"You can see me?" she asked, tilting her head.
Rohan screamed. Then apologized for screaming. Then screamed again when she didn't vanish.
Rohan, a lonely coding geek with zero social life, found himself looking forward to 1:17 AM. They talked about movies — she couldn't believe Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge still played at Maratha Mandir. She taught him old Hindi songs; he showed her memes. She didn't understand memes. "Why is the dog sad but the text is funny?" she'd ask.
He started falling for her. Hard. Which was a problem, because she was dead, and also because the lease was only for six months.
"I'm not a scary ghost," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't do chains or white saris. I just... linger."
Her name was Meera. She'd died in that room in 1985. A broken heart, a broken locket, and a promise that someone would return. No one ever did.