.
His phone buzzed. Glancing at the screen, he saw Neha’s name flashing. He let it ring, uninterested.
But when she called again, he sighed audibly, his face a mask of boredom.
“What?” he answered, not even bothering with a greeting.
He was about to say more when another sound reached his ears: a knock on the door.
Frustrated, he stood up and approached the door.
Opening the door, he saw Neha, her clothes drenched from the rain, her hair clinging to her face and neck, her eyes cold.
Aakash, however, remained unfazed. “Oh, it’s you,” he said casually, taking another bite of his popcorn.
“I’m in the middle of watching soccer. Go clean yourself up or something. We’ll talk later.”
He left the door ajar for her to enter and returned to his game.
The distant cheers of the football crowd filled the room.
As Neha stepped into the dim light of the living room, Aakash saw: clutched tightly in her hand was a bloody axe, its edge glinting.
Aakash’s eyes widened in shock, and for the first time that night, he truly looked at Neha.
The cocky, detached demeanor he always wore crumbled. Fear paralyzed him as he watched her approach, the weight of the axe heavy in her grasp.
“Neha, what the hell?” he managed to croak out, eyes wide with shock.
However, instead of the fatal swing he anticipated, Neha did something unexpected.
In one swift motion, she dropped the axe, lunged at him, and with all her might, delivered a fierce kick right between his legs.
Aakash crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain, his football game now irrelevant noise.
Leaning down, her face inches from his, Neha hissed, “I don’t need you anymore. Asshole. I can take care of myself.”
Leaving him writhing in pain and confusion, she turned and walked out.
