14-12-2025, 04:22 AM
Scene: Priya’s Bedroom – The Quiet of the Night
Priya stood up from the couch and walked toward the bedroom, murmuring that she was going to get changed.
The words left her lips easily, practiced, wrapped in the casual rhythm of routine. She didn’t look back as she said them. That single movement left Amit alone on the couch, his attention still fixed on the television, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly off his face.
The sound of the show continued uninterrupted, laughter canned and distant, unaware that something delicate had already fractured.
Ravi had already gone to his bedroom to sleep.
At least, that was what she told herself. Yet even as she walked away, his presence felt anything but gone. It followed her down the hallway, clung to the air, settled somewhere beneath her skin like a warmth that refused to fade.
Each step toward the bedroom felt heavier than the last. Her body moved forward, but her thoughts lagged behind, caught in a moment that replayed itself again and again without mercy.
Their bedroom was cloaked in the quiet hush of the night, the faint amber glow of the bedside lamp casting soft, elongated shadows across the walls.
The room was familiar, intimately so, filled with the quiet evidence of shared years: folded clothes, framed photographs, the subtle scent of Amit’s soap lingering in the air. Yet tonight, the room felt altered, as though it were watching her, waiting.
Priya stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with unsettling clarity.
She recognized the face, the shape of her body, the tired softness around her eyes, but something felt off, displaced, as if the woman in the mirror had shifted slightly out of alignment with the life she was living.
Her fingers trembled as she tugged the drawer open. The sound felt too loud in the silence, sharp and intrusive. The cool air brushed against her skin as she reached for the nightgown, a soft silk fabric she had worn countless nights before. It was safe. Familiar. Unremarkable.
And yet…
Tonight felt different. Everything felt different.
She hesitated, nightgown in hand, her gaze drifting back to her reflection.
“Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I feel so… empty?”
The question echoed in her chest, unanswered.
Priya stood up from the couch and walked toward the bedroom, murmuring that she was going to get changed.
The words left her lips easily, practiced, wrapped in the casual rhythm of routine. She didn’t look back as she said them. That single movement left Amit alone on the couch, his attention still fixed on the television, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly off his face.
The sound of the show continued uninterrupted, laughter canned and distant, unaware that something delicate had already fractured.
Ravi had already gone to his bedroom to sleep.
At least, that was what she told herself. Yet even as she walked away, his presence felt anything but gone. It followed her down the hallway, clung to the air, settled somewhere beneath her skin like a warmth that refused to fade.
Each step toward the bedroom felt heavier than the last. Her body moved forward, but her thoughts lagged behind, caught in a moment that replayed itself again and again without mercy.
Their bedroom was cloaked in the quiet hush of the night, the faint amber glow of the bedside lamp casting soft, elongated shadows across the walls.
The room was familiar, intimately so, filled with the quiet evidence of shared years: folded clothes, framed photographs, the subtle scent of Amit’s soap lingering in the air. Yet tonight, the room felt altered, as though it were watching her, waiting.
Priya stood before the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with unsettling clarity.
She recognized the face, the shape of her body, the tired softness around her eyes, but something felt off, displaced, as if the woman in the mirror had shifted slightly out of alignment with the life she was living.
Her fingers trembled as she tugged the drawer open. The sound felt too loud in the silence, sharp and intrusive. The cool air brushed against her skin as she reached for the nightgown, a soft silk fabric she had worn countless nights before. It was safe. Familiar. Unremarkable.
And yet…
Tonight felt different. Everything felt different.
She hesitated, nightgown in hand, her gaze drifting back to her reflection.
“Why does everything feel wrong? Why do I feel so… empty?”
The question echoed in her chest, unanswered.
.
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