“Dusk of Love”
There was a spacious apartment on the tenth floor of a building in New York City. She sat alone on the couch placed near the living room window, watching the twinkling lights in the darkness of the night. Before tonight, she loved standing by this tall window and looking outside. Even today, her gaze was fixed beyond the glass—but tonight, her eyes were actually turned inward, toward the flickering lights burning and fading within her own self.
She was sad… sorrowful… serious and lost in thought. Thoughts that had suddenly attacked her, flooding her mind with unfamiliar ideas. She felt somewhat afraid; doubts and suspicions had surrounded her. Unlike yesterday, today she was a new woman—one whose peace had been abruptly stolen by someone. Someone she did not like… someone she had forgotten… wanted to forget… wanted to erase completely… even if he still existed somewhere in her heart or deep inside her.
The dress she had worn with such excitement just a few hours ago now felt hateful to her. She had messed up her hair with her own hands in anger and restlessness. The house was deeply silent—because out of the two people living there, one had already fallen asleep in the bedroom, and the other sat crushed and lifeless on the couch.
Just a few hours earlier, she had been happy and full of excitement.
She had worn that top from the Victoria Scheme fashion line—unique in style and charm in her wardrobe. It was off-white, sprinkled with star-like stones of the same shade. A perfect western outfit, specially brought from Britain as a gift by her brother. She kept looking at herself in the mirror, admiring herself again and again. For makeup, she had only applied a light pink lip gloss—and that was more than enough for her. Even if she stepped out just after waking up, she could steal the show; all eyes would turn toward her. And now, she was getting ready with full attention and joy.
“How do I look?”
She turned toward him as soon as she noticed him standing behind her, asking softly as she stepped close. He simply stared at her, stunned. Then she blinked playfully, held the corner of her top like a Barbie doll, twirled slightly, and laughed.
“Now tell me…”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he began freeing her hair from the rollers. She pouted deliberately, pushing her lips out further.
“You know how you look,” he finally said with a smile.
“You can’t even compliment me.”
“You don’t need compliments.”
“That kind of ending doesn’t even let a conversation begin.”
“All compliments end at you,” he smiled again. She smiled too.
“So this is fine… every time like this…”
“So a woman is a statue that awakens through praise?”
“No! A woman is a statue that comes alive through love… every spring of life blooms within her.”
“And those springs become eternal…”
“Is this philosophy or poetry?” he scratched his head.
“This is love… mine for you… yours within me.”
He fell silent. She had to fall silent too.
She was going with him to his friend’s housewarming party. This was her first proper outing in New York City—apart from shopping and a few dinners. After being stuck uselessly inside the apartment for over two months, going to a party felt wonderful. For the first time, she was going to be introduced as a couple to his friends and others. Just the thought of him holding her hand and saying, “This is my wife…” made her happy. And if he added, “My sweetheart,” it would be perfect—people would look at them with envy.
Whether people envied them or not, they surely envied her beauty. Everyone was stunned when they saw her. The party was far bigger than she had imagined—it wasn’t an ordinary housewarming. Special arrangements had been made, and a music band was performing live.
“It’s an amazing party,” she said happily.
“There’s too much crowd,” he replied, sounding annoyed.
“They’re all your friends… and you’re calling them a crowd?”
He pouted. And just half an hour later, he had her seated in the car with him.
“Very happy?”
The question was fine—but the tone wasn’t.
“Yes,” she smiled, not paying attention to his tone.
“Because you were being praised a lot.”
“That too,” she laughed openly.
“And because men were praising you,” his tone changed. Her laughter stopped. She turned sharply toward him. Was he joking? She kept looking at him—but his expression wasn’t joking at all.
“What do you mean…” she didn’t know what to ask.
“The meaning is clear. Women like change anyway.”
“What change did I like?”
“Look at yourself and think… they were praising you, and you were enjoying it… showing off.”
“So should I not smile? Is smiling wrong?”
“No! Smiling isn’t wrong… especially when it’s to draw attention.”
“When did I draw attention? They were your friends. Why say such things to me?”
“They were all men.”
