Leave Me Alone

Newly married, I moved to Hyderabad to join my husband, who worked there. Ours was an arranged marriage, and we were complete strangers. He initially stayed back to settle in, while I remained with my in-laws. As our baby's arrival neared, he finally brought me to Hyderabad, citing better medical facilities and the ability to take better care of me.

Living together, I discovered his quirky habits: a strict vegetarian who loved idli-sambar, a comedy show enthusiast who laughed in his sleep. One evening, he surprised me with mutton biryani on his way home. To my astonishment, he began eating it with me, sweating profusely and gnawing on the bones. He mentioned encountering a dead body earlier, but I dismissed it, not wanting to dwell on the comment.

Later, he asked me to dress up, claiming that the man from the dead body was waiting for us. Panic surged – who would visit at such a late hour? He insisted it was the deceased. Things escalated further. He spoke to someone unseen through the pitch-black window, apologized, and even committed suicide – all while addressing a shadowy figure standing stiffly by his car. I could only discern its blackness, with no movement or response.

Frozen in fear, I locked myself in the bathroom, tears streaming down my face. My husband's violent knocking filled the house as he called for me to meet "the man." After a tense hour of him muttering gibberish at the window, I finally took decisive action. I called a cab and fled through the back door, escaping into the night.

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