The Chair Was Never Empty
That night, she vanished.
No dramatic goodbye.
No upside-down tree hanging.
No commentary.
She simply wasn’t there.
Arjun noticed — but only briefly.
He did not search.
He did not call her name in his mind.
He slept.
The next morning, life resumed its usual discipline.
Ironed shirt.
Polished shoes.
Strong coffee — without Saridon.
He reached office, entered his cabin, and sat down. The files were stacked as usual. The world was normal.
But for one moment — just one — he paused.
Did I hurt her?
He flipped open a file.
Damn… why did she die?
He signed one page.
Why did she come back like this? Why act like a devil? Why always so stupid?
He shut the file with a soft thud.
“You didn’t hurt me.”
The voice came gently.
He froze.
She was sitting on the same chair as before — the one no one else could see occupied.
“Neither am I stupid,” she added quietly. “It’s fine. If I am disturbing your life, I didn’t mean to interfere.”
Her tone was softer than ever.
No drama.
No jokes.
Before he could respond, she stood up and walked toward the window.
While turning, she bumped into the edge of the table.
“Ouch!” she shouted instinctively.
He looked up quickly.
“Are you okay?”
She paused.
Then gave a small crooked smile.
“Now I don’t get hurt from wooden lifeless things. I don’t get hurt anymore. I am like… superhero sort.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“This is not superhero,” he said calmly. “You are wandering. That’s not fair.”
She spun around.
“Oye! You think only you are big hero? I can’t be big hero? You don’t know my powers. You know what happened yesterday—”
She was about to continue.
He raised his hand slightly.
“Look… whatever happened… you don’t understand what I want to say. You simply keep talking unrealistic nonsense.”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
She stopped mid-sentence.
He was already looking down at his files again. Pen moving. Papers turning. Focused.
As if she wasn’t there.
The cabin felt colder.
She stood near the window, watching him.
No laughter.
No ghost threats.
Just quiet.
For someone who once filled every silence with sound —
this silence was unbearable.
And once again,
even in death,
she felt alone.
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