The shopping bag was quiet heavy as Khusi dragged it down the the wide ridge road of Shimla, after doing some grocery shopping. It was Sunday, and it was needed for her to come out of her cave for some outdoor chores.
Most of the cardboard boxes were still sitting opened in a corner of the room. Khusi had only emptied those boxes and taken out those products which she needed on a daily basis.
Even though engulfed in snow during the early April, the famous Mall road along the ridge was buzzing with tourists, most of them either young group of friends or couples.
The town was indeed serene when someone really wanted to enjoy it's beauty. But even the Taj Mahal wouldn't have made Khusi gaze at it with wonder, with the current situation she was in.
A newbie in the town, with practically no friends, living on her own for the first time, doing everything alone. She felt lonely and lost ... without a purpose to move forward.
But she was helpless. The day she walked out of Bangalore, she took an oath. To never be in contact with anyone from her past life. No one, not even her parents or her best friend. They didn't understand her. Nobody did.
Khusi didn't hate the icy chilliness of the town anymore. Atleast the hoodie, scarfs and beanies kept her face and the occasional tears covered. It was the people that she was heavily starting to dislike. They were rude and mean, almost everyone. Her colleagues had their own group, cause they were locals.
Last week when she attended the parents teachers meeting, the guardians were crude to her, bestowing her with cruel words about her insufficiency. No one questioned how their children were.
The only woman who had been kind to her was the head mistress of the school, Miss Archana Goenka. She was a humble lady, unmarried, in her late 40s. When Khusi complained to her about the students behaviours and what they said, she made them personally apologize to Khusi.
Sighing tiredly, Khusi tightened her grip on the bag, almost about to round the corner when a few shrieks caught her attention. She swiftly glanced back to see 3 teenage girls whispering, peering at Khusi every other second.
A suspicion creeped up in Khusi's head. Scaring the consequences, she was just about to dash away when the girls ran toward Khusi, a wide beam plastered on their face.
"Oh my god! Aren't you Khusi Goswami?"
"We've been following you on Instagram for so long!" One of them took out her phone.
"Why are you doing in Shimla? Are you here on your second honeymoon?"
"Really!? Wow! That's so cool. But where's your husband? What was his name? Yeah Bhaskar ... " They giggled.
Khusi's heartbeat accelerated as their voices echoed around her, her breaths coming out in pants. She didn't know what to say or how to say what tragedy had taken place in her life. She was embarrassed of the perfect image she had created on her social media.
"Why haven't you posted anything in the last 2 months? And what about your last post? The orphanage picture you shared? You were about to adopt a baby, right?" One of the girls enquired, her eyes eager.
It was that very moment when Khusi lost it. Her knees wobbled as sweat tittered down her forehead even though cold breeze was blowing. Her ears pinged and her vision turned blurry, the shopping bag falling down on the road with a thud, as Khusi sank down on the ground.
Covering her ears, she howled out, "Leave me alone!"
*******
YOU ARE READING
Not Her
Romance"I don't want to become a mother." This line is a taboo for women in some parts of the world, and so was for Khusi Mukherjee. At the age of 25, independent and single, she wanted to live her life according to her rules. But everything changed when...
