In this short story, Kanwar P. S. Plaha gives a tiny glimpse of a life-altering moment, only for us to forget it quickly and move on.
Mr. Gupta’s shoe stopped the rickety metal cage door. He ignored the house-help lady and the schoolgirl, jabbed at the ‘G’ button, and stood facing the door of the lift. He checked his phone and sighed, staring at the ceiling.
Meena glanced at him while adjusting the pleats of her sari, tucking it tight like a uniform. Preeti was oblivious to both of them. She picked a playlist, dug the AirPods in her ears, and leaned against the handrail; thirteen floors to go.
“C’mon, c’mon…” Mr. Gupta muttered. “Bloody slow lift!”
Between the seventh and eighth floors, the elevator stopped with a thump, the cabin went dark, and the emergency light came on.