By Darshana Dutta
She wakes up and scrolls through Instagram. Reel after reel about infidelity fills her screen. What’s the point of dragging yourself out of sleep and looking for a distraction, only to end up trapped in the same loop?
She freshens up and heads to the office. Sipping a strong black coffee, she opens her laptop. A coworker greets her and settles at the desk beside hers. A decent guy, anyone would say, a family man, a cute wife, a well-kept home… everything she has learned to distrust.
The office is hosting a party that evening. She’s not sure if she should go. It will be crowded; everyone loves these events. She thinks she’s gained a little weight. Her eyebrows need trimming. Her hair is a mess. She’ll look dishevelled. But staying in bed would be worse. At least there will be good food and drinks.
By the time she arrives, the party is swinging. Music echoes through the hall. Laughter spills from every corner. Everyone seems cheerful.
She walks to the counter and asks for a shot.
People are going wild on the dance floor. The HR manager looks beautiful tonight. Maybe she has always looked beautiful.
She spots her desk buddy and waves. He’s busy greeting people but notices her. A few minutes later, he asks the HR manager for a dance. Maybe it’s friendly. Maybe it’s nothing.
But her thoughts begin to spiral.
Why her?
Is he too…?
Her mind refuses to finish the sentence, yet it races ahead anyway.
Sweat gathers on her forehead. Maybe it’s the crowd. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the memories.
She rushes to the washroom.
Locked inside a stall, she opens Instagram and scrolls through his profile… perfect photos with his wife, smiling vacations, anniversary posts, weekend brunches…
His wife looks lively.
A terrible thought creeps in.
Will she one day find herself stalking another woman’s profile too, searching for answers? Wondering what she’s missing? Will she learn how cold a bathroom floor feels at two in the morning? Will she too lose her capacity to trust? To feel?
No.
No, that can’t happen.
She needs to talk to him.
She steps out of the washroom. A few coworkers laugh and assume she’s had too much to drink. She walks straight to him, pulling him away from the dance floor.
“The HR looks pretty today, right?” she asks.
He stares at her, confused by the question.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “She does. But not more than my wife. Look, there she is.”
Only then does she notice her.
His wife is sitting at a table, happily trying every snack she can find, completely immersed in the evening.
He laughs.
“She’s a huge foodie. She told me to dance while she samples everything.”
The horrific images that had consumed her minutes earlier begin to loosen their grip.
“You look dizzy,” he says. “Are you okay?”
She forces a smile.
“Not really, I guess. I should go home and sleep.”
She leaves the party and rushes home.
Only the warmth of her bed makes her feel safe.
Later, she lies awake in the dark.
The pillow beneath her cheek is wet. Like always.
She stares at the ceiling and wonders how long this ghost will continue to haunt her…the ghost from the past.
Darshana Dutta is a student at Jagannath Barooah University. She is a motivated and dedicated learner with interests in academic writing, communication, painting, and creative expression.
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