A Scarlet Memory - By Suparna Ghansham

Written By: Suparna Ghansham

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In a captivating exploration of marriage and temptation, Suparna Ghansham presents "A Scarlet Memory" as a part of the Short Story category in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Through vivid storytelling, Suparna weaves a narrative that delves into the complexities of human relationships and introspective journeys. As participants from around the globe share their unique voices, this competition stands as a testament to the power of creative expression and literary exploration.

About the Work

"A Scarlet Memory" offers a reflective look into the intricacies of marital life and the allure of temptation. Suparna Ghansham crafts a nuanced portrayal of a protagonist torn between loyalty and desire, highlighting the tension between perceived perfection and the unpredictability of emotional connections. The story's engaging dialogue and vivid character insights invite readers to ponder the subtle shifts in human relationships and the impact of fleeting encounters.

A Scarlet Memory

Original Submission by Suparna Ghansham

Ah. Marriage. 9 years already. She is an absolute angel. Gorgeous. Smart. Witty. Yogic in bed. And hey, she brings in some of the bread too. She encapsulates everything a woman should be and more. Sure we argue from time to time about this and that, but I’m glad that she has an opinion on things and is willing to stick by and defend them. I wish all women had her unfaltering integrity. I wish all women had her practical brain. I also wish all women had her lovely feet. Planet Earth would then be heaven with ubiquitous visions of the perfect woman and this heaven would be flooded with my drool.

“I have to go on a business trip for a few days,” she said to me over the dinner table one evening. She rarely went on business trips but when she did, the trips were very quick and short, so that was good. If they were longer, I’d probably be pining for her presence and drowning my sorrows over red wine. “Okay. When are you off?” I asked between swallows, “Where to? How long for? Did you cook this chicken? Because it’s delicious.”

“Yeah. You always say that when I make it. It’s a Thai recipe. I’m off to Singapore Thursday evening and I’ll be back Saturday morning. It’s for this presentation I have to do there with my colleagues. We’ve designed a new line of apparel…”

I don’t like it when she talks about her work. I appreciate the fact that she’s passionate about it and enjoys it, and that’s the reason we don’t have any kids, because her career comes first, and so does mine, but I just think that man and woman shouldn’t really talk to each other about their jobs. Oh well. She’s still perfect.

“Are you listening to me? You seem to have drifted off somewhere. Are you feeling alright?” she said, while chewing on her food. I don’t like it when people talk with food in their mouths. It’s disgusting.

“Yeah,” I replied, while the spices in the chicken were doing somersaults inside me, “Do you want to go out for a drink? I feel like a drink.”

“Hrm. I’ll need some time to get dressed. Perhaps an hour or so. Is it okay if we go then? Or will it be too late?”

She’s always doing that. Pretending to be considerate about stuff when she didn’t really care. Why does she need an hour to get dressed? Christ. What is it with women? She doesn’t need to impress anyone; I mean, she’s taken.

“Nah. It won’t be too late. You go get dressed and look all pretty. I’ll have some coffee out in the balcony meanwhile.”

So, why did I get married? I can’t even remember to tell you the truth. I recall being drunk. I recall the vows being read. I recall thinking I had met the perfect woman. I was 21 years old. Did I marry too young? Why am I thinking about this when I’m so happy with her? Yeah, I’m blissfully married. And this coffee is awfully sweet. Remind me to be a tad more alert when putting sugar in my coffee, will you?

“Toodeloo”, said my mobile phone. Ingenious things are mobile phones. Even more ingenious is the text message service they provide. A message from Joe. He’s at the bar across the street with his wife and a few other people. Cool. I toodelooed him back saying I’d be there in a bit with my wife.

She then came out of the bedroom, all ornamented, looking as charming as ever.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

Suddenly, it was Friday. Strange how the days fly by, but they do. Especially when you’re always buried in the gravel of work. She had left last night. It had been a hard day at the office. Remind me never to have a German boss, will you? I wondered if I should go out. I needed it. I needed to be around people not talking about work, but about the world or history or wine or women’s breasts. I made my way to my usual hangout, hoping there’d be someone or the other I knew there. I ordered my glass of wine and looked around. I saw a lot of familiar faces but they didn’t belong to people I knew. The ‘other’ regulars were there. I sat myself down and sipped my wine, staring into space. The barstool beside me moved. I turned to look at this mysterious moving barstool and there was this woman asking me if the seat was taken. I told her she was welcome to it and went back to staring into space, or pretending to. Man, she was attractive. She was a regular; I’d seen her before, just never spoken to her. She suddenly said, “I see you here a lot. You’re usually with your girlfriend or your wife?”

Hrm. Friendly too. “My wife. She’s away on a business trip, so yeah, I’m alone here tonight. I’ve seen you here a lot too. You’re usually all alone or with a huge bunch of people. I guess you’re not attached, then?”

“No. I’m very single,” she said with a smile. Infectious smile. It made my tummy experience some turbulence.

“I’m Adam. Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, while my memory was trying to jog back to a time when I may have asked another woman that question before…

“No thanks. I’ve still got some. I’m Sarah. Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re alone tonight?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t get a hold of my friends and I didn’t want to stay home. So, here I am. It’s one of those days, you know, when you need to get out, even for a bit to breathe a different air…or something?”

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. I’m here for similar reasons. The wife gets you down once in a while and you want to switch it off by having a drink or two. Er…I meant, the world, not the wife.” Why had I said ‘wife’? Remind me to think before I speak, will you?

She giggled a girly giggle, as if she knew something I didn’t and said, “True. Sometimes the drink works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“What do you do?” I asked her because I wanted to keep the conversation going. She seemed like a really nice person to talk to.

“I’m a teacher. What about you?”

I told her about my job and how I was supposed to keep track of all the numbers in the company, as I was the Financial Manager. “Can we not talk about work though, Sarah?”

She smiled and I swear to God, I saw a twinkle in her eyes as she did that. A mischievous gleam. Electrifying. She probably did know something I didn’t.

“Okay. What do you want to talk about then? We could be English and start talking about the various moods of the Jakartan weather, or American and compare locations of our relatives and see if they’re relatively close, or Indonesian and talk about the corrupted officials of this country and pretend that we’re going to do something about it…forgive me, I’m rambling on. Forgive me too for stereotyping people. Seriously, what do you want to talk about?”

There was a fully functional mind in there. She talked like she was refined too. I loved the way she talked. The way she enunciated every word, very teacher-like. I couldn’t take my eyes off her while I was thinking about all of this and I noticed that there was a certain sadness in her eyes. Melancholy came over me and I welcomed it because something told me that I wanted to share her pain. “Why are you so sad?” I hesitatingly asked.

“Me? Sad? No, I’m alright. I’m quite happy here, sitting and talking to you.”

I knew that I wasn’t wrong but decided not to push it. I had just met her anyway; I figured it was none of my business, so I tried something else.

“So, let me ask you a question you’re probably sick of hearing. Shut me up if you don’t want to talk about it. Why are you single?”

“Ah. There it is. The eternal question. Hrm. I’m single because I haven’t met the perfect man, I guess. Not that my perfect man has to be perfect in all senses of the word. I’ve been through quite a number of perfect men. They didn’t think I was perfect enough…so hey. Cheers.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be with you. You’ve been here with me for about twenty minutes and already I know that I could spend a lot more time with you…just, you know, chatting.”

Er…did I just justify myself? ‘Just’ chatting?

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you. I feel the same way.”

She’s just saying that. She’s just that nice. I smiled at her only to see her smile again when she asked, “So, why are you married?”

I choked on my wine when I heard that and I must admit I didn’t know how to answer that question. Damn. She was unpredictable too. Minutes passed. I was thinking of a response. Remind me to be more prepared for that question, will you?

“Are you alright?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“If anything, you’ve made me even more comfortable. I wasn’t expecting a question like that, but I know that you were just being yourself there. That usually means I can be myself too.” I meant every word of that; I’m not sure if it made any sense. “I’m married because I met my wife ages ago and I thought she was the one for me. I’m still married and I think I’m quite happy. Yeah, she’s a good woman.”

“Well, she’s very lucky.” That smile again. There was a lot more to this woman than she was showing; I knew it. I was still certain of that certain sadness that seemed to encase her eyes. I looked her over from head to toe…toes. Toenails. Painted scarlet. Oh my God, her feet were stunning.

“Take me home with you?” I heard her say, while I was mentally salivating at her feet. Again, I was caught off guard there, and I think she was too. She then said, “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I apologise.” She excused herself saying she had to visit the ladies’ and when I managed to pick my jaw up from the floor, I thought about taking her home. Yes, I wanted to take her home. I didn’t want to cheat on my wife, but I wanted to be with her. Besides, my loins were wrenching with Sarah pangs. Shit. Should I though? She’d be the first woman I’ve slept with after my wife. I shouldn’t do this. No. I can’t.

“Promise me that things won’t be weird between us if we see each other again,” I managed to say when she came back. What had I said?

“Why would they be weird?”, she asked quizzically.

“Because I’m taking you home with me. I know you want to be with me and I’ll tell you this much. At this moment in time, I want to be with you more than anything else. Yes, I’m married, but I’m willing to put that aside for a while. Are you?”

I couldn’t believe I was saying all of that. I felt like the mental tongue that was drooling earlier had developed the power to speak, and I had lost all control of speech. I was expecting to be slapped but instead I heard her say, “Yes. I want to be with you too. I promise you things won’t be weird. But I don’t want you to think of me as cheap because I don’t usually go home with strange married men or strange men, for that matter.” She wanted me too. Was she just lonely?

“I wouldn’t think of you in any other way than perfect.” I replied, while a voice I hadn’t heard in my head for years said, “Yay. I think we’re going to get laid. Good on you boy! She’s got great knockers. Yum.” I shook my head vigorously trying to get rid of that juvenile voice and asked for the bill.

Saturday morning. I woke up and started to make my coffee when recollections of the night before stirred inside my head and I stared at the percolator in utter disbelief. Had it really happened? I had cheated on my perfect woman with another perfect woman. And this other perfect woman had called me the perfect man. And God, we’d had an awesome time. It was delicate, raw, fervent, erotic and soothing, all at the same time. I looked at my mobile phone and wondered if I should toodeloo her. Yes, she had given me her number. I don’t know why I didn’t toodeloo her; I think the coffee distracted me. Or perhaps I’m just using that as an excuse. Perhaps my soul couldn’t accept what I had done. I got dressed while my chest was in turmoil and went to the airport to pick up the wife. Will she be able to tell that something’s happened? Something out of the ordinary? Would I act any different with her just because of this dash of guilt I’m feeling? I don’t feel very guilty though. I know I’ve done something wrong, but I have no regrets. That’s weird. God damn it, I had never cheated on my wife! 9 years! Why did this other perfect woman have to come along? Would I now be extra nice to my wife out of remorse? Would that give it away? Would I be smiling differently? God, I’ve got to act normal. How do I act normal?

As I was trying to keep the din within my head down, she came out to the meeting point, greeted me with a big kiss and asked to be taken out to dinner that night because she wanted to celebrate the success of her presentation with me. Phew. I think things are going to be fine. When I found my tongue, I managed a “Sure honey. Where would you like to go?”

Two weeks passed. Life had flown by again as it always does quite elusively. I was at a swanky restaurant with my classy wife. We were having quite a heated discussion about the existence of God and how religion doesn’t really typify the modern individual’s perception of God. You know, typical husband and wife dinner talk. When we were done, I paid the bill and we made our way out. As we were walking out, I saw her - my other perfect woman, with some of her friends at the bar. She saw me too. We looked at each other for a few seconds and I had to look away because she was smiling and I was melting. I didn’t talk to her. I don’t know why. She probably thinks I’m a bastard or something now. Argh! Should I have talked to her? I still think about her. I want to see her again. I want to spend some of life’s precious moments with her. Should I get in touch with her? I still love my wife…

Remind me that this is all just a beautiful memory, will you?

END – 2582 words

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a celebration of literary creativity and artistic expression. It invites writers and poets from around the world to share their unique narratives, fostering a vibrant community of storytellers. This esteemed competition provides a platform for participants to explore diverse themes and showcase their talent, contributing to the rich tapestry of global literature.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Suparna Ghansham for sharing "A Scarlet Memory" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your story's exploration of complex emotions and relationships enriches our understanding of the human experience. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to seeing more of your insightful storytelling in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.