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Participate in the 3rd Season of STORYMIRROR SCHOOLS WRITING COMPETITION - the BIGGEST Writing Competition in India for School Students & Teachers and win a 2N/3D holiday trip from Club Mahindra

ketaki patwardhan

Drama Thriller


ketaki patwardhan

Drama Thriller

The Life of Myra - Chapter 2

The Life of Myra - Chapter 2

6 mins 1.2K 6 mins 1.2K

I get under my duvets, switch the lights off, but as usual, sleep eludes me. After tossing and turning for half an hour, I decide to give up trying to sleep.

I get my mobile from the nightstand.

I see a message from the person I don’t want to hear from.


‘We need to meet. Please reply back’, it says.

I scroll up to see the many messages sent by him.

There is one message every few days, asking me to meet. And a few missed calls. Which I have always purposefully ignored even as I sat right there, staring at the screen, while it rang.

I have wondered many times if I should report this to the police. About his stalking. But I don’t want to get involved in all of that.

And for some reason, I don’t even block his number. Maybe I just want to see how far he goes, with me being completely unresponsive.

Then there are two messages from my mother.

‘How are you? You didn’t return my call. I am worried. Call me when you read this’.

‘Rishi is trying to reach you. Just talk to him once’, says the other.

I am irked. I know my mother loves me, but she still behaves as if I am a small child who needs constant supervision.

She stays far away, in a small village in western Maharashtra. She was here with me for some time after Anish ditched me and I am thankful to her for always being there for me. But the way she tries to control every movement of mine sometimes gets on my nerves.

I have not even come out of my honeymoon period of break up with Anish, if that even exists. And here she is, imposing Rishi on me. I don’t know why she is hell-bent on setting me up with someone. As if I can’t live on my own.

I ignore her messages and decide to reply tomorrow.

But I know I can’t postpone it beyond that. Else she will send over my sister Mahika to check on me. And I and my sister don’t get along. At all.

Mahika is all that my parents ever dreamed of for their daughters. I was the intelligent and hard-working one, but she has always been the luckier one. The go-getter. One who got everything in life handed on a platter while I struggled for each and everything. I did B.Sc nursing while she wasted her teen years over partying and friends.

And yet today, even though two years younger than me, even as I struggle to stay afloat in this city, she is leading the nice, cozy and perfect life of a housewife, with a rich husband and a perfect child to dote on.

I sometimes feel my father wished he had only one daughter.

My only solace in my family is my brother Mayank. He is the youngest of the three of us, but closest to me. He stays far away, being in the army, but I feel closer to him than anyone else.

I shake off all thoughts of my mother and sister from my mind.

Instead, I open Facebook, and just like I do every day, I go to Anish’s Facebook profile. It is amazing how he has shamelessly moved on, while I lie here in the depths of despair.

He was never very active on Facebook when he was with me. But now that his latest girlfriend, Madhumita, keeps tagging him in her posts, there is always at least one new daily update on his timeline.

Today they have dined at the J.W.Mariotte, at a party hosted by Madhumita’s agency.

I have stalked her enough online to know that she is a model who does cheap quality ads, is originally from Kolkatta; has a sprawling bungalow there, the balcony of which overlooks the Howrah bridge. Her father is a rich man who can sponsor his useless daughter’s trysts in the modelling industry. She stays in a posh flat in Lokhandwala, where now Anish has moved in, like a parasite. They own a Pomeranian dog called Snow, who seems to have better intelligence than her. She has a younger sister Anandita, who stays in Bangalore, studies Physiotherapy, and visits her sister once every month, and never leaves without taking cringeworthy pictures with her sister and Anish, my Anish, so that Madhumita can post them on her Instagram. I don’t know how, but she has more than 5K followers. Maybe the show off of long legs and curves has done the trick for her because if you ask me, she doesn’t seem to have any other talent than owning a good body.

I see the pictures, every pore of my body oozing with a mixture of anger and jealousy. Madhumita looks ravishing in a blood-red cocktail dress that perfectly brings out her hourglass figure. Her lipstick is a matching bloody red. She holds a glass of wine in one hand, and the other goes around Anish’s neck.

Anish is smiling at the camera, his smile reaching his eyes as they crinkle at the edges. He is wearing a navy-blue shirt that fits his perfectly toned body, and a crisp black trouser. He has lost oodles of weight and looks fitter than he looked when he was with me.

When he was with me!

The fact is, he was with me. We were going to make a life together. And he gave up all of that!

Tears cloud my eyes again as everything comes back rushing to me.

The resentment, the hurt, the frustration I have felt over these past months. These are not just tears of sadness. They are tears of anger too.

He left me, never looking back at me.

I am about to throw my mobile at the wall in anger. But I somehow control myself. My phone will smash. Nothing will happen to Anish or Madhumita.

I sit up. There is no way I can sleep now. Not after seeing those rosy pictures. Should I call Saloni? She told me I could call her anytime.

But it’s too late. I can’t disturb her like this.

I need to get a grip on myself.

I decide to see if Mayank is awake.

‘Hi. Are you awake?’ I type.

‘Hey. How are you?’ my brother replies back immediately.

‘Feeling low’ I reply.

‘What happened. Tell me’, he says.

‘The usual. Saw pictures of Anish’.

‘Di, please. You need to move on. He is a bastard. Just forget about him’.

‘I can’t’.

‘Unfriend him. Don’t check his social media’ he says.

As if I never thought of it. I have blocked him hundreds of times. On WhatsApp. On Facebook. And each time I have become so restless, wondering, what if he sent me a message and I missed it, that I have unblocked him again.

‘I can’t’ I say again. ‘Why did he leave me?’

‘Because you don’t deserve him. You are far too good. You are the best’, he says.

I know he is just saying all of this to make me feel better. But I do, in fact, feel slightly better.

‘Why are you awake so late?’ I ask him.

‘Chatting with Sapna’, he replies, adding a smiley.

Sapna is his childhood sweetheart, and this is a secret that only I know.

I smile.

‘Di, you are a good person. And time heals everything. Eventually, you will meet someone worth investing your emotions in. Wait for him,’ he says.

Finally, that night, I am able to sleep without popping a sleeping pill, albeit at 2 am.

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