Aarohi Madan

Drama Romance Tragedy

4.5  

Aarohi Madan

Drama Romance Tragedy

The Dream That Wasn't

The Dream That Wasn't

3 mins
325


I opened my eyes. I was on a bed. Naked. Though I was alone in the room I still panicked. I was scared, I don’t know why. It all looked familiar and yet I can’t seem to be sure of it. I don’t remember. Come to think of it I can’t remember anything. My name? Where I was?

The room felt like a distant memory and yet can’t seem to remember any of it. I feel a scream building up inside me.


I was spread on the bed venerable and naked when I felt strong hands gripping my feet. I look down. I can’t see anyone. The hands felt warm and familiar and yet as I look around the room, a room bathed in the sunlight from big windows, covered in white lacy curtain, there is no one standing on the foot of the bed.

I felt hot breath between my legs and screamed for the horror of it, but the invisible monster gripped my hands and pinned my legs with his naked body. I couldn’t see him but I could feel him. Naked and heavy. He was gentle and after some time his moments too started to feel like an old dream, long forgotten. His moves were familiar and it felt like he knew my body.


As soon as my body remembers his touch it betrays me.

The fear now replaced by excitement. The shiver of anxiety turned to pleasure. I forgot my surrounding and elevated to a universe where I discovered the meaning of pleasure.

The next time I open my eyes he lay beside me. I could see him now. This is my husband. I missed him so much. I remember the room now. I remember all of it. It was our suite when we went for our honeymoon. We would swim on the days when we wanted to see the sun and for the rest of the time stay in our room engaged in one another.

Seeing his face up close I realize how much I loved him.


After the honeymoon everybody had been so sympathetic. We understand what you are going through but trust us it will pass away with time. It did not. I missed him every day. Daddy was happy when he saw me. He opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate my home coming and the merger of both our family business, my late husband’s and my very much alive father’s. Everybody cheered and congratulated me. I felt sick in my stomach.

I cried most of the time. Hunger left me as if to vacate my time to miss him more. But that’s all I ever did, miss him, all the time.


They locked me in my room. I was no longer allowed to dine with the family. Nobody talked to me anymore. My presence has become a burden.

One day they told me to dress up for a public appearance. A black mourning dress was decided for the appearance.

As the door of our car opened, one could hear the camera flashes and the buzz of media’s questions. But I didn’t have to worry about that. A statement was released by my family, on my behalf. I didn’t need to open my mouth, perhaps, ever again.


They took pictures. Lots of pictures. It was necessary daddy said. To be seen in public. So, no one suspects me. Me. Singular. Alone.

I use to know that feeling, of being managed, before I fell in love with him. But now it surrounds me like a shroud. I want to take it off.

My father’s den depicts his taste to the extreme. Heads mounted on the wall. Skins on display to show his vicious nature.


I want the wine.

What are you talking about?

I want the Masseto wine, the one you gifted me for my honeymoon.

His breathe for few minutes all the while looking at me and then came the reply,

Okay.

I am happy to be with him again.

At least, I can love him in death.  


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