'Let’s Pretend We Didn’t See Each Other' by Gargi Mehra

I hadn’t just been sheared of my fur. The pimply woman at the parlour hadn’t just spent a quarter of an hour bent over my face, primping and squeezing, massaging and tweezing, until tears welled up in my eyes.

You weren’t wearing that fuchsia V-neck tee that I loved, the one that clung to your ribs, the one that enticed me to reach out and touch you.

I didn’t see you across the glass window of the salon, through the glass walls of the bakery right opposite, as I counted out crisp notes to pay the price for my preening.

And of course, she wasn’t there, cloaked in the one dress that (she thought) focused on her substantial assets.

You never headed for the counter to pick up pastries and hot beverages with the steam rising from the cups, and you never carried the tray back to the table where she sat ogling you.

I never stood still as if frozen in time, catching her rub the coffee stain off your upper lip.

You didn’t watch me rush out of the parlour, down the stairs, onto the street, across the road.

You didn’t see me beckon the taxi, flag it down, climb into it.

Not once did I see her bat her eyelashes at you.

You didn’t smile at me as I floated past you.

We pretended we never saw each other.

You never spoke about it later.

Neither did she.

Fifty years our hearts have been chained together, and I’m still pretending.