Chapter 6: Shadows of the Past

Dhak dhak.

Dhak dhak…

It was the noisy thumping of my heart.

Arjun heard it.

He heard the words, "Every time you get drunk, you call his name."

Knowing him, he’d definitely seize the chance to dig deeper.

And, like before, tease me: "Meera, you really do like me, don’t you? Hahaha."

But right now, his face was only filled with surprise and panic.

I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes, half expecting him to vanish like those WhatsApp forwards about ghosts. But he just stood there, arms folded, smirking.

His wide-eyed, awkward expression almost made me laugh despite the tension. If he’d been alive, he’d have cracked a joke, but now, he just floated there, as if caught between two worlds—mine and his own.

"Hiding in the study?"

Rohan’s voice snapped me back to reality.

He glanced at the study, his smile fading, and strode over.

But when he opened the door, it was empty—not a soul inside.

Undeterred, he moved on, like a husband eager to catch a cheater, opening the bedroom and the dressing room in turn.

Only when he found the place truly empty did he finally seem to realize, and sneered.

The way he checked each room, as if searching for some hidden lover, would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so tragic. I stood by the window, staring at the rainwater dripping from the edge of the air conditioner, listening to my heart pound in my ears.

"Playing games, Meera? What’s the point?"

"Anyway, we look so much alike. Agar yahi chahiye, toh main bhi try kar sakta hoon, Meera."

As he spoke, his finger lifted my chin, almost mockingly.

His touch was cold, his eyes harder. I smelled lipstick and cheap perfume, an ugly reminder of where he’d been. My skin crawled at his arrogance.

I hadn’t said a word yet.

Arjun did.

"Shameless fellow. Let go."

He rushed over and swung at Rohan, but his fist passed right through—he couldn’t touch a single hair, only jumping around in frustration.

"Arrey, Meera, he just came from another woman’s bed and now he’s hitting on you."

"Why are you just standing there? Where’s your old boldness?"

"Hit him. Just like you used to hit me."

Arjun’s words were like a drum, making my heart tremble and freeze.

Ten years ago, I really was bold.

Relying on my good marks, I once confronted the maths teacher for over-punishing students during the Monday assembly.

And when I saw a girl surrounded by rowdies at the back gate, I stood up for her without hesitation.

Back then, I thought I was a warrior, afraid of nothing.

If Arjun hadn’t reminded me, I’d almost forgotten I used to be so "bold."

His voice echoed like the call to prayer from the masjid down the street—stirring something deep inside me. I remembered the crack of the dhol during Ganpati visarjan, the thrill of standing up for what was right, even if I was shaking inside.

"Enough."

With a soft sigh, I brushed Rohan’s hand away and walked past him.

I finally found the cigarettes I’d been craving on the cupboard and lit one.

"Rohan, you know, with or without this face, I’d still have to pacify you."

The words hung between us, raw and real. I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward, wishing it could carry away all the ugly memories.