Dream - Part 2

 

Playful Acts

Ananya had mastered the art of drama.

Every other day, there would be a new tragedy.
Her aunt insulted her cooking.
Her cousin stole her charger and “ruined her life.”
Her neighbor looked at her “with negative energy.”
Or sometimes, she would simply sigh loudly and say, “Arjun… I think I am dying.”

Arjun would rub his forehead. “From what now?”

“Emotional damage,” she would reply seriously. “My family said I talk too much. Can you believe that?”

He would pause. “They are not entirely wrong.”

She would gasp dramatically. “So you are also against me? Fine. I knew. Everyone hates me.”

He knew she was exaggerating. Most of her stories were stitched together from tiny truths and giant imagination. But he still listened. He always listened.

One evening she called him out of nowhere.

“Arjun,” she whispered urgently.

“What happened now?”

“I think something is wrong.”

“With what?”

“With my heart.”

He stiffened for a second. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “It beats faster when you talk.”

There was silence.

Then she burst into laughter. “See your face! I wish I could see it!”

He exhaled sharply. “You are impossible.”

But he did not disconnect.

She had this strange habit. Whenever he thought about her — just casually, just a passing thought — his phone would ring.

Her name would flash.

He once told her, “You are like a ghost. The moment I think about you, you appear.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh? So I am haunting you?”

“Yes. You are a bhooth.”

She grinned wider. “Yes. I am bhooth. I will always be behind you. Beware of doing anything that offends me.”

He smirked. “Really? And what will this bhooth do?”

She straightened dramatically. “How dare you challenge me? Don’t you ever think I am an ordinary bhooth.”

“Oh?” he said calmly. “You are extraordinary? I knew. There is definitely some mental problem with you.”

She pretended to be offended. “What!”

“Friendly suggestion,” he continued. “Please go and consult a good psychiatric doctor. The doctor would help you.”

She softened for a second. “Why can’t you help me?”

“I am not a doctor, ma. I am just an ordinary officer. I know less things than your brain produces in one hour. What all nonsense you think, yeah?”

“Nonsense?” she gasped again. “You are interfering… insulting me. Don’t forget I am bhooth. I will make you hang ulta.”

He smiled. Not loudly. Just that quiet smile that barely moved his lips.

“Okay, Bhooth madam. I will talk to you later. Have some work.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. But remember… I am watching.”

As days passed, their conversations never stopped. No matter how fed up he claimed to be, he still answered. He still listened to her unrealistic stories. He still responded to her late-night messages.

Ananya was not part of his world. Not his office. Not his rank. Not his professional circle. She worked in a small, unimpressive job — one she secretly disliked — doing repetitive tasks just to earn enough to survive.

She knew she did not match him.

He was stable. Respected. Settled.

She was… surviving.

She hid her love behind jokes. Behind ghosts. Behind imaginary threats.

Because if she ever spoke seriously,
if she ever removed the laughter,

he might see how deeply she loved him.

And that was far more terrifying than being called a bhooth.