renaissance artist painted a picture of a reflection. Centuries later it was discovered that the museum had hung the picture . g upside down, All this time had gone by, generations of people had stood before the painting, not knowing they were looking at it the wrong way. Sometimes you think you know a person. You sleep with him, you dream of him, you memorise what he likes and dislikes, Then suddenly one day you realise that you had it all wrong. You feel like an idiot, In embarrassment you want to kick your brain for not seeing the obvious. You feel helpless because there is nothing you can do to correct the past; revisiting it doesn’t help. But relief overcomes you because now you stand corrected. No more mistakes. No more guessing. No more chances. Only the truth. Only the truth, and yes, the bruising pain, Parvin woke up reaily groggy. It was still raining outside. She pulled back the curtains and peeked at the sky, only to find the dark clouds screaming endless rain. The incessant dull rain always made her melancholy and reminded her of all the depressing things in life — poverty, wars, wet sandals. She didn’t understand how this kind of weather could inspire Bengalis to imagine, romanticise or smile, let alone write long essays or complex poetry. Parvin thought about all the inconveniences the rain would cause today — damp clothes, frizzy hair, slow traffic, white mould and, yes, most annoyingly, slippery, wet sandals. She got out of bed and tried to shake off her pessimistic lethargy by stretching her arms and attempting a yawn. She was not looking forward to her work day. Last night she had stayed up reading. Faizur had gone to a business dinner. Parvin had chosen to stay home. Boredom was easier to handle alone. When Faizur had walked into their room last night, Parvin had been almost asleep. He had kissed her hair gently when he came tobed. Smiling inwardly, she had basked in the warmth of his touch but she lay still, too tired to talk or reciprocate. Parvin dragged herself out of the shower and started getting ready for work. Faizur was still asleep. She made as little noise as possible as she put on her makeup. She didn’t want to wake him up. Hoping the rain wouldn’t dampen her clothes the way it dampened her spirit, she put on a freshly laundered salwar-kameez and looked at herself in the mirror for a brief second before grabbing her keys and leaving the room. Despite the rain and flooded streets, her commute by bus was not too slow. And thanks to Abdul, the guard with the umbrella, her clothes weren't too shabby either. But, yes, her sandals did get wet — aargh. Now her feet would be cold and damp all day. In the office, Parvin made a cup of tea and took it to her desk. She sipped on the warm beverage and felt its warmth in her chest while she turned on her computer. As she checked her e-mail, Parvin glanced at Faizur’s picture that sat on her desk and wondered why he hadn’t called yet. He usually called her by 9, when he reached his office. It was 9:25 already. Must be the traffic, she thought, and decided to give him a couple more minutes before calling him. Parvin replied to a few of her e-mails. She looked at her files and checked if she had any meetings today. She looked at her watch again and picked up her cell phone to dial Faizur’s number. But before she hit the “call” button, her phone rang. She looked at the phone monitor to see who was calling but didn’t recognise the number. “Hello,” said a female voice on the other end. “Are you Parvin?” “Yes,” she said, angrily thinking about her parents who were always in the habit of giving out phone numbers of their children. “Who is this?” Silence. Parvin first covered her free ear with one hand and listened closely to see if she had gotten disconnected. No. Her heart started beating a little faster. “Who is this? Hello. What’s up?” “It’s about your husband,” replied the voice. “He — ,” again silence followed. Parvin felt a tightening in her chest and stomach. “Is he all right?” Her voice quivered as it got louder. “Has anything happened to him? ‘Who are vou?” The phone felt hot against her sweaty palm. The voice calmly said, “Well, I have called to tell you something. Your husband is having an affair with my sister. And | want you to know so I can stop my sister from ruining her life with this jerk.”Parvin couldn’t believe her ears. She pushed against the ground with her feet. No, it’s not a dream, she thought. This must be a prank call. “Don't bother me like — ,” Parvin began to say sternly before the lady interrupted her. “Tf you go home right now you'll find them, right at your house,” the voice said confidently. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but there was no other way.” This ridiculous prank needs to stop, thought Parvin angrily. She could feel her ears getting hot from anger. She looked around to see if there was anybody nearby before she yelled into the phone, “What kind of nonsense is this? Where did you even get this number?” As calmly as before, the voice answered, “My sister left her cell phone at home by mistake today. I looked up your husband’s number in her phone and called him. 1 asked him for your number, saying that Twas an old friend of yours.” Parvin didn’t know what to say. She hung up the phone. She felt a little dizzy and nauseated. This must be a mistake, she thought, but then why do I feel so anxious? Parvin put down her phone on her desk. She tried picturing Faizur with someone else but it seemed impossible. She thought of the conversation with the woman again and took a deep breath. She picked up her purse and walked out of her office. Abdul tried to hold his umbrella over her head but she brushed him aside and rushed to the street. Fifteen minutes later, Parvin was in the back of a taxi, her hands clutching onto her purse. She looked out of the moving taxi at the people on the street. She felt removed from everything around. On other days, she noticed every little sound, every little dot on the streets. But today seemed like a dream. Her surroundings were blending into a blur of motion, a long, colourful sari of motion. She blinked and looked at her nails, as if hoping they would reassure her that all was well. She couldn't see her nails, instead she saw the ugly pink and brown skin on her hand. She thought, Here I am in a taxi, going to see if Faizur, my husband, is with someone else, someone who I dont know, someone who isn’t me. Four years ago she married her old high school classmate, Faizur. He was crazy about her in schoo}, but at that time she was busy being crazy about someone else. Once she graduated from university and was still single, her parents started seriously bothering her to get married, so she turned to him for a partner.When they had got married, Faizur was ecstatic. To a lesser extent, Parvin, too, was happy to be marrying someone sweet and sensitive. He had a very carefree attitude towards life. He didn’t mind her sense of privacy and he wasn’t stingy about money. She could come and go as she pleased — he never asked any questions. Faizur was expressive about his love for her. Like the time he sent her a dozen roses at work — ail the other women were so envious. Or the time he took her on a surprise river cruise for her birthday — she couldn’t believe how much work he had done to make her happy. Parvin sat in the taxi and raked her memories to see if anything in their relationship was amiss. Like any married couple, they fought sometimes but she gave in most of the time. After working all day she really didn’t have the energy or desire to have arguments at home. Parvin started to ponder if she had noticed any signs of unhappiness or strangeness in Faizur’s behaviour but she couldn’t. Parvin thought about any neglect in her behaviour towards her husband. Was she too cold towards him? Once in a while Parvin would read a romance novel and wonder why she couldn't be head-over-heels about her husband like the heroines of those novels, When she said that to her older sister, Shilpi, she had laughed and said, “That’s normal in semi-arranged marriages. It takes a few years for the heart to fall in love.” “In a purely arranged marriage the bride is caught in such a web of nouveau romance that she doesn’t realise anything until a year after the wedding,” Shilpi had said. “By the time that honeymoon phase has ended, enough has happened to make the couple fall in or out of love. In a pure love marriage, the wedding causes a kind of disillusionment but, again, you have enough memories and familiarity to keep you together. The worst case is the semi-arranged marriage. You know a person enough to not have an intense romantic cyclone in your heart but you don’t know him well enough to read his thoughts — it’s quite stressful. Don’t believe those bimbos who tell you otherwise.” Parvin had laughed. Parvin wondered about the phone call. What if the lady is right? thought Parvin. If she is right what will I do? I can’t be with someone who has betrayed me. How can I be with someone who loves someone else? All of this seemed so baffling. Parvin wanted to shake off her discomfort but something inside her felt strange, something dark and depressing. She felt her cold damp sandals and shuddered.If Parvin thought about it, she knew that she liked and loved Faizur. He was pleasant and cute; Parvin noticed other women eyeing him at parties. She liked his sense of humour and missed him when he was not around. She liked being the only one to know that he always slept with his head covered by a kentha and she liked being the only one he came to when he was distressed. She enjoyed their little home. She liked telling him boring petty things that she was embarrassed to tell anyone else. She liked knowing that whatever happened, he’d always be there for her, Before Parvin knew it the taxi was in her lane. “Right here,” she said to the taxi driver when they were in front of her house. She paid him and, without taking the change, she walked towards the house. She frowned when she saw Faizur's car parked in the driveway. Maybe he’s not feeling well, she thought. The house looked bigger than ever. Suddeniy she was aware of every little thing around her. It was as if she had been catapulted from the universe of blurriness into that of minuteness; a blurry image that just became sharper and crisper, She noticed every little detail of the structure that was their house. The windows, the grains of concrete on the stairs, the wood on the door. In the slow drizzle, the house looked ominous, scary and suspicious. Parvin climbed up the wet stairs to the main door, She turned the knob and opened the door. She nervously looked around. She felt like an intruder in her own house, an intruder walking into the privacy of her own life. Parvin listened carefully for any sound. At first she didn’t hear anything. She wondered where the servants were —— she couldn’t hear any of them. Then she started hearing noises upstairs — people shuffling, muffled voices. Faizur is probably on the Phone with someone, she thought. She hesitated for a second before she walked towards the stairs, She didn’t want to go upstairs and face Faizur. What if I have it all wrong, she thought. What will I teil Faizur? It would be so awkward. A part of her just wanted to run back to the office and forget about the whole thing. Maybe later she could ask Faizur and live with whatever answer he gave. But something else was eclipsing her thoughts, something that she couldn’s name, something that was blowing out the candie of her soul. Her mind started to go numb again and she felt the sweatbeads on her face —- she plopped down on a chair in the living room,After a few seconds, Parvin mustered up whatever will power she had and called out, “Faizur!” The shuffling upstairs stopped. Parvin called out again, “Faizur! Are you upstairs?” Parvin heard footsteps, Faizur's footsteps coming down the stairs. She hadn’t even realised that she herself was halfway up the stairs before she saw him. And her. For a second, both of them were looking at Parvin. A long second. Parvin slowly turned around and went downstairs. She saw a shadow walk past the living room and out the main door. Click — the door shut. Faizur entered the living room and sat on a chair with his elbows propped on his knees. Parvin sat with her face in her hands. She could hear the raindrops hitting the glass window next to her. Her whole world was trembling. This world that she used to find so cozy, so solid, was starting to melt under her feet. She looked at the rain. She felt like the rain was washing away all that was familiar to her. She didn’t even know this man who was sitting in front of her, this stranger wha knew her so intimately. She looked up at Faizur, he looked distant. “Parvin,” said Faizur. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while —” “Tell me what?” asked Parvin. “What is there to say, Faizur?” Her questions travelled from some dull distant land. She felt like walking away from all of this but she couldn’t move a single limb. Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding, she thought, but she knew it wasn’t. And if she walked away she, never know the truth — why someone else? “Why, Faizur?” asked Parvin, staring into the rain. She bit her lower lip to prepare herself for the answer. Faizur didn’t answer her. He stood with his head lowered. She looked at him and imagined herself in bed with him. In her imagination, she saw the shadow in the room, a shadow that wouldnt go away. She got up from the chair, picked up her purse and walked out of the main door. She heard her name being called as she walked out into the rain. Her face felt like a desert; she looked at the clouds and let the rain touch her face. The rain met her tears and washed her face as she walked along the street, dipping her sandal-clad feet in every single puddle she passed by.