Telugu Original: Gannavarapu Narasimha Moorthy
Translated by Rajeshwar Mittapalli

It was midnight—twelve o’clock. The bus from Visakhapatnam to Bengaluru had just pulled into the stand. It was supposed to reach Bengaluru by nine. But the tyre had gone flat on the way, which caused a delay of an hour and a half. Then there was traffic, which pushed the delay further. In the end, the bus reached the Bengaluru bus stand three hours late.

The moment the bus stopped, Sreelekha grabbed her bag in a hurry and climbed down. By then the bus stand lay almost deserted. Every platform looked empty. She walked to the bench opposite and set her bag on it, then rang her father.

Her father said, “Hello” from the other end.

“Dad, the bus has just reached Bengaluru. I’m in one piece,” she said.

“Three hours late, is it? What happened? I’ve been calling you for the last two hours and you haven’t picked up. I’ve been getting worried,” he said, anxious.

“Dad, the battery ran out. There were no charging plugs in the bus. I switched the phone off and thought I’d ring you after I got down. I’ll talk to you again after I get into a taxi,” said Sreelekha.

“You should’ve charged your phone in advance, dear. If anything happens, you’re the one who has to deal with it. Fine, be careful with the taxi fellow. Write down the taxi number,” he said.

“Alright, Dad, I will. My phone’s low on charge,” she said, and hung up. A vague unease rose in her. She turned and looked behind her. A short distance away a young man stood watching her, listening to every word she said. She shot him an angry look and walked out. She went towards the taxi stand. The moment the drivers spotted her, two of them came up to her.

“Will you come to Electronic City?” she asked one driver in English.

“I’ll come, but the charge will be fifteen hundred,” the driver said.

“Fifteen hundred?! Too much!

I’ve never paid more than seven hundred,” she said in astonishment.

“Once it’s past twelve, the charge is double. It’s one o’clock now. And Electronic City is a long way. There’s no return fare,” the driver said.

“That’s not the issue. I’ll give you a thousand rupees. Come if you want,” she said.

“Can’t do it, madam. We run white taxis. The fares won’t be that high,” he said, and walked back towards his cab.

At that moment a young man came up. He was the same one who had overheard her earlier. She recognised him as soon as she saw him.

“Madam, I need to go to Electronic City too. If you don’t mind, we can share the fare between us,” he said. He was fair and tall.

She looked at him in surprise. “What do you do?” she asked.

“I work in Electronic City. No one agrees to come for less at this hour. Sharing is the only sensible option. Do you have any objection?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “Alright then, let’s go,” she said. The cab driver from earlier had heard them and came back.

“Fifteen hundred. I’ll drop you at the Electronic City gate. I can’t come inside. If that’s okay with you, get in,” he said.

The young man turned to Sreelekha at once. “Shall we go?” he asked. She nodded and walked towards the cab. He picked up his bag, opened the front door and sat down. Sreelekha sat in the back. The cab moved off. For a few minutes she stayed silent. Then she asked the driver, “Can I charge my phone in here?”

“You can, but I don’t have a cable,” the driver replied.

His answer left her disappointed. She then turned to the young man in the front seat. “Could I borrow your phone once? I need to talk to my dad. My phone’s out of charge,” she said.

“Sure, go ahead,” he said at once, and handed her his phone. Sreelekha took it and dialled her father’s number.

“Dad, I’ve got a cab. I’m going to the hostel,” she said.

“Is the driver a decent man? Have you written down the cab number? Stay alert. If you feel the slightest suspicion, call the police at once. And whose phone is this?” her father asked.

“This phone belongs to the driver. I’ll go now. I’ll call again once I reach the hostel,” she said. She disconnected the call, handed the phone back to the young man in the front seat and said, “Thanks.” He took his phone silently.

As the cab drove through the empty Bengaluru streets at midnight, Sreelekha felt her heart pounding in her chest. A stranger sat in the front seat. That was why she refused to make conversation with him and simply sat there. After half an hour, the driver stopped the cab at the Electronic City gate. Both of them got down and paid the driver. Then the driver took the cab and drove off.

Sreelekha thanked the young man and walked into Electronic City. The hostel where she stayed was two kilometres from the gate. The road lay deserted. Under the row of streetlights, the road stretched like a straight line. At that late hour she kept glancing left and right as she walked slowly. She turned once and looked back. She noticed that the young man who had got down from the cab with her was walking behind her on the same road. She felt a jolt of surprise.

The moment she looked back, the young man stopped where he was. She started walking again. This time fear began to grow inside her. Her legs started to tremble and her steps became unsteady. Other than the two of them, there was no one on that road. When that thought crossed her mind, her anxiety increased. Her throat went dry. She walked some distance and then turned again. She did not want to look back, but her mind refused to settle. He was still behind her. As soon as she looked at him, he stopped again. Her suspicion grew stronger. It seemed certain to her that he was following her. She had felt a faint doubt when he had offered to share the cab earlier. But she had not thought deeply then. Her father had warned her again and again, but she had brushed it aside and agreed to share with this stranger. Now I see how wrong that was, she thought. What is the use of regretting it now, though? I can’t even ring anyone—my phone is dead. How on earth am I going to get out of this? Her thoughts spun in every direction.

She had no immediate way out. She had to keep walking. No matter how much she tried to steady herself, the tension inside her only grew. Her heart thudded hard. The sound echoed in her ears.

The chain of anxious thoughts made it hard for her to breathe. She walked on, lost in them. Before long, she stepped under a streetlight. Alongside her own shadow, a second long shadow stretched from behind and slid along the road. When she saw it, her fear rose further. She remembered an Anjaneya Stotram her mother used to recite whenever she was afraid as a child. She began to chant it silently inside her head. She kept chanting while she walked some distance. Half a kilometre ahead stood the hostel. Now she felt a small measure of courage. Houses appeared in the distance. Just a little further and I’ll reach my lane, she thought. Once I get there, whatever he does, I can scream out loud. She turned and looked back. The young man was still behind her. Now she had no doubt at all. He was walking only for her sake. He heard me talking to Dad. He worked out my situation and got into the same cab on purpose, she thought. That means he came with a proper plan.

No way. I can’t let him get to me. I have to shake him off. Running is the only way, she decided. But her legs trembled. Her feet refused to move faster. As he came closer, she forced herself to summon courage. With that sudden resolve, she quickened her pace. She decided not to look back again.

Within a few minutes she had turned into her street, and in what felt like the blink of an eye she reached her hostel. She now stood in front of the hostel gate. When she saw the building, strength returned to her. She drew a long breath. Then she turned. The young man was still walking towards her. He reached the hostel gate. The sight of him at that moment made her anger flare up. To her mind, he was the only reason for all the turmoil inside her since they had left the cab.

She turned on him in fury. “Hey, mister! Why’ve you been walking behind me? Don’t you know it’s wrong to tail a girl at this hour? Will you walk away quietly or should I call the police?” she shouted.

He stood where he was and looked at her, silent.

“Come on, answer me. Why’ve you been following me?” she demanded again.

“Madam, please listen to me for a moment,” he said. “My name is Harsha. I’m a software engineer here. Before you spoke to the cab driver earlier, I heard you talking to your father. You mentioned that your phone battery had died. I could hear how worried he was. At midnight, it’s not safe for a girl to travel alone in a cab. It’s risky. Two years ago my elder sister ran into a similar situation here in Bengaluru. She escaped only because luck favoured her. That came back to me. That is why I felt it was unsafe for you to travel by yourself. I walked behind you for that reason. The road I had to take was not in this direction, but I told a lie and came along with you. My work is done now. I’ve to go to Koramangala. It’s thirty kilometres from here. Never mind, I’ll go. You go inside. Once you are in the hostel, put your phone on charge and ring your father. Forgive me if I’ve caused you unnecessary anxiety,” he said. His words left her mind numb for a second. She realised how badly she had misjudged him. The world may be full of rotten things, she thought, but human kindness is still alive.

“I am sorry. I misunderstood you,” she said at once. “Please don’t take it to heart. Thank you for what you’ve done for me.” She wiped her tearful eyes.

“It’s alright, madam. Anyone in your place would think the same,” he said, and turned to leave.

She stood watching him as he walked away. He reached the end of the street and vanished into the darkness. Then she went into the hostel. She checked the time. It was two in the morning.

“Moment to Moment” (titled “Kshanakshanam” in Telugu) by Gannavarapu Narasimha Murthy was first published in Prajashakti Sunday, March 29, 2026. 

Translated into English by Rajeshwar Mittapalli.

Gannavarapu Narasimha Murthy was born in the agrahgram of Kusumuru near Bobbili in the present-day Vizianagaram district. He holds an M.Tech in Civil Engineering and retired as Additional General Manager from a Railway Public Sector Undertaking—this background gives his fiction a firm grounding in contemporary life. He has written 42 novels, about 790 short stories, a technical book in English for railway engineers, and many essays. His novels include Matti Manushulu, Ankuram, Thoorpu Sandhyaragam, Sindhuram, Swarnamayuram, and Aranyam. His essays appeared in Dhwaja Sthambhalu and Manchi Cinemalu—his readers value his steady attention to social awareness and human relationships. His short story collections include Gandham Chettu, Thoorpu Padamara, Udutha Bhakti, Galivana, Veena Vedanam, Gamyam, Aksharabhayasam, Matti Vasana, and Pichuka Meeda Brahmastram. His tenth and most recent collection, Gannavarapu Narasimha Murthy Kathalu, gathers twenty-five stories that previously appeared in periodicals, grew from real incidents, and probe social conscience and human bonds. It also includes award-winning pieces such as “Erra Pavuram” and “Saraswati Namasthubhyam,” which underscore religious tolerance and education, respectively.