Chapter 2: Doubts and Shadows

My girlfriend teaches dance at a kids’ training centre. Whenever I’m free, I drop her off and pick her up. I know almost everyone in her circle.

Her colleagues would often tease me, “Arre Jiju, aa gaye?” like our engagement was already set. She’d roll her eyes and laugh, but there was pride in her smile. Once, I even brought samosas for the whole staff after their annual function. I thought I knew everything.

All night, my mind raced—if she was cheating, with whom? My head replayed her WhatsApp notifications, the way she’d sometimes smile at her phone. Then I’d remember her scolding me: "Bas karo, yaar. Not everyone is out to break your heart." Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Next morning, I drove her to work as usual. Suddenly, she said, “You don’t need to pick me up tonight.”

My hands froze on the steering wheel. She adjusted her dupatta, stared out the window, acting like she was busy on her phone.

“I have something to do.”

“You’ve been working overtime a lot lately, na? Don’t tire yourself.”

Strange. She’d never worried about my rest before. If anything, she’d get upset if I couldn’t pick her up. I remembered all those old fights—how she’d sulk if I was late, ignore my calls for hours. But today, she’s telling me to rest? Kuch toh gadbad hai.

Amma always says, “Aurat jab chup ho jaati hai, tab kuch gadbad hai.” Those words echoed in my mind. I didn’t argue. Sometimes, silence is better than questions.

I forced a smile. “Accha, fine. Let me know if you need anything.” But inside, my thoughts were a storm, replaying her words and gestures.

After a day of restless thinking, that night I drove straight to her training centre. I parked under a neem tree, headlights off, hidden. My fingers drummed on the dashboard, sweat beading on my forehead.

I skipped dinner, telling my parents I had late work. The parking lot was mostly empty—a couple of autos waited, their drivers chatting. The security guard barely looked at me. The scent of roasted corn from a nearby vendor drifted through the air. Somewhere, a paanwala spat red near the auto stand.

Around nine, parents started leaving with their kids. Her colleagues trickled out, chatting. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Mothers fussed over their daughters, fixing hairbands, pulling shawls tight as the night breeze picked up. The centre’s tube light flickered. One of her friends waved at an Uber, vanishing into the night. Still, no sign of her.

Arrey yaar. Something is definitely off.

My stomach clenched, bitter as neem. I thought about calling her, but decided to wait. Better to see for myself.