by Ashutosh Ravikrishnan

But Indira was still alone.

She fidgeted awkwardly with her watch. Was it time to go home already? Was it time to admit defeat? Maybe it was time to use The Restroom.

Holding her drink deftly, Indira walked to the restroom, reminding herself to be graceful and elegant. Past the couple squirming in the darkness, past the old man with the book, past the Les Miserables poster.

Finally, The Restroom. A sanctuary. Her sanctuary.

Indira looked at herself in the mirror and asked herself for the hundredth time that night: why did no one ever notice her?

Did nobody appreciate her dark, thick curls? Was it her hooked nose – did that intimidate men? But what about ladies, surely they would (or rather, should) ask her where she got her dress from.

‘I made it myself!’ she would say, and that would open the door to conversation, perhaps even friendship.

What was it about Indira?

The door opened, and Indira saw Him walk in.

‘He’s beautiful,’ she thought.

He was tall, He was dark and He was handsome. He was Indira’s.

Smiling to herself, she tiptoed out of The Restroom. She walked past the Les Miserables poster, past the old man with the book, and stopped. This would be the spot.

Indira perched herself on the cushioned stool. She held her drink in her left hand, then her right, then placed it on the table. Then, she waited.

***
‘Hurry up, Max, you’re going to miss it!’

Indira pedalled faster and looked back to see if he was behind her. He was.

Of course he was. Max would never leave Indira. Max loved Indira.

It was mid-autumn and the fields were bathed in a sea of golden leaves. Indira’s heart soared as she sped along the lanes – this was what Joy felt like, she decided.

Joy had taken awhile to visit her, but she was here to stay now.

Indira looked back again to catch a glimpse of Him. His hair, His smile, His arms, His legs, His chest, His everything.

He wasn’t there.