The housekeeper walked in and blushed at the sight. It told her a mischievous story. She giggled to herself as she straightened the bedsheets and hummed a romantic tune.
The crumpled satin sheets held the promise of a love fulfilled. The mirror must have been a witness to their trysts, she thought naughtily.
In the bathroom, Jaya gingerly applied another layer of foundation. It barely managed to hide the bluish-black marks on her fair skin.
She walked to the kitchen listlessly. The tea was ready. She took the pan off the heat and tipped the steaming liquid into the cups. She slowly added the sugar and stirred it noisily. The spoon clinked musically against the side of the cup. Outside the birds chirped cheerfully, heralding a new day.
Her bruises and broken dreams sang a different song. Romance existed only in dreams. Or inside the pages of her favourite novel. Her realities were different. They were the stuff nightmares were made of.
