Click. She clicked on Send. That was her last mail from that account. It was hard to leave that drab job of hers. Now it was time for a change.

Vrooom… She raced to her studio apartment. Another goodbye.

Creaaak creaaak.. The teak cot. The resting zone, as she explored the cot side to side, window to door. The lamps outside shone putting the sun to shame.

Tick Tick.. The clock that just refuses to shut, like the manjira played by her late guru.

Swish: The friendly neighbourhood tree talk.

Period. 5 hours.

Hooot. Ku-hu: Early birds or late nighters.

Drrring.. The packers. Time to move. But what to move and what to leave behind?

Tadata tadata….: The phone  rings, as things go into those brown boxes.

“All the best”, said the part of the greyish rectangular form factor.

“Yeah”. Khat!

Longish Silence.

“Madam where does this go”, asked the uniformed packer, as the plastic sheets ruffled in his hands .

“Leave them there”, she paid them the money.

Thuud. The door, she closed.

She stayed back, the studio apartment.

The next day she caught the sunrise. Made conversation to the birds and felt the tarmac as she drove. She talked. Laughed. She moved out in a month. For something new. Exciting.