Meows and Midnight Musings

Nancy had recently moved to Delhi, a place so vast and unfamiliar compared to the quiet life she had known. She came from Bharaul, a small village in Bihar known for its high literacy rate. Despite its academic focus, the village held tightly to traditional ways of life, a stark contrast to the open and fast-paced nature of Delhi.

Settling into her one-bedroom apartment in North Delhi had been harder than she anticipated. The city’s crowded streets and endless noise only amplified her sense of loneliness. Making friends was a challenge, and the social circles she encountered often felt closed off to her.

In those first few months, Nancy felt like a stranger in her own life—detached from the people and the place she now called home. There were days when the isolation weighed so heavily that it was hard to get out of bed. But Nancy was determined to carve out a life for herself here.

To distract herself from the ache of loneliness, she turned to books, immersing herself in stories that transported her to other worlds. She also began focusing on her physical and mental well-being. Small steps—daily walks, skincare routines, healthy meals, and brief but consistent workouts—became a lifeline, offering a sense of structure and purpose.

Nancy wasn’t sure how long it would take to feel at home in this vast city. But she knew one thing: she wasn’t giving up on her dream.

Nancy’s loneliness had settled into her life like an uninvited guest. The vastness of Delhi, the indifference of its people, and the silence of her small apartment made her feel more isolated than ever. But that changed the day she found them—the two tiny kittens.

They were frail and hungry, lurking near the stairs of her building, their big eyes filled with curiosity and need. At first, Nancy only left out scraps of food. Then, she started waiting for them. Slowly, the kittens grew bold, stepping inside her apartment, rubbing against her legs, curling up in the corner of the room as if they had always belonged there.

It wasn’t long before they became a part of her routine. They would wait at her door when she came home, their small bodies pressed against the entrance as if guarding her loneliness. The more comfortable they became, the more their bond deepened. And somewhere in between, Nancy found herself talking—to them, to herself, to the empty walls that once felt too quiet.

"Don’t dig in the dustbin," she scolded as one of them knocked over the lid.

"Come back here, I’m not done talking to you!" she huffed when they ran off mid-lecture.

She would sigh in frustration when they ignored her commands, then laugh when they did something ridiculous. She hadn’t even realized how easily they had replaced the silence.

At first, it was just casual words, small reprimands, murmured thoughts. But then, she found herself having full conversations with them. Telling them about her day. Asking their opinions on trivial matters. "Do you think I should buy a new rug? You’ll ruin it anyway, won’t you?"

She didn’t even notice when her self-talk, something she had always done in private, had shifted to conversations with them. She wasn’t just talking anymore—she was expecting them to understand. To respond.

Nancy was unaware of the line she had crossed. The city still felt distant, but her world had shrunk to the size of her one-bedroom apartment, where she was no longer alone—at least, not in the way she once was.

Nancy had settled into a rhythm. The kittens were no longer just visitors; they were her companions. They filled the empty spaces in her life, and soon, talking to them became as natural as breathing.

"Stop climbing the curtains!" she would scold.

"Why do you always knock things over?" she huffed, picking up a fallen book.

At times, she even found herself arguing with them, her voice rising in frustration. But just as quickly, she would soften, apologizing, laughing at their antics, continuing the one-sided conversations as if they truly understood.

On the third floor of the building, however, suspicion was brewing.

The landlord, a conservative North Delhi uncle, had been reluctant to rent to Nancy in the first place. His building had a strict rule—no men allowed. With a girls' PG occupying the lower floors, he had made it clear from the beginning: no boyfriends, no male relatives, not even a casual male friend stepping inside.

His wife, always watchful, had begun to notice the pattern. Every evening, she would hear Nancy talking. Not just talking—sometimes laughing, sometimes scolding, sometimes even raising her voice in frustration. It wasn’t the quiet murmur of phone calls. It sounded like arguments. Conversations. Fights.

“There’s definitely a man in her room,” she told her husband one evening, her voice dripping with certainty. “Every day, she’s talking to someone. Shouting, even.”

The landlord stiffened. He had been skeptical about renting to Nancy from the start. Now, this? His grip tightened around his teacup.

“We need to find out,” he muttered. “I won’t allow this in my building.”

His wife nodded in agreement. Soon, the quiet solitude of Nancy’s apartment was about to be disturbed in a way she never expected.

Nancy had just finished her night skincare routine and was ready to sleep when the kittens began their usual chaos. One clung to the curtains, the other pounced on her bedsheets, turning her neatly arranged space into a battlefield.

“Can’t you guys sit still for a moment?” she snapped, rubbing her temples. “I have a submission due, and now you’ve messed up everything—curtains, bedsheets, the entire room!”

The kittens, unfazed by her frustration, continued their antics. Just as Nancy bent down to fix the sheets, one of them leaped onto the kitchen almirah, its tiny paws landing on a container of rice and pulses.

“Wait—no!” she shouted.

Too late. The container tipped over, crashing onto the floor. Rice and pulses scattered everywhere, filling the room with a loud clatter. Nancy’s anger boiled over.

“Are you kidding me?” she yelled, glaring at the guilty pair. The kittens, sensing danger, darted under the bed, their eyes glowing from the shadows.

Nancy groaned. Exhausted, she still forced herself to clean the mess, muttering curses under her breath. Just as she picked up the last handful of rice, a sudden, heavy bang echoed through the apartment.

BANG! BANG!

Her heart nearly stopped.

“Nancy, open the door! It’s Uncle Bhavesh,” the owner’s voice thundered from outside.

Nancy froze, her breath caught in her throat. The mess, the shouting, the noise—had they heard everything? Did they think someone was inside?

She glanced at the kittens hiding under the bed. They had unknowingly dragged her into trouble.

Nancy immediately glanced at the clock—11:48 PM. Her stomach twisted. Why was the owner banging on her door at this hour?

Her mind raced. The rent? No, I already paid that. Then what else co could it be? What had brought him here so late at night, pounding on her door with such urgency?

The first two bangs went unanswered, but then the owner’s voice boomed through the door.

“I know what you’re doing inside! Open the door, Nancy!”

Nancy froze. What is he talking about? Her heart pounded as she rushed to unlock the door.

As it swung open, she was met with the stern faces of Uncle Bhavesh, his wife, and a strange man standing beside them. Their eyes bore into her, scanning the room behind her as if expecting someone to appear.

“Who else is here?” the owner demanded. “I told you—no men allowed!”

Nancy blinked in confusion. “What? Uncle, I haven’t brought anyone here. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

His wife scoffed. “Don’t lie! We know there’s a man inside your room. I heard you myself—you were talking to someone, even shouting!”

Nancy’s mind raced. “What? When did you hear that? I swear, no one has been here!”

But before she could process the situation, Uncle Bhavesh pushed past her, stepping inside without hesitation. He strode through her apartment, checking corners, pulling aside curtains, even peeking under the bed as if he knew he would find someone.

Nancy stood frozen at the doorway, utterly baffled. When did I talk to anyone? She hadn’t had a phone call all evening. What had they heard? What had made them so sure?

Everything felt surreal, a bizarre misunderstanding spiraling out of control. She struggled to grasp what was happening—what exactly had led to this moment.

Suddenly, it clicked.

Nancy’s breath hitched as realization struck—she had been talking to the kittens. The scolding, the arguments, the raised voice… It was all with them.

Desperate to end the chaos, she blurted out, “Uncle, it was the kittens! I was shouting at them when they made a mess.”

She hesitated, leaving out the part about her full-blown conversations with them. That would sound too strange.

Uncle Bhavesh gave her a puzzled look, then let out a short laugh. “You… talk to cats?” He raised a skeptical brow. “Haha! I don’t believe that.”

His wife, however, wasn’t convinced. “No! I heard a man’s voice,” she insisted, her arms crossed tightly. “Don’t try to fool us.”

Nancy felt trapped. No matter what she said, they wouldn’t believe her. She swore on her mother, her family—anything to prove her innocence—but the wife wouldn’t back down.

Meanwhile, Uncle Bhavesh and the strange man ransacked her apartment, searching every possible hiding spot. Under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the curtains—nothing. They found nothing.

The commotion had drawn attention. The PG girls from the lower floors had come up, standing in the hallway, watching the scene unfold. When the truth finally settled—that Nancy had been talking to cats—a wave of laughter erupted. The tension dissolved into giggles and whispers.

Nancy, however, felt nothing but embarrassment. She had admitted it out of fear—scared that the landlord might call her parents, scared that this unnecessary drama would escalate into something bigger.

Uncle Bhavesh chuckled, shaking his head, but his wife walked away in silence, disappointed that her grand suspicion had led to nothing.

As the crowd dispersed, Nancy stood there, dazed. It wasn’t just the public humiliation that unsettled her. It was the realization that she hadn’t even noticed what she had been doing all this time.

Talking to the kittens had felt normal—so normal that she never stopped to question it. But now, in the harsh light of their laughter, it felt like something else. Something strange. Something she had never truly acknowledged until now.

That night, as Nancy lay in bed, her mind wouldn’t rest.

The laughter, the whispers, the way they had all looked at her—it replayed in her head on a loop. Do they think I’m crazy? Am I… crazy? A deep ache settled in her chest as she thought about her loneliness, about how naturally she had slipped into talking to the kittens as if they were people.

Millions of thoughts spiraled through her mind. What if they think I’m mentally ill? What if this story spreads? Oh God, what have I done?

But then, after a long silence, another thought surfaced. One that made her pause.

And then—she laughed.

First, a small chuckle. Then a full-blown, uncontrollable laugh.

What was that? Did that seriously happen to me?

She clutched her stomach, shaking her head. “Oh my God, I was almost kicked out of this building because of a misconception!”

She glanced at the two kittens, who sat blinking at her, completely unfazed by the night’s drama. Still grinning, she leaned forward and scratched their tiny heads.

“I am not going to stop talking to you guys. Don’t worry,” she said, giggling. “We just need to keep our conversations a little quieter.”

The kittens purred in response, curling up beside her.

Nancy sighed, shaking her head. What a ridiculous, absurd, and oddly hilarious night. Maybe she was a little strange—but in that moment, she didn’t really mind.