wooing Meera Rai

IV | alone

IV | alone

It was empty.

Like his life, like his heart, like his soul, the house was empty when he came back from the party. 

She was gone.

She really left.

Vihaan scanned the house, he looked at the house - a 4 BHK apartment in a sky high tower of the town, polished pretty floors and polished pretty walls. The once happy house seemed so cold now that she was gone. 

She really left him.

Without a fight.

Vihaan wanted this. He planned for this. He loved Meera to see her fall, to throw her out of his house, and he got it. 

So why did it feel so...

Lonely. 

Vihaan was drunk. Not drunk per se, but tipsy at the most. He looked at the living room where his wife would greet him, narrowing her gaze at him because he drank again. She'd raise her arms and hug him. She'd greet him with her presence. She'd greet him with a smile. 

Her fucking ethereal smile.

Vihaan sucked in the heavy breath. 

He really needed to knock some sense into him. This was what he wanted. So why the fuck was he waiting for his wife to come greet him.

He picked the watch from the table with a note that said, 'happy six months, love. every single day with you is a blessing. Congrats on the win, you deserve the best - your wifey'

Vihaan dragged his tired self past the living room and the kitchen, the study, the makeshift library room and opened the door to their bed-room. 

His room.

The scent of sandalwood and vanilla hit him. 

Stupid Meera and her stupid scent. 

Vihaan placed the jacket on the bed and undid his tie. When he opened the wardrobe, all of her belongings were gone. She took everything of hers, leaving no trace behind. No clothes, no accessories, not even a single item that was hers was left behind. 

Except the photo frames that haunted him. 

The huge portrait of their court-room wedding with his arm around her and while he smiled at the camera, she looked at him with a soft smile. Vihaan took the portrait down because he hated how sick it made him. 

In the bathroom, he almost screamed aloud to ask for his towel to his wife. In the kitchen, he could feel her yelling at him for leaving the refrigerator open. In the study he could trace her self reading a novel, asking extra time to finish one more chapter. 

Vihaan lay his back on the bed, inadvertently looking to his right and the ghost of his wife sneaked closer in his arms. 

"Tiring day huh?"

She'd sigh.

"Every day with you is a tiring day." 

He'd reply.

She'd feign being angry. He'd roll over and coddle her underneath him. And only when she'd giggle would he roll over again, this time holding her over his body. 

That was how they slept most of the nights.

Vihaan reached out to the empty side of the bed. It still had traces of her body, the shape of her curvy figure on the soft fabric, her scent in the duvets, her strands of hair on the pillow. 

It was the alcohol. 

Vihaan knew it was the alcohol.

Or his house was really haunted.