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"How many hours will it take you guys to fix the AC? Or have you finalized that you'll fix it after I check out?" Aisha shouted.
"Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. Can you please come downstairs and tell this to the head receptionist?" the receptionist replied.
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Aisha had checked into Hotel Plaza yesterday. It was already late at night when she entered the room and realized the AC wasn't working.
It was 39°C outside in Noida.
Frustrated, Aisha threw on a T-shirt over her bra and stepped out of her room to go downstairs.
She walked toward the elevator.
She had just woken up from a rough sleep — no AC, just the suffocating heat of summer.
She was tired.
Eye bags, messy rough hair, oily face.
Still half-asleep, she pushed the down button on the elevator.
The elevator dinged. She stepped inside.
There was already a man standing there.
"Which floor?" he asked, without really looking at her.
"Ground," Aisha muttered.
"Gotcha," he replied, pressing the button.
The elevator reached the ground floor.
Aisha walked to the receptionist and said sharply, "Today it's 40°C outside. I'm paying for an AC room, but my room's AC doesn't work. I called two-three times since morning—but guess who's here again?"
"Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. We'll fix that before 12 p.m.," they repeated like a script.
"Let's see," Aisha muttered under her breath.
It was 10:30 in the morning.
Just then, she noticed the man from the elevator was also at the reception desk, paying for his stay.
Aisha turned and walked back toward the elevator.
The man followed.
"3rd floor, right?" he asked casually.
"Yes," she replied.
"Gotcha."
They stepped inside. A moment passed.
"If you're having this much trouble with the heat," he said, "you can sit in my room for two hours. My AC's working better than perfect."
Aisha gave him a look.
"No. I'll be fine."
The elevator dinged.
3rd floor.