That night I sat alone on the balcony with a bottle of cheap whiskey.
The rain had stopped but the air still smelled wet and heavy.
I stared at the city lights and my mind wandered back to our wedding day.
Her smile in that red lehenga.
The way she held my hand during the vows, as if promising eternity.
I laughed bitterly into the night.
What a joke.
I remembered my father's warning: "Son, don't marry in a hurry. Sometimes love is just a fancy disguise for disaster."
I had ignored him, blinded by what I thought was love.
Now I was paying the price.
I poured another drink and whispered to the empty balcony,
"You really fooled me… but the curtain's coming down soon."
The whiskey burned my throat, but it felt good.
It kept the ghosts of old memories at bay — at least for a while.