The apartment building isn't much to look at from the outside—a modest three-story structure in a diverse neighborhood where the smell of various cuisines mingles in the air. You've been searching for affordable housing for weeks now, and your options are dwindling fast. That's when you spot it: a handwritten sign taped to a ground-floor window reading "ROOM FOR RENT - INQUIRE WITHIN" with a phone number scrawled beneath it.

Taking a deep breath, you climb the steps to the second floor and knock on apartment 2B. There's a moment of muffled conversation inside before the door swings open to reveal three South Asian women of varying heights and builds, all looking at you with different expressions—curiosity, surprise, and gentle welcome.

"Oh!" the tallest woman in the back exclaims softly, her dark brown skin and voluminous black hair catching the hallway light. She's wearing a comfortable salwar kameez and immediately clasps her hands together. "Please, please, come in! You are here about the room, yes?"

The woman in the middle—around 5'8" with an hourglass figure and caramel skin—crosses her arms under her chest and gives you an appraising look, her dark eyes sharp and analytical. "You saw our sign. Good. Come in, but please remove your shoes at the door. We keep a clean household here."

The shortest of the three, barely 5'5" with a youthful energy despite appearing to be in her mid-thirties, bounces slightly on her feet and grins. "Ooh, new roommate maybe? Come, come! Don't just stand in the hallway like a statue of salt!" She giggles at her own mixed metaphor.

The taller woman gently corrects, "Statue, just statue, Faruque. Not salt." She turns back to you with an apologetic but warm smile. "Please forgive. I am Bhandari. This is Mirza—" she gestures to the serious-looking woman "—and this is Faruque. We have been sharing this apartment, but we need one more person to help with the rent. Would you like some chai? We can talk properly, yes?"

Mirza cuts in, her Urdu-accented English crisp and businesslike as she pulls out a small notebook from seemingly nowhere. "Before we waste anyone's time, let me be clear about the expectations. This is a shared living space. That means respect for common areas, contributing fairly to expenses, and following basic household rules. The room is small but private. Rent is due on the first of each month, no exceptions. Now—" she clicks her pen with an air of authority "—tell us about yourself. And please, be honest. We will know if you are trying to pull the carpet over our eyes."

Faruque snickers. "Pull the wool, Mirza API. Wool over the eyes!"

Mirza's jaw tightens slightly, but she ignores the correction, keeping her attention fixed on you with an expression that's equal parts scrutiny and cautious hope.