The Wrong Room

Chapter 3 : Waiting Hours

Arjun ignored the message for almost an hour.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he wasn't sure what came after "thank you."

He had spent years keeping conversations practical. Work, groceries, school notices, reminders from the electricity board—his phone had become an extension of responsibility rather than companionship.

Now a stranger had sent him a message, and somehow that single line occupied more of his thoughts than it should have.

Thank you for the coffee.

Simple.

Polite.

Nothing more.

Yet it lingered.

He finally locked his phone and placed it face down on the dining table.

"Appa?"

Ananya looked up from her colouring book.

"Hmm?"

"You're thinking too loudly."

He blinked.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're looking at nothing."

She returned to colouring the wings of a butterfly with two different shades of blue.

"You do that when something is bothering you."

Arjun smiled faintly.

"You've become very smart."

"I've always been smart."

"That's true."

She grinned proudly before returning to her drawing.

For a brief moment, the apartment felt warm again.

Not because anything extraordinary had happened.

Simply because children had a remarkable ability to make ordinary evenings feel complete.

—

The following afternoon, work stretched longer than expected.

A supplier had delivered the wrong batch of composite panels, delaying inspections across two departments.

Meetings followed.

Phone calls multiplied.

By the time Arjun left the factory, the sky had already begun to darken beneath another blanket of monsoon clouds.

He drove towards Ananya's school automatically.

Traffic crawled.

Rain began halfway there.

Children ran beneath colourful umbrellas while parents waited impatiently outside the gates.

Ananya climbed into the car carrying a science project almost larger than herself.

"Careful."

"I know."

"You said that last time before dropping your model volcano."

"That wasn't my fault."

"You sneezed."

"I couldn't control that."

Arjun laughed.

"So dramatic."

She looked suspiciously at him.

"You're laughing a lot these days."

"Am I?"

"Mmm."

She fastened her seatbelt.

"I like it."

The words were so quiet that he almost missed them.

He didn't reply.

Some things deserved silence.

—

After dinner, his phone vibrated again.

Unknown Number.

He already knew who it was.

The message read:

The nurse says you're an engineer.

Arjun frowned.

He typed slowly.

She talks too much.

A reply appeared almost immediately.

Only when patients ask questions.

He smiled despite himself.

Then came another message.

I'm Vikram.

I realised we never introduced ourselves.

Arjun hesitated before answering.

Arjun.

There was no need to say anything else.

Yet somehow neither of them put their phones away.

Do you always leave flowers in strangers' rooms?

No.

Good.

That would be strange.

It was strange this time too.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

Why did you?

Arjun stared at the question.

His fingers hovered above the keyboard before stopping.

Because your room looked lonely.

He deleted it.

Because I made a mistake.

He deleted that too.

Finally he wrote—

I don't know.

The reply took longer this time.

Sometimes that's the most honest answer.

Arjun read the sentence twice.

Then locked the phone.

—

Three days passed before he returned to the hospital.

He told himself it was because Prakash had forgotten another file.

The lie sounded weaker every time he repeated it.

Room 307's door was slightly open.

Arjun knocked gently.

"Come in."

The voice was calm.

He stepped inside.

For the first time, Vikram was sitting upright, reading a book.

He looked healthier than before, though the tiredness around his eyes remained.

He closed the novel carefully.

"So."

Arjun shifted awkwardly.

"So."

"I was beginning to think you preferred talking through text messages."

"I almost didn't come."

"I know."

The answer surprised him.

"You do?"

"You hesitate before everything."

Arjun raised an eyebrow.

"You've met me once."

"Twice."

"Still."

Vikram smiled faintly.

"I've had a lot of time to observe people."

The room was different now.

Someone had opened the curtains.

Rain tapped gently against the window.

The chrysanthemums had dried completely, but they remained on the table.

"You kept them."

"They were a gift."

"They were an accident."

"Most good things are."

Arjun found himself looking away.

There was something unsettling about how directly Vikram spoke.

Not bluntly.

Simply...

Honestly.

It had been years since someone had spoken to him without trying to impress him or comfort him.

"You should throw them away," Arjun said quietly.

"I will."

"But not today."

Silence settled comfortably between them.

Not awkward.

Simply shared.

"You brought coffee again?"

Vikram nodded towards the paper cup in Arjun's hand.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted one."

"So you bought it anyway."

"It seemed rude not to."

"I appreciate rude people then."

Arjun laughed softly.

"You have an unusual sense of humour."

"I've been told worse."

He accepted the coffee carefully.

Hospital rules discouraged outside food, but neither of them mentioned it.

After taking a sip, Vikram closed his eyes briefly.

"Much better."

"The hospital canteen?"

"Horrible."

"I agree."

"You've become my unofficial coffee supplier."

"I have a full-time job already."

"You'll manage."

Their conversation drifted naturally after that.

Nothing important.

Nothing life-changing.

Traffic.

Rain.

The state of the roads.

Whether Kerala's summers had become hotter.

Books.

Movies neither had watched.

The cricket match everyone else seemed interested in.

An hour disappeared without either of them noticing.

Finally Arjun stood.

"I should go."

"Your daughter?"

"She'll be wondering why Appa is late."

Vikram nodded.

"You always leave because of her."

"There isn't anyone else waiting."

Something flickered across Vikram's face.

A smile.

Small.

Almost invisible.

"She's lucky."

Arjun looked confused.

"To have someone who always comes back."

The sentence landed quietly between them.

Arjun didn't know how to answer.

Instead, he picked up his empty coffee cup.

"I'll see you."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

Another pause.

"But I probably will."

This time Vikram's smile reached his eyes.

"I'll be here."

As Arjun walked towards the door, he glanced back once.

Vikram had returned to his book.

Or at least he pretended to.

Because the page hadn't changed.

He was watching the door instead.

—

On his way home, Arjun realised something that made him unexpectedly uneasy.

He no longer thought of Room 307 as the wrong room.

He had begun thinking of it simply as Vikram's room.

The distinction was small.

But it mattered.

Somewhere, without either of them intending it, a stranger had become a person.

And people were always harder to walk away from.