Ahalya and Vishwa's New House, Hyderabad

Ahalya lies in the sofa, eyes open and head resting on its chubby, cushioned left arm. She's bored. She puckers her lips, watching the two people in front of the sofa, who have been lost in the pages of the book they've been reading for a few hours now. She wishes the book wouldn't make it to publishing. No matter how strong Vishwa's heart will be broken, she couldn't allow this story out into the world. Again, it's just her wishful thinking.

It's a typical summer day, the wind licking the surroundings with its desert tongue. Windows have stayed open. Clothes have become slaves to sweat, sticking to the skins. Television has remained off even with the release of Lucifer's new season. Not a typical, sleep-on-the-sofa and binge-watch kind of day. Ahalya has finished cooking early, choosing a lighter menu—Mango-Dal and ladyfinger fry. And she keeps pushing back the thought that she hates the editing process that's about to begin soon.

Reluctantly, she looks away to the sketch on the wall opposite the windows, shining in the sunlight. A smile sneaks onto her face without prior notice. Her Mahabarat sketch, depicting the beautiful tragedy of Ghatotkacha's death. Oh, how much she loves that one. She's done that a year and a half ago and it's her biggest achievement so far. She's lost count of the number of times she caught Vishwa stopping his work and staring at it, almost as if he's envious and glad of it.

Once the minutes' hand in the wall clock reaches one, she throws her legs off the sofa and says, "Pages down. It's lunchtime."

Bhumika, who's been leaning onto the glass table, turns back, startled. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's lunchtime," she repeats.

To their left, Vishwa unburdens himself from his massive, blue headphones, closes his manuscript and smiles at the way two girls are glaring at each other.

He asks, "So, what do you think?"

"I think your wife's a pain in the ass," Bhumika says.

Vishwa controls his giggle, watching his wife fold her hands and lean back into the sofa. "I mean, about the story."

"I think this is great. A lot of gore in the end, but the mixture of horror and thriller got me. I'll give you a final review once I finish it."

"How far have you come?"

"Ahalya just killed the doctor. I think there's another chapter left." A heartbeat later, she adds, "Are we final on this title?"

"Why?" Vishwa asks. "Don't you like it?"

"I like it. I just don't love it."

"Oh." Vishwa crumples in his chair, his eyes remain in the loop of repeated blinking. Ahalya could tell his head is already fishing for a new title.

"I love the first draft. The village setting: the temple, the nursery, the festival, Suvarna's house." Bhumika continues, leaning back to the sofa and placing her head in Ahalya's lap. "And, of course, the legendary Dwaraka, a little whodunit puzzle and a haunted house..."

Bhumika rambles on about other things, but the words don't register in Ahalya's mind. She keeps brushing Bhumika's hair while her concentration lurks on her best friend's rose-print, v-neck crop top, black jeans, perfect cheeks, and silky hair. She wonders when she has stopped being the pretty one. Envy gets the better of her. It's been ages since she has felt comfortable in her own body. Ever since they returned from Rayavaram, her mind's been struggling to stay stable. The nightmares have continued and Vishwa's been holding her in a bear embrace from shaking in her sleep. He is the husband a girl could ask for in times like these. Then, a question poses itself: what times are these?

The conversation becomes dull and Bhumika ends with: "I would've continued reading if not for the obnoxious human alarm."

Ahalya scoffs and repeats, "It's lunchtime."

"Oh my god. Fine" Bhumika closes the manuscript in her hands with a smack. "Get me that damn food." Empty coke tins on the glass table rattle, fall, and roll sideways. The title of the manuscript 'The Devil is in the details' smudged under her sweaty fingers as she prepares herself to stand and move to the kitchen.

***

When the trio sits for a discussion again, it is quarter past four. Vishwa is tilting back in his cushioned chair, his fingers drifting over the phone screen to embark on a quest for the new title. And the echoes of horns from the street escalate. Ahalya knows the sounds would drown off by five. The heat increases and the newborn sweat affects their mood. It drips, caressing the awkward parts of their bodies. Ahalya abandons the sofa to close the windows and bring the air conditioner to life, but freezes, watching their front lawn. Sun floods the place, making everything look blondish. The grass has been sucked out of life and she makes a mental note of turning on the fountain in the evening. In the centre, its hose mocks her with reality. It is no surprise that this house has inspired Vishwa to create Dwaraka. The only fictional references are the plumbing, water and the huge mango forest. They have no such thing around except for more posh houses. Besides, in Hyderabad, it's a mental conflict when the topic is water.

She closes the windows and finds the AC remote. They paid a lot for the house when they could've gotten an apartment of the same size for lesser money, but Vishwa insisted on buying an individual house. She never argued otherwise. Now she wishes she should've said something. The place is too big for two people.

As the cold, artificial air kicks in, they gather near the sofa. Vishwa's in his chair again, legs folded: his favourite spot. Ahalya couldn't help but remember this window spot has been his muse to write the scene where he describes her sleeping, wasted, and hung-over, unaware of the broken glass and attacks from religious freaks. She's a total Disney princess who needs rescuing from a big man in the first half of the story. But did she tell him that? No. She knows the writer in him is a far worse egoist.

"Shall we begin?" Bhumika says, tapping the manuscript. She has completed reading it and later, has written down the list of things that need improving in red ink.

Ahalya is done with the story. She stands, makes an excuse, and escapes into the bathroom, leaving her best friend and her husband alone in their little bubble. The 'shall we begin' sounds like an invitation to revisit the past, and she refuses to endure it again. She loathes that Vishwa named the characters with their real names. And why did they allow Bhumika into this? Would it matter? Vishwa's planning to allow the entire world into this story by publishing it, anyway. Unlike her, he appears thrilled.

In the bathroom, she holds the faucet of the tap and waits. Her mind treks back to the time after lunch, when Bhumika and she have slept on the sofa, together, rolling into each other and have eaten the hazelnut ice cream. Bhumika has been licking her spoon, wondering why the climax of the story feels so nostalgic. Like one of those 90s thriller films they have seen growing up. Ahalya knows why. For her, it's no wonder. Vishwa is a huge fan of Stephen King and the blowing up of the house is a direct inspiration from 'The Shining' novel. Or he put it as a fictional smokescreen over his guilt to narrate what actually happened.

Of course, Ahalya knows the ending. She read it the same night Vishwa had completed writing it.

It goes: Once Ahalya kills the doctor with the hammer, Yamuna sneaks in from behind and knocks her unconscious. She wakes up in the living room, opposite Vishwa, who's been tied to a chair. He keeps asking why Ahalya is doing this and insists on his innocence and begs her not to hurt anyone. But once Ahalya turns, revealing her puffed-up face, damaged hair, hands that were bound back to the foot of the sofa, his voice comes to a smoking halt in his throat. Although, Ahalya doesn't venture into proving her innocence, given how she killed a man not so long ago. She also doesn't explain how his mother is going on a rampage of killing people.

He finds his voice again when Yamuna comes with a handful of sketches. She ignores him and inquires about how Ahalya got the ideas and who told her about the tattoo. But when she gets no answer and as Vishwa doesn't shut up, she furiously kicks Ahalya until she curls into a ball in pain. That shuts him up. She burns the sketches and drags Ahalya out, legs first and head scraping over the gravel. She plans to hang her beside Vasu and showcase their horrid deaths to whoever's giving them information about how she killed her husband...

The banging on the bathroom door brings Ahalya back. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, eyes foggy and head's spinning.

"Ahalya," Vishwa calls from outside. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she says and realizes her voice is broken. So, she swallows and continues, "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"One foot in the grave."

"What?" she asks, confused.

"The new title of the book. One foot in the grave. Do you like it?"

She shakes her head and swallows again. Then, she leans to the sink, her hands twisting back and firm on the metal. "Yes. Yes. An idiom. That's smart, honey. Sarcastic, too. Of course, I love it. "

"I'm not surprised that you love it. Come on quick. We're waiting for you," he says and takes off, leaving behind the echoes of his excited footsteps.

She closes her eyes, throws her head back, and smiles. The flashes of the blood come back, and so does the crippling fear. She welcomes them. She went along with his actions, choosing to love him all the same. He would have to do the same. Look into her eyes. Love them. Love her. They're in this together; even though they're not alone. Not at all alone.