My Little Obsession

06

The empty chair where Meena usually sat in class felt like a silent wound. Wednesday passed, then Thursday, and Friday. The days came and went with her still curled up in bed, the hours bleeding into each other, the sounds of the outside world muffled as if she were trapped underwater. She felt empty, detached from her own body, like she was floating somewhere she didn't recognize, as though her mind had abandoned her, retreating into a quiet, unreachable place.

At school, her absence hadn't gone unnoticed, but not in the way she might have hoped. The three girls she used to sit with in history were furious, whispering sharply whenever her name came up. Because she hadn't shown up, the grade they'd received on their group project had tanked. They spread rumors and snickered, painting a picture of her as careless and selfish. It was easier for them to see her as a scapegoat rather than someone who might be suffering.

For Meena, the silence at home was almost worse. Her mother had spoken only in brief, curt sentences, each word laced with frustration, maybe even disappointment. Rassami hadn't looked at her since that night, and Meena had started to think she'd never forgive her, that she'd already written her off as someone unworthy. That hurt in a way she could barely describe, a hollow ache that settled deep inside her chest.

And with no one reaching out, no one asking if she was okay, she felt like she was slowly disappearing. It was as if the world was telling her she didn't matter; her classmates barely tolerated her, and even her mother seemed to see her as a burden now, a tarnished version of the daughter she'd once been.

The flashbacks began in quiet moments, snapping her back to that night without warning. She'd suddenly feel a hand gripping her, or the sensation of the bed shifting, and each time, her chest would tighten, her skin crawling with the urge to scrub away the memory. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Everything felt tainted, stained by something she didn't understand, didn't remember but could never forget.

By Saturday, she barely recognized herself. Her reflection showed hollow eyes and a face that felt foreign, as though her own body was rejecting her. The weight of it all: her isolation, the betrayal of her own mind, her mother's harsh words... pressed down until she couldn't breathe.

It felt like climbing a mountain she'd never reach the top of. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into nothing, so that all the pain, the whispers in her mind, and the guilt would finally stop. But the days kept coming, relentless and indifferent, offering no relief, only the silent echo of her own anguish.

The knock on the door, on a Sunday evening, echoed through the silent house, jolting Meena from her thoughts. She tensed, her heart pounding, as she tried to place the sound. Visitors were rare, and she wasn't expecting anyone. Rassami had been in the living room, her usual expression of distant annoyance barely masking the exhaustion she wore like armor. She fixed her hair and went to open the door, muttering about who it could be.

When Rassami swung the door open, a polite smile greeted her; a boy, maybe a year or two older than Meena, holding a modest bouquet of flowers. His clothes were neat, hair carefully combed back, and his demeanor radiated a warmth that caught Rassami off guard. She softened, straightening up as she looked him over.

— Oh, hello! Can I help you? — She asked, surprised.

The boy's smile widened, and he gave a slight bow before speaking, his voice dripping with a charm that seemed almost too practiced.

— Good evening, Mrs. Chatamonchai. My name is Phum. I came to see Meena. We met at a party recently, and I was hoping she'd be able to join me for a little outing this evening. — His eyes sparkled with a sincerity that seemed well-rehearsed, and he held up the flowers with a small, almost shy grin. — I brought these for her.