Tag Archives: Short Story

Short Story: Lavender Love

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The delicate purple buds swayed gently in the breeze, their calming scent wafting through the air. Amelia bent down and carefully plucked a few sprigs of lavender from the garden, running her fingers along the soft, fuzzy leaves. She inhaled deeply, letting the familiar fragrance fill her senses and soothe her frazzled nerves.

At 22, Amelia was navigating the uncharted waters of adulthood, and it wasn’t always easy. The pressure to have it all figured out, and make the “right” choices, weighed heavily on her mind. She often found herself lying awake at night, consumed by anxiety about the future.

But whenever the worries became too much to bear, Amelia would turn to her trusty companion – the violet lavender. She kept a bundle of the dried flowers on her nightstand, ready to be crushed and inhaled whenever she needed a moment of peace. The scent had a magical way of calming her racing thoughts, grounding her in the present moment.

As Amelia grew older, the lavender became a symbol of resilience and self-care. Whenever she felt overwhelmed, she would take a few deep breaths, reminding herself that she had weathered storms before and would continue to do so. The lavender was a tangible reminder that even in the darkest moments, there was always a glimmer of hope.

Amelia’s love affair with lavender began at a young age. Her grandmother, Violet, had a sprawling garden filled with fragrant purple flowers. As a child, Amelia would spend hours exploring the garden, mesmerised by the gentle sway of the lavender in the breeze.

Violet was a kind and nurturing woman, always ready with a warm hug and a soothing word. She would often pluck a few sprigs of lavender and tuck them into Amelia’s hair, telling her that the flowers would bring her peace and happiness. Amelia would giggle and twirl around the garden, feeling like a fairy princess in a magical lavender kingdom.

As Amelia grew older, she would visit her grandmother’s garden whenever she needed comfort. The familiar scent of lavender would instantly transport her back to those carefree childhood days, reminding her of the unconditional love and support that Violet provided.

When Violet passed away, Amelia was devastated. She felt like she had lost her anchor, her guiding light in a world that was becoming increasingly complex and overwhelming. The transition into adulthood was not an easy one, and Amelia often found herself struggling to find her footing.

One day, while sorting through her grandmother’s belongings, Amelia stumbled upon a small bundle of dried lavender. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply, and suddenly, she was back in the garden, Violet’s warm embrace enveloping her. At that moment, Amelia realised that the lavender was more than just a flower—it was a connection to her grandmother, a tangible reminder of the love and strength that she had instilled in her.

From that day on, Amelia made it a point to keep a bundle of dried lavender with her at all times. Whenever she felt overwhelmed or uncertain, she would take a few deep breaths, letting the calming scent wash over her. It was as if Violet was there with her, whispering words of encouragement and reminding her that she had the strength to face whatever challenges came her way.

As Amelia navigated the ups and downs of adulthood, she found herself drawn back to her grandmother’s garden. There was something about the peaceful, serene atmosphere that instantly calmed her nerves and lifted her spirits. She would spend hours tending to the lavender plants, pruning and watering them with a gentle touch.

One particularly challenging day, Amelia found herself in her favourite spot in the garden, surrounded by calming purple hues. She sat cross-legged on the grass, crushing a few sprigs of lavender between her fingers. As she inhaled the soothing scent, she felt a sense of clarity wash over her.

In that moment, Amelia realized that the challenges she faced were not obstacles, but growth opportunities. She may not have all the answers, but she had the strength and resilience to navigate whatever life threw her way. With a renewed sense of purpose, she stood up, brushed off her jeans, and headed back inside, ready to face the world with a little help from her violet companion.

As Amelia continued to navigate the challenges of adulthood, she found that her love for lavender was not just a personal passion, but also a professional one. She decided to pursue a degree in horticulture, determined to learn everything she could about the plant that had brought her so much comfort over the years.

During her studies, Amelia discovered the many benefits of lavender, from its calming properties to its use in natural skincare products. She became fascinated by the science behind the plant’s therapeutic effects, and she knew that she wanted to share her knowledge with the world.

After graduating, Amelia opened her lavender farm and apothecary. She spent her days tending to the fragrant purple plants, harvesting the flowers and creating a range of products that she hoped would bring joy and comfort to others. From lavender-infused bath salts to soothing essential oils, Amelia poured her heart and soul into every creation.

As her business began to thrive, Amelia found herself surrounded by a community of like-minded individuals who shared her passion for lavender and natural wellness. She made new friends and forged strong connections with her customers, many of whom had their own stories of how lavender had helped them through difficult times.

One day, while attending a local farmers’ market, Amelia met a charming young man named Ethan. He was immediately drawn to her infectious enthusiasm and warm smile, and he couldn’t resist buying a bundle of her lavender-scented soap. As they chatted, Amelia felt a spark of connection that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Over the next few weeks, Ethan became a regular customer at Amelia’s stall, and their casual conversations soon blossomed into a budding romance. Amelia found herself falling for Ethan’s kind heart, quick wit, and genuine interest in her work. He, in turn, was captivated by her strength, resilience, and unwavering dedication to her passion.

As Amelia’s relationship with Ethan deepened, she found herself dreaming of a future filled with lavender and love. She imagined a cosy cottage surrounded by a lush garden, where she and Ethan would grow old together, tending to the plants that had brought them so much joy and comfort over the years.

One evening, as they sat together on a bench in Amelia’s garden, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of violet and gold, Ethan turned to her and said, “Amelia, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’ve overcome so much, and you’ve done it with grace, strength, and a whole lot of lavender.”

Amelia laughed, her eyes sparkling with tears of joy. “It’s true,” she said, “lavender has been my constant companion through it all. But you, Ethan, you’ve become a part of that story. You’ve brought so much light and love into my life, and I can’t imagine my future without you.”

Ethan smiled and pulled a small box from his pocket. “Then let’s make that future official,” he said, opening the box to reveal a delicate silver ring with a single amethyst stone. “Amelia, will you marry me?”

Amelia’s heart swelled with love and happiness as she nodded, unable to speak through her tears of joy. As Ethan slipped the ring onto her finger, she knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in her life, one that would be filled with the comforting scent of lavender and the unwavering love of her soulmate.

From that day on, whenever Amelia caught a whiff of lavender, she would be reminded of the strength, resilience, and love that had carried her through the challenges of adulthood. As she and Ethan built their lives together, surrounded by the calming purple hues of the lavender garden, Amelia knew that she had found her true happily ever after.

Short Story: A Christmas Love Story

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The melody that snagged Elara’s attention on that wintry eve wasn’t just any tune. It was a lament, both mournful and strangely beautiful, weaving through the wind and the waves like a thread of moonlight. Driven by an inexplicable pull, she followed the music’s invisible path, her heart drumming a counterpoint to the ocean’s rhythm.

The path led her down a meandering trail, past gnarled trees that stretched skeletal fingers towards the sky and dunes whispering secrets in the salt-laced breeze. Finally, it opened up to a hidden cove, a crescent of sand cradled by towering cliffs. And there, bathed in the silver glow of the moon, stood a solitary figure.

He was as rugged and windswept as the landscape itself, his face etched with the stories of a thousand storms and his eyes the color of the winter sky. His hair, streaked with salt and sun, danced in the breeze, framing a smile that was both shy and radiant. He held a violin, its wood worn smooth by time, and as he played, the music spun around them, a spellbinding tapestry of joy and sorrow, of memories and new beginnings.

Elara found herself drawn to him, not just by the captivating music but by the spark in his eyes, a reflection of the same ember that had flickered to life within her own heart. They talked that night under the vast, star-studded canopy, his words as captivating as the melodies he played. He spoke of faraway lands, of vibrant cultures and ancient wisdom, of mountains that sang and of deserts that whispered tales of forgotten times.

Each day that followed became a canvas woven with the threads of their connection. They explored hidden coves and sun-drenched meadows, Finn teaching Elara the language of the wind and the waves and the secrets etched in the weathered faces of the cliffs. He brought laughter back into her life, a sound that had been dormant for far too long. In turn, Elara shared the island’s secrets with him: the symphony of gulls at dawn, the fiery sunsets bleeding into the sea, and the hidden poetry in the sway of the windswept grasses.

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The island, once a haven of solitude, became a crucible of transformation. They sat by crackling driftwood fires, sharing stories of love and loss, of dreams and disappointments. Elara spoke of Thomas, of the love that still bloomed in the garden of her memories, and the weight of grief that had threatened to consume her. Finn listened with a heart as vast as the ocean, his presence a balm to her wounds.

As the wind rustled through the holly bushes, and the first snow dusted the cliffs, a seed of something new blossomed in Elara’s heart. It wasn’t a replacement for the love she’d lost, but a different melody, a harmony that resonated with the echoes of the past. It was a love born not from forgetting, but from acceptance, from carrying the weight of grief alongside the glimmer of hope.

On Christmas Eve, under a sky glittering with a million diamond stars, Finn led Elara back to the hidden cove. He had built a bonfire, its flames dancing like playful tongues against the night sky. In his hands, he held a single, wind-polished seashell, a pearl nestled within its pearly embrace.

“This island,” he said, his voice husky with emotion, “has whispered your name to me since the moment I arrived. You, Elara, are just as much a part of its song as the crashing waves and the singing gulls.”

He placed the shell in her hand, the warmth of the pearl seeping into her palm. And in that moment, tears brimming in her eyes, Elara knew. This wasn’t just a Christmas miracle; it was a testament to the enduring power of love, a promise of a future where joy and sorrow could coexist, where new melodies could rise from the ashes of the past.

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Together, they decorated the cottage with seashells and driftwood, stringing tiny fish bones as makeshift fairy lights. They sang carols, their voices rough but joyous, a chorus against the lonely symphony of the island. And as the first rays of Christmas morning painted the sky, Elara, hand in Finn’s, felt a warmth bloom in her heart.

Life on the island would never be the same. But amidst the whispers of the waves and the cries of the gulls, a new melody had begun. Elara and Finn became an integral part of the island’s tapestry, their love story interwoven with the whispers of the sea and the rustling palms.

Short Story: The Yellow Umbrella

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The sun had just begun its ascent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Baga Beach in North Goa came alive with the arrival of tourists eager to soak in its beauty. Amongst the bustling crowd was Ramesh, a cheerful middle-aged man with a ready smile, running a small seafood stall near the shoreline. Besides selling mouth-watering delicacies, he had another source of income – renting out his prized possession, the vibrant yellow umbrella adorned with intricate embroidery and playful tassels.

“Welcome, welcome! Come try the best seafood on the beach,” Ramesh called out, his voice filled with warmth. “And for those looking to sunbathe, I have the most beautiful umbrellas to keep you shaded.”

Ramesh had many beautiful umbrellas from which tourists could choose, but the yellow umbrella stood out amongst the regular ones. It had become a symbol of delight and an Instagram-worthy prop for tourists. Its bright and cheerful appearance brought joy to anyone sitting underneath it.

Aria and Marco were a young couple, in Goa for their honeymoon. As they approached Ramesh’s stall, Aria’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the yellow umbrella. “Marco, look at that beautiful umbrella! Let’s rent it for the day,” she suggested, excitement lacing her voice. Marco couldn’t resist his wife’s enthusiasm and agreed. They settled under the yellow umbrella, sipping coconut water and holding hands as they watched the waves playfully dance along the shore. They shared their dreams, and fears, and promised to love each other through thick and thin.

Later that day, a group of college friends from different cities decided to spend their summer break in Goa. Among them was Kabir, a reserved but charming young man. As they explored the beach, they stumbled upon Ramesh’s stall and the magnificent yellow umbrella. “Hey, guys! Let’s get this umbrella. It’s so cool!” Kabir suggested, hoping it might help break the ice among the friends. They agreed, and soon laughter filled the air as they played games, sang songs, and created unforgettable memories under the yellow umbrella. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they knew that this trip would strengthen their bond, and the yellow umbrella would forever hold a special place in their hearts.

The next morning, a solo traveller named Emily, an artist from a far-off country, arrived at Baga Beach with her sketchbook and paints. The yellow umbrella caught her eye like a beacon of inspiration. “Could I possibly rent that marvellous umbrella?” she asked Ramesh, her eyes wide with excitement. “Of course, my dear! It’s yours for the day,” Ramesh replied with a smile. Emily spent the day capturing the essence of Goa in her artwork. The rhythmic sound of the waves and the laughter of children playing in the sand infused life into her creations. The yellow umbrella became the focal point of her painting, representing the joy and vibrancy she had experienced that day.

The next day brought a sudden change in the weather. Dark clouds loomed over the horizon, threatening to rain on everyone’s parade. However, it was also the day that Ramesh received a call from his son, who was studying in a different state. “Baba, I’ll be coming home soon. I can’t wait to see you and Aai,” his son said, his voice filled with affection.

Ramesh’s heart leapt with joy upon hearing this news. He decided to celebrate by offering a free rental of the yellow umbrella for the rest of the day. Tourists and locals alike huddled under the umbrella as the rain poured down, creating an impromptu community of strangers brought together by their shared desire to stay dry.

Among them was Sofia, an elderly woman with a gentle smile, who had been visiting Goa for years. She had seen the yellow umbrella before and felt its magic drawing her towards it. “May I sit here, young man?” she asked Ramesh, her eyes gleaming with gratitude. “Of course, Aunty! It’s all yours,” Ramesh replied, touched by her sweetness.

As they sat together, Sofia shared stories of her adventures and the beautiful memories she had made on this very beach. Her tales spanned decades and touched the hearts of everyone sitting under the yellow umbrella that day. They listened, captivated by her words, and realized that life was about embracing every moment, just like Sofia had done throughout her life.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the rain ceased, leaving behind a sense of tranquillity. Sofia bid farewell to the yellow umbrella, and Ramesh knew that this day had been a gift not just for him but for everyone present.

The tourist season continued, and more stories unfolded under the yellow umbrella. Each person who rented it left a piece of their heart behind, and Ramesh cherished every interaction. From newfound friendships to profound realizations and rekindled love, the yellow umbrella was a witness to it all.

As the season drew to a close, Ramesh felt a sense of bittersweet happiness. The yellow umbrella had brought him joy, new friends, and a deeper appreciation for the beauty of life. It had become more than just a means of income; it was now a symbol of hope, love, and human connection.

With a grateful heart, Ramesh carefully folded the yellow umbrella, ready to store it away until the next tourist season. As he looked out at the sea, he knew that its magic would live on forever, etched in the hearts of those who had shared their stories under its bright and colourful canopy.

Short Story: The Purple Balloon

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Rohan
I have always loved Ganesh Chaturthi. The noise, music, and dhol, all add to the excitement and even though it’s school time, I always try to visit as many pandals as possible. I am a big boy now and after pestering Mukesh chachu for almost a year, he finally agreed to take me to see the Ganesh visarjan at Chowpatty. We will be taking a train and then walking to the beach. Ma and Baba are angry with chachu, and dada and dadi also don’t want us to go, but I am bih now, so this year I will go, come what may.

Today is Anantchaturdashi, so after having a hearty lunch, we set off for Chowpatty, the air buzzing with anticipation. My heart raced with excitement as we navigated through the crowded streets of Mumbai. Chachu held my hand tightly, guiding me through the sea of people, each one carrying a Ganesh idol towards the sea for immersion. On the way, we also saw some big idols, including Lalbaghcha Raja.

As we reached Chowpatty, the sight was breathtaking. Hundreds of colourful Ganesh idols lined the beach, surrounded by eager devotees singing and dancing in devotion. The scent of incense and the rhythmic beat of drums filled the air, creating an electrifying atmosphere.

“Look, Rohan!” Chachu exclaimed, pointing to the sky. “See those kites flying high? It’s like a festival in the sky too!”

I grinned and pointed to a group of children trying to fly their kites. Chachu, always playful, bought me a beautiful purple balloon from a vendor nearby. “Here, hold onto this, Rohan,” he said, tying it to my wrist. “This way, I’ll always find you, no matter what.”

The purple balloon floated above me, like a guardian angel watching over, as we continued our journey through the chaotic crowd. I felt safe and happy, knowing Chachu was with me and that the balloon would lead him to me if we got separated.

Mukesh
Being the youngest of my siblings, I felt a special bond with Rohan. He was born when I was in school and because the age gap is not too much between us, so we behave more like friends rather than uncle and nephew. When he pleaded with me to take him to Chowpatty for Ganesh visarjan, I couldn’t resist. I knew bhai and bhabhi and ma and baba wouldn’t approve, but I wanted to give him an unforgettable experience.

As we reached Chowpatty, I marvelled at the vibrant spectacle before us. The sea of colours, the sounds of devotion, and the spirit of unity overwhelmed me. Rohan’s eyes lit up with wonder, and I couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. I was so glad I was able to give him this experience he will not forget in a hurry.

To add to the magic of the moment, I bought him a purple balloon. His joy knew no bounds as he clutched it tightly. “Thank you, Chachu! This is the best day ever!” he said, his eyes sparkling like stars.

With Rohan holding my hand, we manoeuvred through the bustling crowd. But as the immersion rituals began, the chaos intensified. Chants of “Ganpati Bappa Morya, Pudchyavarshi Loukar Ya” filled the air as people bid farewell to their beloved elephant-headed God by carrying them into the sea and bid him goodbye.

Someone pushed me from behind and I felt a tug on my hand. My heart skipped a beat and I looked down, but Rohan wasn’t there! Panic surged through me as I frantically searched the surrounding crowd, calling out his name. But the noise of the festival drowned my voice.

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Rohan
Suddenly my hand was torn from chachu and I found myself alone in the crowd. My heart raced as I realized I had lost Chachu. I tightened the balloon in my hand and started crying. I was scared, surrounded by strangers, and unsure of what to do. I walked a while, pushed and prodded by people who were eager to immerse their idols and get home.

After a while, I noticed a group of men and they, on seeing me crying came up to me. They knelt at my level and smiled reassuringly. One of them patted my shoulder gently and said, “Don’t worry, beta, tell us why you are crying”. When I told them my chachu was lost and I was missing my ma and baba, they laughed and told me “We’ll keep you safe until we find your chachu.”

They formed a protective circle around me, like guardian angels. One of the men lifted me and put me on his shoulders so that I could look out for chachu. He also took the purple balloon, which had become my lifeline and held it up as a beacon to signal Chachu where I was. With their reassuring presence, my fear subsided, and I felt a glimmer of hope.

Mukesh
My heart pounded in my chest as I continued searching for Rohan frantically. The festival seemed to have swallowed him whole, and I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for bringing him here against his parents’ wishes. I knew I had to find him before anything happened. I started thinking of all the worst things that can happen. An image flashed across my eyes of Rohan in the clutches of a gang which made children stand in the road and beg and I shuddered with anguish. I ran here and there trying to find Rohan, but could not see anyone resembling him in the crowd.

As I ran, my eyes caught a glimpse of a purple balloon floating above the crowd. It looked like the balloon I brought for Rohan and I was relieved to see it. “Was it Rohan’s balloon?” I didn’t know, but ran towards it because it gave me some hope. I followed its trail to a group of men, one of whom was holding the balloon like a beacon and another holding Rohan on his shoulder. I rushed to his side, my heart swelling with gratitude for these kind strangers.

“Chachu!” Rohan cried out, tears of relief streaming down his cheeks. I hugged him tightly, whispering words of reassurance. “I’m here, Rohan. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” The men smiled warmly, patting Rohan’s back. “He’s a brave boy, and the balloon helped us find you,” one of them said.

Rohan
With chachu’s reassuring presence, the purple balloon back in my hand, and the group of kind men by our side, I felt safe once again. We continued to witness the visarjan of the Ganesh idols and I said a little prayer for bringing my chachu back to me, tightly holding chachu’s hand, not wanting to let go. As the sun set and the festival came to a close, we made our way back home, weaving through the now calmer streets of Mumbai.

I knew I had experienced something extraordinary that day, and it wouldn’t have been the same without the purple balloon and the caring strangers who protected me. I looked up at Chachu, grateful for his love and for keeping his promise to me.

ukesh
The experience of losing Rohan and finding him again had been a rollercoaster of emotions. I knew now, more than ever, that my duty as his uncle was to protect and cherish him. The purple balloon had played a crucial role in reuniting us, and I couldn’t help but smile at its significance.

As we walked back home, I held Rohan’s hand tightly in mine, vowing to never let go. The chaotic festival reminded me of the fragility of life and the importance of treasuring our loved ones. I sent a small prayer to Vignaharta, the remover of obstacles who brought my nephew back to me. Though we returned to the safety of our home, the memories of the festival and the purple balloon would forever remain etched in our hearts. I recounted this experience to my brother, bhabhi and parents and we all hugged Rohan once again, knowing that without the kindness of these strangers, our little boy may have been lost to us forever. The city of Mumbai, one again, showed us what it is made of. Exhausted, as I went to bed, the strains of the songs “Ae dil hai mushkil jeena yahan, Zara hatke zara bachke yeh hai Bombay meri jaan” came through the television of our neighbour and I smiled at the expansiveness of the city of my birth as sleep claimed me.

Short Story: The Silent Murder

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As the plane started its descent into Fuzhou, Mei Li peered excitedly out of the window. “Almost home now”, she muttered to herself. Her seatmate, an older man, smiled at her and asked her if she was back from a holiday in Singapore or if she was working there. “Working”, Mei Li smiled. “I am going back home after two years”. She tried to curb her impatience as she cleared immigration and customs and walked outside to get into a bus for the next part of her journey home. She slipped into the seat, suddenly exhausted as she thought of her life, both past and present, as the bus hurtled through the Chinese countryside, the bus, her home for the next six hours until her village.

Leaning back in her seat, Mei Li tried to sleep but found that sleep eluded her. She smiled and whispered, “I did it. That woman is dead, and no one knows I did it!”. As she said this, a wave of sadness hit her, and tears started streaming down her eyes. Unbidden, her mind went back 20 years when she first saw her husband Ah Fu. They were matchmade, and she saw him the day they were wed. She was a shy girl of 18, and he was a strapping man of 20 when they wed. The first two years were sheer bliss, but soon the reality of life hit them in the form of two miscarriages. When they saw a doctor, they were told Mei Li’s womb was weak and treatment for this required money they did not have. So Ah Fu took the difficult decision to work for a few years in the bustling metropolis of Singapore.

Ah Fu and Mei Li were apart for more than a decade while Ah Fu tried to earn money so that Mei Li could get the treatment she needed. But unfortunately, even with treatment, Ah Fu and Mei Li were unable to have children, and after a few years, Mei Li decided to live with this fact. She spent her days looking after Ah Fu’s parents and lived for the one month every year when he would spend a month with her. She looked forward to the time when Ah Fu would earn the money they needed for the rest of their lives, and they will start living together again.

Life moved, the seasons changed, and Ah Fu’s parents soon passed away. One day, Mei Li suddenly realised something. “It’s been a month since Ah Fu has called or sent money. I wonder why he does not pick up my phone. I hope everything is fine”. Six months soon passed with no contact with her husband, and Mei Li was sick with worry. As time passed, her worry turned into fear and fear into grief. Her worry was confirmed one day when Ah Fu’s friend Li Wei came to her house. She was happy to meet him and wanted to ask him about her husband, but stopped as soon as she saw him. Li Wei’s eyes were red with tears, and he had an urn in his hands. “No, no, Li Wei, please tell me what I am thinking is not true” Mei Li was almost prostrate with grief, but she was not to be comforted. Her worst fears came true. Ah Fu was dead, and Li Wei had brought her husband’s remains with him. But this was not all that was what was giving her grief.

Ah Fu stopped sending her money because he was involved with another woman, Jenny. Jenny was a domestic helper from the Philippines, and both of them were involved in a raging affair. The money that Ah Fu used to send to Mei Li was now used to wine and dine Jenny. He also started dipping into his savings until he had no money and debts of over $100,000. Once Jenny realised that there was nothing more to get from Ah Fu, she dumped him like yesterday’s leftovers.

Distraught, Ah Fu tried everything in his control to win over Jenny but could not. He also lost his job, and the thought that he would have to go back to China, a broken and bankrupt man, made him take his life because he could not face Mei Li. With these words, Li Wei passed Mei Li Ah Fu’s belongings along with a diary and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Mei Li bewildered and desperate for answers. She knew deep within her soul that the truth had been whispered into her ears, but it remained just out of reach. Questions swirled in her mind, each one intertwining with the next. She saw his diary and started to read, hoping the questions in her head would have some answers. As she read the diary, Mei Li’s sorrow turned into anger. The woman who had taken her husband away from her, who had shattered their lives, needed to face the consequences of her actions.

She learnt more about Jenny, along with a photo that Ah Fu had taken sneakily. Shattered, she threw the diary away and tried to move on with her life. But Mei Li could not forget either the photo or Jenny and tried as much as she could; she wanted answers, and she wanted to know what was so special about Jenny that her Ah Fu was unfaithful. A plan began to form in Mei Li’s mind, fueled by a burning desire for revenge. She decided to find out for herself and made plans to move to Singapore. She had one very useful skill – she belonged to a small clan that was famous as masseurs. She knew acupressure and could massage any point in the body to relieve aches and pains. Soon, Mei Li was in Singapore.

She used the knowledge she had gleaned from Ah Fu’s dairy to stalk Jenny and find out about her. She came to know that Jenny went to a church near Chinatown on Sundays, and after service and before she went back to her employer’s home, she frequented a reflexology parlour to get rid of the aches and pains of the week. After a couple of months, Mei Li started working in the same massage parlour that Jenny frequented and tried hard to make sure she was the one who gave Jenny her massages. She would go overboard with her and give her more than she paid for. Slowly, over the next few months, Jenny came more frequently to the parlour to get massaged by Mei Li, who now had become a friend.

Mei Li now started to put her plan into action. With her knowledge of acupressure, she slowly started pressing a point in the sole of her feet as well as another point at the base of her neck, which, if pressed in a certain way, would put pressure on the spleen and slowly, over time, would cause the spleen to rupture. At the same time, while making conversation, Mei Li would recommend certain Chinese herbs to Jenny for strength. She was careful not to recommend overtly poisonous herbs but a combination which, with the massage, would be fatal.

This carried on for about a year, and while massaging Jenny, Mei Li knew her end was near. She soon stepped up her massages and, at the same time, resigned from her job, citing the need to go back home to look after an ailing mother. Jenny was sad that her friend was leaving, but this was the life of a migrant worker, and there was nothing that could be done. On her last weekend, Mei Li was waiting for Jenny to come to the massage parlour for her usual massage but didn’t see her. She tried calling her, but her calls went unanswered. Finally, someone picked up the phone, and when she asked about Jenny, she was told Jenny had passed away two days back from a ruptured spleen, and they were too late in taking her to the hospital. Her wake was being conducted in a nearby funeral parlour, and Mei Li decided to make her way there just to ensure that the woman she hated with every fibre of her being was where she put her beloved Ah Fu.

The bus suddenly jolted, and Mei Li came back to the present. She smiled a small smile of satisfaction and knew somewhere up there, Ah Fu probably approved. She knew she would never have a good night’s sleep because she had knowingly and willingly taken a life, but that was a trade-off she was willing to make. The bus had stopped, and when she looked out of the window, she realised she had reached her destination. As she got down and started walking home, she walked with a newfound sense of peace. The weight of her grief had lessened, and the wounds in her heart had begun to heal. Ah Fu will always remain in her heart, and the memories of the man she loved and married will be enough to live on as a beacon of love and resilience.