The Wrong Woman

24. Mouna

I didn't see much of Dhruv after that night. He had asked me how I was but other than that, we didn't speak much. As always, he made food for me and placed it on the dining table with mini sticky notes that had different greetings each day.

'Hope you're doing better today.'

'Make sure you eat everything so you don't faint again.'

Though he was avoiding me, perhaps because of the trouble I was giving him, the notes still made me smile. He really loves Rani, I thought. She was a lucky woman. I couldn't shake off the itch that crawled behind the nape of my neck as I thought about what Rani had said when I visited her. Why would she not jump at the chance of coming back to her body and husband? I found him sleeping on the couch once again. My stomach jerked; it was his house and he had to sleep on the couch while I relaxed on the bed. Was that right? In a way, I was relieved because he was a stranger, but it only made sense for him to want to sleep next to his wife, right? So why was he not?

Shaking my head, I got out the laptop near the bed table and researched blood moons and anything to do with wishes and body swapping. All that came up were Quora questions and people answering 'according to science' and articles that made fun of even the concept of body swapping.

With my shoulders caved in, I shut the lid of the laptop and fell back onto the fluffy, almost squishy bed that curved along my whole body. The internet couldn't help me so what could?

That man who had given me the bracelet! I thought, staring at the accessory stuck tight to my wrist. It looked like an ordinary bracelet. It was an ordinary bracelet. It had nothing special to it and no extraordinary powers...other than the fact that despite being on my original body, it was now on Rani's body. Maybe signifying the truth of identity?

I closed my eyes and whispered, "I wish to go back to my own body." I waited for a few seconds, to see if I felt dizzy or if something was happening outside that I couldn't see. Had it worked? Creaking open my eyes, I frowned. I was still laying on the queen-sized canopy bed with white bed curtains that framed the sides.

The only other thing I could do was find the man. Something told me that I wouldn't. That it was a lost cause.

When I awoke to birds chirping and the morning sun, it didn't occur to me that I had slept in until my phone buzzed over and over beside my head. Stretching and cracking my body from side to side as I got up, I looked at it and saw the time was 8:30. I turned off the alarm and shot up. I only had ten minutes before I could get to work without Tara firing me.

After hurriedly getting dressed in what I thought were appropriate work clothes, I raced down the stairs, making sure I was holding tight onto the railing so I didn't fall like the first time I had experienced these weird steps, and got to the kitchen.

Dhruv was nowhere to be found. I glanced at the cover that was placed over a plate, a sticky note on top of it. I grinned to myself. I loved the food the man made—it was like eating at a very high-end restaurant without having to pay money for it.

I checked the fridge. It was stocked with food and premade meals that I was sure were made by him and not bought from outside. All the meals I had eaten were things I had either never heard of before or had wanted to try but never got the opportunity to.

I shovelled in every meal, savouring every bite as I rocked on my feet. I needed to ask him for some recipes so I could make the same for my grandma when—I stilled. If I could get back. I shook my head. Negativity didn't have a place here. If not for my grandma, and if not these specific recipes, I could always make traditional Indian food, something that Dhruv hadn't made for me yet, as thanks! It didn't always have to be him cooking...I had to show him I appreciated his help somehow. I could use his technique of the sticky note to show it as well next time!

With a skip in my step, I headed off to work, feeling a little bit better about the day's events.

***

"Hurry or you'll be late for the meeting," the girl with the glasses told me, ushering me and some other staff into a big room with a large rectangular table in the middle. Tara stood near the front, arms behind her back. At first, I thought I was being fired but then realised everyone was getting comfortable in the chairs. I took a seat at the very end so she would not pay attention to me as much.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

"Has everyone caught up on the latest news?" she was asking. Latest news? I thought, my stomach dropping. Looking around, everyone else was confidently nodding and making suggestions about stories that they could cover both local and international. I had no idea either of this was going on while I was in the midst of a very literal identity crisis.

"What about the packages?" Packages? "Rani, weren't you doing one?" I opened and closed my mouth, hair sticking to my neck.

"I—um—"

"You were researching information with Simon about the drunk-driving incident that happened."

"O-Oh yes!"

"We finished that a week ago," said the man, Simon. "All I need to do is call some people up for an interview and we should be good."

This was going faster than I could comprehend. Tara then assigned us, the ones that weren't doing much, a story for the next broadcast. "Make sure you know the ins and outs of the whole script." She looked straight at me as those words left her lips. I hoped my gulp didn't reach her ears at the very front.

After that meeting, my legs wobbled as if they were on ice and forced to walk. Tara followed me and led me over to a desk, placing a script on it. "I went ahead and found some details on your story," she said. Then at the look on my face, she added, "You took a big fall the other day. Can't have my best anchor fainting again and ruining my reputation."

"Does that mean I will have to go on air today?"

"I'll give you an exception for a few days. Hopefully, that'll be enough for you to be yourself again."

Myself again, I repeated.  I hoped so too. Once she left, I stared at the desk. Was this where I was supposed to sit? Was this Rani's? It was filled with little personalised trinkets; small potted plants and photo frames of herself and some other photo of her kissing the cheek of an older woman I assumed was her mother.

There was none with Dhruv.

I had no time to question this because of the work I had to do that day. It wasn't a job I was interested in but somehow I found myself being fully immersed. I stretched in my chair, my elbow knocking off a pen. Bending to pick it up, I spotted the little holed dust bin perched right underneath that resembled the shape of a thimble.

There were colourful sticky notes all slightly scrunched up and I couldn't help but peer inside. The handwriting was very similar to the writing that I had seen this morning. Was it by Dhruv? Making sure no one was looking—everyone was focused on their own work, the only sounds being of clacking keyboards and ringing phones—I grabbed the notes and placed them on my desk, smoothening them out. Each note seemed like it was written on different days.

'Work hard but not too hard.'

'Have a good day :).'

'You forgot to take this'

'Happy birthday!'

All notes for her lunch? I giggled, trying to imagine a grown man taking his time to write all this on a grown woman's lunchbox. It faded away as I thought about how these ended up in the bin, scrunched up. Did Rani not like this? Were Dhruv and Rani on bad terms?

That thought made the frown on my face deepen. No, that didn't make sense. If they were on bad terms, why was Dhruv so nice? He didn't know I wasn't Rani. To him, I was a confused Rani.

I saw something move in the corner of my eyes and I quickly put the notes back in the bin and focused on the task at hand. Issues with Dhruv and Rani were none of my business and that was a matter to think about another day.