On a quiet Saturday noon, the ground beneath 2015 Nepal earthquake turned violent. At Dhapasi in Kathmandu Metropolitan City, five 17-storey towers of Park View Horizon (PVH) swayed under the force. As the tremors intensified, interior walls began separating from floors. Cracks spread across the external facades. Inside, nearly a hundred families were gripped by fear. Residents rushed toward staircases in a desperate attempt to escape. Most made it out. One did not. A falling brick struck a woman in her sixties, killing her instantly-a tragic reminder that survival during earthquakes is not just about structural collapse, but also about falling hazards during evacuation. The survivors sought refuge in open fields and with relatives. When government engineers arrived two days later, even they hesitated to enter the visibly damaged towers. Eventually, they conducted inspections and issued red stickers-declaring the buildings uninhabitable. The crumbling towers cast fear far beyond their boundaries. The surrounding community lived in constant terror that the structures could fall on them at any moment. Residents like Mohan Kunwar, a 60-year-old neighbor, could not sleep at night. Even minor sounds triggered panic. The situation eventually, forced him to sleep in a tent outdoors for 25 days. Exhausted by life in the tent, Mohan risked returning to his home. But aftershocks kept dislodging debris onto his roof. Within 45 days, the stress caused him to lose five kilograms. Once-bustling restaurant nearby the towers emptied overnight. Its owner's fears and concerns looked like this: 'We would like the building demolished, but I'm not sure Nepal has the skills to do so.' For months, approximately 150 neighboring households and 400 renters lived in tents, pleading with authorities to demolish the unsafe towers. Their appeals went unanswered. The government lacked the technical capacity and equipment to safely dismantle high-rise structures. Political visits offered sympathy-but no solutions. Nepal's Varun Developer had built the towers in joint venture with India-based RJ Corp. A few days later they came to the site and made a contradictory statement. While government engineers declared the towers unsafe, a structural engineer from RJ Corp assured residents the buildings were habitable after repairs. Weeks later, a developer representative came again and dismissed the damage as an 'act of God.' For residents, this was not just denial-it was a betrayal of trust. Built on 2.9 acres with 213 housing units-all sold before the earthquake-the developer carried insurance only for unsold properties, effectively ending legal liability. Promotional brochures had promised earthquake-resistant construction, but those claims now stood in stark contrast to the visibly cracked towers. The frustrated apartment residents formed a committee and approached multiple government agencies seeking compensation. They went and appealed to nine concerned government agencies but they gave no way out. The deeply moved committee chair described investing his entire life's savings into an apartment-only to see it rendered worthless in minutes. 'Whom do we appeal to?' he asked. 'Where do we go to be heard? According to some residents, originally, the towers were approved for 11 storeys. Later they were expanded to 17 after acquiring additional land to meet floor area ratio requirements. Residents questioned whether a foundation designed and casted for 11 storeys could safely support six additional floors-raising critical issues about regulatory oversight and engineering integrity. The government, in 2017, finally took the matter into its hands and commissioned a detailed structural assessment. The assessment identified deficiencies in columns and foundations. Proposed retrofitting measures-such as shear walls and column jacketing-came with an estimated cost of NPR 1 billion. A cost-sharing plan followed: 60% by developers, 40% by residents. The residents refused, arguing they should not bear the burden of structural failures beyond their control. The deadlock persists. More than a decade later, the towers remain covered in green netting-silent monuments to institutional paralysis. Nepal's high-rise apartment culture began in 1997 with the Joint Housing Ownership Act. While the law governs ownership and shared facilities, it remains silent on critical issues: safe evacuation and protection from falling debris, building setbacks, safe demolition protocols, mandatory insurance, seismic code enforcement, and cost-sharing between developers and owners for major earthquake retrofits. The government-particularly the Department of Urban Development and Building Construction-must address the above gaps. As cities densify vertically and spread across hills and plains, strict enforcement of robust building codes and bylaws is essential to save lives. The next earthquake will not only test buildings but also the nation's preparedness, accountability, and commitment to human safety. Dr. Karki holds a PhD in Public Policy from the USA and works as an urban planner and policy analyst, while also serving as a visiting faculty member at Kathmandu University.