The camera was rolling. Bulbs flashed.
“I’m Mansi. 32, divorced mother of three beautiful kids. Looking for a committed relationship.”
“Yo, Swati here. I’m hot ‘n’ happening. I just want fun.”
“I-I-I’m A-A-Anita. I-I-I’ve b-b-been hurt b-before, but b-believe in t-true love.”
Behind the camera, Dr. Sneha glanced at her chart. “Multiple Personality Disorder”
“Get rid of her”. The voice was getting louder nowadays.
He sneaked a peek at her. Washing the car, body glistening with soap, bikini top soaking wet.
She looked provocative and sinful.
“Take her down”, the voice screamed. He gave in.
Ripping the poster off the wall, he grumbled “Happy, Mom?”
Mom nodded, satisfied.
She looked at him as he tied his shoelaces. He reminded her of someone.
He saw her and smiled. She knew that smile.
He looked confused. Was he Aman?
A name flashed. “Shiela?”. She didn’t respond.
They both looked unsure.
The moment flickered, faded.
Fifty years of togetherness dissipated in a miasma of Alzheimer’s.