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By Annesha Ghosh

I took a quick peek into the room to look at your sleepy face, for one last time. Your calm, peaceful face, with those perfect lips quivering at the gentleness of your breath. Lips that have taken me to places I've never been before.

"Focus Adi, Focus!", I reprimanded myself. Straightening up, I started pouring the poison over the eggs. "Eggs in a hole, cheesy sausages and strong black coffee", you had shared the menu of your favourite breakfast when you chose Truth last night.

Finding you was easy. A bit of drunk conversation with my old man, and all cheesy secrets poured out. I had never seen him this happy in ages, but which pretty woman would fall for a withering widower of 63, weighed down by his weight and insecurities alike? I knew the drinks to buy your attention, and soon enough you were breathing on the crevices of my shirt.

I put the sausages to fry and slowly unplugged the hidden camera. My father thinks I'm a pathetic loser, but I'll show him who the real fool is. Sure, I care for him, and I don't want any outsider to exploit him for his money. I tried to reason with him, but have I ever been successful in that?

I didn't want to kill you though. But then you started haunting me. Your smile rang in my dreams like no alarm clock ever would. One night led to another, and soon I saw myself picking your favourite flowers and changing to your chosen radio stations. Tell me Myra, why did it feel so real when you talked about your visions and cried about your late dog? I wish I could ask you why.

But I couldn't even ask myself. I couldn't face you anymore, or maybe it was just me hiding behind your excuses. So, this is it. I am done. We are done.

You squeaked in joy when you saw the tray, thus granting me a big kiss. The expression changed to horror soon though, as I choked on my food, and you frantically ran for water.

Sorry, dad. Please forgive your loser son. I couldn't protect you. I hope you believe the video that I have mailed you. Can't blame you anymore, now that I know the taste of her magic. And Myra, sorry I couldn't let you win. I just couldn't let you do the victory dance in this cruel game of hearts. I am too competitive for that. And as I taste the last gasp of air, I see a new story well up your eyes. I see you dying, right there, with me.

By Annesha Ghosh

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