When Absence Became Madness - Living on Glimpses - Part 10

 Marriage changed Arjun’s life.

It destroyed hers.

Days passed after the wedding like smoke—shapeless, bitter, impossible to hold. She moved through home and college with hollow eyes and delayed responses. People spoke to her twice before she answered.

Some stopped trying.

But one hunger remained alive.

To see him.

Not speak.

Not touch.

Not hope.

Just see.

That was enough now.

Or so she told herself.

She learned his new routines quickly. Married men, she discovered, walked differently. Less hurried. More grounded. Sometimes carrying grocery bags. Sometimes speaking on the phone in a softer voice.

Sometimes smiling to himself.

Those smiles were knives.

Yet she followed them.

She began waiting near streets she had never visited before—routes between his house and office, the market lane, the pharmacy corner, the road near the temple. If someone asked why she was there, she invented lies easily now.

Waiting had made her a skilled liar.

One morning she saw him buying vegetables.

Meera stood beside him choosing tomatoes.

They looked ordinary.

Comfortable.

Real.

The kind of closeness built from daily life rather than fantasy.

She hid behind a fruit cart and watched until the vendor asked if she intended to buy anything.

She fled in embarrassment.

But later that evening, the memory of Arjun reaching to carry Meera’s bag replayed again and again.

Every gentle gesture became poison.

At home, her mother pleaded.

“You’re wasting away.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t laugh anymore.”

Silence.

“Tell me what happened to you.”

She almost did.

But how could she confess she was dying of a love that never existed?

So she said nothing and went to bed hungry.

Soon, glimpses became necessity.

If she saw him once in a day, she could breathe.

If not, her body reacted like withdrawal.

Headaches.

Sweating.

Rage.

Shaking hands.

Sleepless nights.

Once, after three days without seeing him, she wandered streets until midnight searching every road he used. A shopkeeper asked if she was lost.

“Yes,” she said truthfully.

Another afternoon she finally saw him near a bookstore.

The relief was so intense she leaned against a wall to steady herself.

He laughed at something on his phone.

Maybe Meera had messaged.

Even happiness second-hand was enough to calm her.

That was the cruelty of obsession—

It accepts scraps and calls them food.

Weeks later, she passed a mirror in a store window and barely recognized herself.

Eyes sunken.

Cheeks thin.

Hair neglected.

A ghost powered by sightings.

She touched the glass as if checking whether she still existed.

Behind the reflection, on the opposite road, Arjun walked past.

Instantly she turned and followed.

Even shadows can command those who worship them.

And she was nearing the point where worship asks for sacrifice.