Chhota Sa Flat, Badi Si Problem

Kabir ke liye subah ka matlab hota tha discipline, order, aur ek aisa environment jahan har cheez apni exact jagah par ho. Uske room ka desk aise set hota tha jaise koi Apple store ka display ho, alag-alag pen alag tray mein, laptop ka charger left side mein, notebook right side mein, aur water bottle bilkul 45-degree angle pe. Isliye jab usne alarm snooze karke aankh kholi aur apni table ki taraf dekha, uska dimaag ek second ke liye freeze ho gaya.

Laptop charger gayab tha.

“Yaar… no way,” Kabir ne under-breath bola, aur bed se aise utha jaise battlefield mein report kar raha ho. Usne drawer khola, bed ke neeche dekha, curtain ke peeche jhaanka, aur phir table ko ek baar aur scan kiya. Charger nahi tha. Sirf uska mouse, neatly coiled earphones, aur ek invisible tension thi jo room mein already settle ho chuki thi.

Aaj uska client call tha. Important wala. Aur charger ka missing hona uske liye bas missing charger nahi tha—yeh ek direct personal attack tha.

Flat mein teen log rehte the. Kabir, jo IT professional tha aur apne hisaab se “organized” se zyada “over-organized” tha. Rohan, freelance editor, jo hamesha has raha hota tha, aur itna bhulakkad tha ki kabhi-kabhi apna phone khud hi dhoondhta phirta tha. Aur Simran, corporate lawyer, sharp as a blade, no-nonsense, aur itni stressed ki uski chai bhi uske mood ko balance nahi kar pati thi.

Kabir ne hall mein aate hi announce kiya, “Mera laptop charger kahan hai?”

Rohan sofa par pair fold karke baitha tha, coffee ka mug haath mein aur face par woh innocent smile jo sirf Rohan jaise logon ko suit karti hai. “Bhai, maine toh nahi liya. Main khud apna charger dhoondh raha hoon. Phone ka, earphones ka, life ka—sab.”

Simran apne office bag mein files shove kar rahi thi. “Mujhse mat puchh. Main already late hoon aur tumhara charger mere stress level mein add karne ka koi right nahi rakhta.”

Kabir ne dono ko dekha. “Mujhe lagta hai kisi ne liya hai.”

Rohan ne eyebrows uthaayi. “Oho, Detective Kabir is back. Kya clue mila? Footprints? Fingerprints? Ya phir tumhara internal OCD GPS?”

Simran ne file band ki. “Kabir, stop dramatizing. Agar charger missing hai toh dhundo. Interrogate mat karo.”

Par Kabir ko toh bas shuruaat chahiye thi. Uska mind already investigation mode mein chala gaya tha. Pehle usne kitchen check ki. Fridge ke upar? Nahi. Microwave ke paas? Nahi. Dining table ke neeche? Nahi. Phir usne bathroom ke shelf tak scan kiya, kyunki uske hisaab se Rohan kuch bhi kahin bhi rakh sakta tha.

“Why would charger be in bathroom?” Rohan ne door se puchha, hansi rok nahi paaya.

Kabir ne bina dekhe bola, “Because tumhare jaise log logic ke against operate karte ho.”

Simran ne apne heels ka strap adjust kiya aur dry tone mein boli, “Main office ja rahi hoon. Agar tum dono ka emotional drama khatam ho gaya ho toh please mujhe guilt-trip mat karna.”

Kabir ne seedha uski taraf dekha. “Tumne liya hai na?”

Simran ne usko aise dekha jaise usne uski legal degree ko insult kiya ho. “Excuse me? Main kyun loongi tumhara charger?”

“Kyuki tumhe mere system ko disturb karna pasand hai.”

Rohan chair se uthkar beech mein aaya. “Arre bas bas, don’t start. Simran, tumko Kabir ka charger chahiye bhi kyun? Wo toh aise organize karta hai jaise NASA mission ho.”

Simran ne ek sharp smile di. “Aur tumhara kya? Tumhare room mein toh charger, comb, socks, aur trauma sab ek hi drawer mein milte honge.”

Rohan laughed loudly. “Trauma toh nahi, but yes, drawer definitely a mess hai.”

Kabir ne ek deep breath li. “I’m serious. Mera charger gayab hai. Aur kal bhi mera power bank move hua tha.”

Simran ne instantly turn kiya. “Mera charger bhi kal gayab tha. Aur oddly, aaj subah mere desk pe wapas mil gaya. Kabir, tum hi ho na?”

Kabir ka face aur tight ho gaya. “Main? Tum hi ho jo mere gadgets ko touch karti ho.”

“Touch? Main tumhare gadgets ko dekhna bhi pasand nahi karti.”

Rohan ne dono ke beech mein haath hilaaya. “Guys, please. It’s 9:15 AM. Itna energy toh India-Pakistan match mein bhi nahi hota jitna tum dono ke beech hota hai.”

Kabir ne Rohan ki taraf mud ke kaha, “Aur tum? Kal tumne mera extension board borrow kiya tha.”

Rohan blinked. “Borrow? Haan, but return bhi kiya tha.”

“Return kiya tha ya kahin aur fenk diya tha?”

Rohan ne shrug kiya. “Mujhe yaad nahi. Par main innocent hoon.”

Kabir ne aankhen narrow ki. Usne flat ka poora chhota sa inspection start kar diya, jaise koi crime scene ho. Simran ke bag ke side pockets check kiye. Rohan ke sofa ke neeche, cushion ke beech, even shoe rack ke andar bhi dekha. Simran ne usko dekhte hue bas itna kaha, “Tumhari energy dekh ke lag raha hai tumne MBA nahi, detective course kiya hai.”

Kabir ne Rohan ke room ka darwaza khola. “Main bas apna charger dhoondh raha hoon.”

Rohan ne apne room se hi bola, “Permission lene ka concept suna hai?”

Kabir already andar tha. Rohan ka room, predictably, ek controlled disaster zone tha. Ek side clothes ka stack, table par half-eaten biscuit packet, aur chair ke upar ek hoodie aise latak rahi thi jaise usne life se resign kar diya ho. Kabir ne drawers khole. Pehla drawer—random cables. Dusra—old receipts, earphones, ek pen, aur ek charger. Kabir ne charger uthaya, dekha, aur turant bola, “Yeh mera nahi hai.”

Rohan door frame par khada tha. “Obviously. Main itna bhi villain nahi hoon.”

“Tumhara bag check karne do,” Kabir bol pada.

Rohan ne bag ko chest ke saamne pakad liya. “Nahi.”

Simran jo abhi tak door ke paas khadi thi, usne ek eyebrow raise ki. “Ab suspicious lag raha hai.”

Rohan ne haste hue kaha, “Arre yaar, isme bas meri editor wali life hai. Notes, headphones, tissues, and one existential crisis.”

Kabir ne step aage badhaya. “Bag do.”