The problem with moving into a new apartment during monsoon season was that everything arrived damp.The cardboard boxes were damp.The doormat was damp.Even Aarav Sen’s carefully color-coded labels had started peeling off the sides of his luggage.He stood outside Flat 4B of Shantiniketan Residency, balancing two suitcases and a backpack while trying to call the landlord for the third time.No response.Rainwater dripped from the edge of the staircase window and splashed onto his shoes.Perfect.He checked his watch.4:07 p.m.They had agreed to meet at four.One person was late.Two people, technically.The fourth had messaged the group ten minutes earlier.Tara: Reached downstairs. Coming up.At least someone respected time.Aarav adjusted his glasses and looked at the faded blue paint peeling from the apartment door.The handwritten “4B” had been crossed out and rewritten so many times that it looked more like abstract art.From downstairs came the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.Fast footsteps.Someone appeared around the corner carrying two oversized tote bags, an umbrella that had clearly lost a fight with the wind, and enough books to open a small library.She stopped abruptly when she saw him.“Oh no.”Aarav frowned.“What?”“I think I’m in the wrong building.”She glanced at her phone.Then at the door.Then back at him.“Wait. Flat 4B?”“Yes.”“Shantiniketan Residency?”“Also yes.”Relief spread across her face.“Great.”She extended a hand.“I’m Meher.”Before Aarav could shift his luggage and shake it, one of her tote bags slipped off her shoulder.Three books, a notebook, and a packet of biscuits crashed onto the floor.“Great first impression,” she muttered.Aarav bent down.The notebook had dozens of colorful sticky notes sticking out of it.He handed.