January 31, 2024. The vast expanse of the ocean stretched endlessly around me, the ship slicing through the water like a lone wanderer. Life at sea had its rhythm, and by now, I had learned to live with it.
The sharp ring of my cabin telephone broke the monotony of the morning. Groggily, I rolled over and squinted at the flashing screen—20, the number for the Engine Control Room.
“Hello, good morning. Fourth Engineer Aman speaking,” I answered, my voice hoarse from sleep.
It was the Chief Engineer. “Aman, we’ve got some trouble with the generators. Could use an extra hand. Come down.”
"Right Away chief"
I freshened up quickly but couldn’t resist my usual routine. Before heading down, I stopped by the smoke room, lit a cigarette, and pulled out my phone. The Wi-Fi on board was frustratingly slow, but it was my only connection to the world outside this floating prison.
Scrolling through WhatsApp, I noticed a message from Anuradha Thakur—a familiar name from my school days. She was a close friend of Anushka’s, someone who often popped up in conversations from the past.
The message contained a photo. I clicked to download it, and the dreaded spinning circle appeared—our ship's low-speed internet mocking my impatience. As I took another drag from my cigarette, the photo finally loaded.
It was a mehendi picture of Anushka.
For a moment, my heart skipped a beat. I typed a quick reply to Anuradha:
“What’s this?”
Her response came almost immediately.
“Anushka’s getting married tomorrow.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. The sounds of the ship—the hum of the engine, the distant clatter of tools—faded into nothingness. Everything around me blurred. I sank into the nearest chair, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, staring at the screen as if it had betrayed me.
The photo was still open. Anushka’s hands were adorned with intricate mehendi patterns, her face glowing with happiness. She looked stunning. She looked... content.
And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking—was she really happy? Was there even a sliver of her that thought about me?
I wanted her to be happy, I truly did. But deep down, I had foolishly clung to the hope that she might feel even a flicker of regret, a passing sadness about the life we could have had together.
An alarm blared from the engine room, jolting me back to reality. I took a long drag of my cigarette, exhaled slowly, and texted Anuradha:
“Send me pictures from the ceremony tomorrow.”
I pocketed my phone, took a final drag, and crushed the cigarette under my boot. The generators weren’t going to fix themselves. As I made my way to the engine room, the weight in my chest remained, heavier than ever.
