A Figment of Imagination

It should have been a perfect day. Only it wasn’t. It should have been a romantic night. Only it wasn’t. After all, all couples fight, isn’t it? What’s the big deal? So what, if it’s an anniversary or a birthday or any damn effing day? Why should it be any different? One can start a fight whenever they like and ruin another’s night. What’s the bloody big deal? Happens, right?


Carefully, she shut the door. Leaving the stifling aura of her bedroom, she took refuge in the living room; putting as much space as possible between herself and him. It was nights like these that she hated him; when she suppressed a storm inside while he gave away to sweet slumbers. So not how she expected her life to be.

The French windows were wide open and yet not even a slice of air entered in. At 47 degrees, she would swim naked in a pool, she would take the ice-bucket challenge, naked, she would. But she had other pressing issues on her mind. Tormented by the unexpected turn of events that plagued her now, she was too absorbed by… What? Rage? Disappointment? Self-pity? And to make matters worse, the depreciating thoughts wouldn’t even leave her alone.

Just how had the whole argument veered out of her control? She now replayed the conversation in her head. Could she have handled it better? Was there a better comeback to his lackadaisical accusations? Was she too loud or too timid? Damn it! And why was she always at the receiving end of his tart temperaments? She didn’t want to think about it. Isn’t that why she left the space, his confines and sought refuge here?

From where she sat on the couch, the passageway to her bedroom was straight ahead. The darkness-engulfed alley painted varied pictures in her head. Things she had planned on doing with him tonight, on their big night, and not just imagine about them. But, thanks to the ruddy outpour of his twisted mind-set, hopes and happiness were blown apart to pieces. The rushing vehicles, honking away madly, could do nothing to quieten the surging exasperation.

Even though almost an hour had passed, she couldn’t help but hope that he might come looking for her. Her eyes kept darting between the bedroom door and her fidgety fingers. What was she thinking? He’ll come running after her and apologise for his arrogant behaviour? Enclose her in his arms and cajole her into submitting her disappointment away?

She folded her legs, drew them closer to her chest, and sunk into oblivion with her head resting in the little nook of her knees. Ruminating about the improbable life she had dreamt of and worked for, she felt it had finally arrived at a dead-end, at a point of no return. This was it. This is how it would forever be. Accusations. Defences. More Accusations. More Defences. One holding on. Other moving on.


Before she saw him, she felt him, his presence. She saw a shadow move. He was there. He was finally there. ‘Nik?’ He said, resting his hand on her shoulder. Lifting her chin up, she looked up at him with anxious emptiness like someone waiting for Saturn to appear in the nascent morning hours but not knowing how to react when it finally did. Like a soap opera regular, tears started streaming down her cheeks.

‘Are you still mad?’ He asked. No response. He sat down and pulled her close. ‘Baby, I am sorry. I am,’ he whispered on her cheeks. ‘I am sorry too, but…’ she held back. ‘No, wait. No buts… I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was mad. I wish I could take my words back. Please, say something.’ Empty eyes stared back at him. ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that? ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ she finally said.

As if he had fallen on the ground with an ear-crashing thud; fantasy undone, reality welcome. He felt an ache at those words; ache that made his head go fuzzy, like it feels when there’s not enough blood or oxygen reaching the brain. Slipping down at her feet, he gripped her hands in his own. Cold against warm. Fire against ice. ‘You know you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’d do anything to be with you. Just tell me. But not…’ She stared on. Isn’t this what she wanted to know – that he would never let her go, that he needed her, no matter what. She wasn’t a mistake he’d made and swear to God, she’d make him accept that. She wouldn’t let him burden her like this.

‘You know, Rony, I’d be anything you wanted me to be. But a mistake…’ her voice trailed away. He looked up at her. Eyes moist and lips quivering, he said, ‘No, no. I made a mistake and I’d have made a graver mistake, if I hadn’t chosen you.’ Empty words! She’d had enough of this all these years. She tried to pull free and started to go but he forced her to stay as he rushed to say, ‘No, wait, don’t go. You don’t understand. Let me explain.’ She looked away from him, not wanting him to see her tear up. ‘Veronika, listen. Look at me. I said things but I didn’t mean them. Those silly fights mean nothing. Nothing! I want you. Goddamnit, Nik. I can’t, I don’t want to be… without… You know it. Tell me, what can I do to make up to you?’ Tap! Tap! Urgent tears grazed the back of her hands.


Crying always brought on his coughs. He was a man who cried; someone who didn’t have the ‘men don’t cry’ decree written in blood. His nasal passage however, didn’t support this violation. But seeing his arrogance reduced to sobs, moved her. Half-happy, half-relieved, she felt her heart perform a salsa. If push comes to shove, he would fight for her. And that’s all she needed from her man. That’s the man she married, who’d make her see he loved, he cared, enough, to move mountains for her. He’d be reckless but not irresponsible. But most of all, she didn’t want to be the only one making the marriage work, making the love last.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ she said and left for the kitchen. While filling the tumbler, she smiled a little and shed tears of joy in plenty. She’d go back and kiss him and forgive him. Let his empty talks achieve their motive, like always. But she’ll be fine with that because… well, what’s that the bible taught you to do, isn’t it? Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. If loving means forgiving, loving means believing, loving means letting go, then that’s what she’d do.

A silent moment and loud snores broke into her reverie. There was no one else in the house besides them, who then was snoring so loud? Putting the tumbler down, she walked to the bedroom. She turned the knob and a blast of stale air, heavy from conscious hurting, hit her square in the face. There lying comfortably covered in those rumbling snores was Rony.

As if on cue, Rony stirred. Half rising in bed, he slurred, ‘Nik, what happened? You look as if you saw a ghost? Is everything okay?’ Veronica didn’t know what to say. ‘Yeah,’ she mumbled unconsciously and shut the door behind her.

Asha Seth


27 thoughts on “A Figment of Imagination

Add yours

  1. wow wow & wow
    You are an amazing story teller
    I was just totally into the flow . Still not over with it yet. awesome Asha.
    You are an amazing writer i would really be happy if you visit my site I write about Love relationships and evrything.
    Kindly follow if you like my work. Posting a few of my links. Thanking you in advance.
    Little things you do for her: https://wp.me/p9tZ21-71
    A story about a girl and her brave single mom : https://wp.me/p9tZ21-5j
    poetry about beauty of our imperfections : https://wp.me/p9tZ21-4c


  2. You made his presence believable for the readers. The best part of the writing is when readers fail to recognize the transition taking place, in this case it was from reality to imagination. Well written Asha 👍 I enjoyed the read.




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