She stepped out of her bathroom in the fresh new pink towel wrapped around her body. The curls of her hair were even more defined when wet. The water dripped down her back, one drop at a time. She drew the curtains in the room and started drying herself. A tiny puddle was beginning to form on the floor. She did not care. She was conscious of the eyes the eyes that would be on her. She looked into the mirror and felt his stare, though no one lay on the bed to make eye contact with.The clothes that she would wear lay pressed on a bed in a neat stack. One by one, she put them on. She brushed out the knots from her curls and applied the kajal under her eye. She stared back hard at herself in that reflecting surface that showed her who she was. The pink kurta was of a deeper shade than she would admittedly wear out, but it suited the skin tone. She put on the earrings. She wore the chappals. Heels were not her thing. She stepped out of her home, bought a pack of cigarettes, and got into the auto.
The place was not the same. The feeling wasn't the same. The names of the items on the menu would be the same, but the taste would never be the same. She sat there on that same table, quietly sipping on the glass of vodka that was mixed with Coke. The worst combination, for some. But she sipped. Silently absorbing the music of the space. Absorbing the once felt excitement inside her.
The vodka was soon over. The dues were paid. She stepped into the ladies bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked different. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it wasn't.