The first time I saw H3773N on his phone, I thought it was just a random digit. An ordinary alphanumeric code so I overlooked. 'It's probably one of the reference codes he uses at the office', I had mused.


But this morning, a call came into his phone. He was in the bath house. Water splashing down his body. I sat on the couch by the window side. Looking out through the window pane, calculating the day my monthly visitor would arrive. I had taken note of its late arrival a month afore, an issue which I should be worried about.

I am not one who cherishes the idea of peeking at someone's phone, be it taking a call or doing the other one, which will not only irk the owner but put them in defensive mode, even when no question has been doled out.

His phone rang the third time. FOURTH. Fifth. I snatched it from its stand on the sixth ring and placed it close to my ear. 'Hello,' I said to the caller.

'I' m pregnant Emmy and I need us to talk,' her tremulous voice whispered. She expected him to reply. To Mutter something back, which would erase fear of being alone from her mind. But I hung up on her.


I wasn't sure what to say. Or how to react. The statement caught me off guard. I was the only one who referred to him as' Emmy' or so I thought. I staggered back and hopelessly fell back onto the ornate couch. Mouth hung open. And like one who touched litters of hot charcoal, I dropped the phone, it scattered on the hard surface. With me, making no attempt to pick it up again.

Sanity has always been a thing of the mind to me. It vanishes whenever it jams that, which is mightier!

I waited for him to come out from the bathroom so he'd explain himself...

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