A pair of used socks lay neglected on a used bed. Meira had somehow managed to get herself up from it and decided to clean the mess. She woke up to the unending whistle of the pressure cooker in her neighbour's flat. They seemed to be teasing her, "You won't be up even by the time we blow next." That was two whistles back. As she was unfolding and laying the bedsheet, straitening it around the edges to make sure not a bit of it seemed out of place, the whistles stopped. "Screw you" she spoke aloud.
It was one of those days. Those days where the sun shines very comfortably, and the air is pleasant. Things fall in place and life is generally beautiful. You are reminded that you are cherished at your workplace and your efforts are often commendable. A nothing-is-wrong kind of day. Till the day was situated inside Meira's head. It built its own language of discord. A systematic, symmetric discord. These were the days she was angry at Nikhil. The one name, the one entity that took complete control over her in such moments of pristine perfection. His absence was burdening. Deafening.
As she won over her bedroom against shadows of a not very indistinct past, she made her was into the kitchen, dragging against an invisible gravity of disinterest. I need to be back to the day, the real day, awaiting me. And suddenly, she deviated for a bath. In quick succession, she dressed to her gorgeous best, even in which she wished for Nikhil to be there to point out how the button sequence she got stitched, looked on the kurti.
Over her yogurt and cereal, she checked her mails between mouthfuls and in the day inside her head she kept telling herself that they needed to do something about Nikhil. Something disastrous which she wasn't even capable of executing, but it needed to be done so that she could survive his loss without such moments of mourning. Shall I poison him? A mail came in. It was the Senior at Advertising, Pratiek. Shall I have an affair? Pratiek is a good candidate. I could go out with him.
Meira seemed to believe that she had figured out a solution. Kill him softly. Her car was scrolling down the lane. What if we get back? Isn't together a lovely way to be? She changed the radio channel. No, Nikhil needs to be taught a lesson. It has to be Prateik. As she slipped into the fifth gear, she smiled of relief. Yay to the solution! Till a nagging voice followed, "You can never do it, Meira. You know it." She parked her car, picked up the telephone and sent a text to Nikhil, "Meet me." And after five minutes of feeling a cacophony of feelings, she sent another one, "Today."
That was yesterday. The reply never came.
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