Life
726 Words
Hridhi Chatterjee:
There's a difference between being a mess and being a mess at the wrong time.
People never notice that. The subtle indifference is always missing in every people's mind.
She is ruined, people would say.
But they didn't know how ruined she was.
Was she really ruined?
Or, was it just a cinematic trope for being ruined?
You know, female authors out there write about women trapped by billionaires. Female author write about women falling for their rapists.
Women are delusional. They always were. They always looked upon men. They were made like that.
Even in 2025, women crave a CEO's toxic love.
Yes, they do.
I heard about real-life cases. Reported some.
It was how the world worked.
And I was already ruined in a cinematic way.
I remember the ride back home from the police station.
It was silent. It always was.
But that day, Advik couldn't look at me. In a bad way, I must say.
Don't you remember?
I was ruined.
I was ruined by a powerful man.
I remember him. I remember how I ran to report about the scandals in his company. I remember my hands trembling as I wrote the report.
Mr.Ackroyd, CEO of that company, f***s with everyone at his office.
But I had to normalize it. I had to tighten it. Make it sound cool. Make it sound professional.
Mr. Ackroyd, Chief Executive Officer of Black Titan Merchandise, is widely reported to exert his authority through systematic intimidation, manipulation, and the routine exploitation of power within the workplace.
It's basically how newspapers report absolute horrors like they're weather updates. And I had to cooperate with that.
That was the rule.
War?
Write, "Clashes erupted."
Abuse?
Just type,
"Allegations surfaced."
People suffering?
I had to write, "Communities were affected."
The worst things had to get laundered through polite vocabulary until they come out smelling like printer ink and indifference.
Language had to be put on a suit, make it sit very straight, and just say, "Yes, this is fine."
I also wrote like that.
But he didn't like that too.
He just had to resurface it back. Days after day. At the cafe or behind the back seat of his expensive car.
But I had no other way.
That was how journalists had to survive.
All I could do was romanticize it. Write a f*****g dark romance. Readers would gobble it.
And the worst part?
Most of the readers would be women.
Let's just keep delusional women aside. For now, at least.
I remember the night after I got my abortion.
It was so uncomfortable that I thought I would hang myself with the fan above.
I just...just...felt so alone...so horrible.
There was no one to console me. There was however, before who would blame me for everything.
My mother.
I didn't tell her. Or, even call her like a responsible daughter.
In this vast world, I was completely alone.
I felt that, right through my tired worn out body, right through my overactive nerve cells.
I laid in bed after another uncomfortable dinner. Eyes open. Because closing my eyes would only give me odd flashbacks.
Flashbacks I couldn’t control.
Just then, I heard a knock on my door. I knew who it was.
Oh, God, why was he here?
"The door is open."
He entered into my room.
"Hridhi," he said.
He awkwardly stood. As if walking a little further might set the room on fire.
"Why are you here?" I said, my eyes on the ceiling.
"I...I think it is my duty to check up on you," said Advik, his hands trembling. "As your legal husband."
I sighed.
"I am fine." I said.
I looked at the windows, my secret signal to tell him that he could go.
But he didn’t.
"H-hridhi," Advik stammered. "I know it is really...really t-traumatic for women."
He stopped.
"I'm used to it, Advik," I said.
"I-I know," said Advik. "But just know t-that I'm there. You can call me when you need."
I wished I could grab his collar and tell him to f**k off.
But I didn't find any words.
Somehow, I liked his shadow behind me, a reminder that I was not alone.
"Goodnight, Hridhi."
The door closed but I didn't find any words to say.
I needed it.
And I hated how I needed it.
- Writer
