Ananya never had a one-night stand. Yet she was inching towards one. It was dark in the corner she was sitting and an unexpectedly charming gesture crossed the haze to stand right next to her. 

​

A chill ran down her spine, and her mind wandered at the speed of light, gauging the possibilities this moment could lead to. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, drying off the sweat collected deep on the inner folds of her thigh. The high stool with an iron base and a small backrest was a blasphemy for comfort. Her hair hadn’t exhibited its best curls, but the dimly lit ambience worked to hide the slick of oiled strands she had probably missed shampooing the day before. Tonight was unexpected, yet she was teetering on the edge of doing something monumentally out of character. Cupping her drink with one hand, the other adjusted the length of her dress; this glass of shaken Martini was her watered-down version of courage. Ananya tried to pretend that she belonged to this haze of reckless abandon as the gesture of a tall man emerged from the shadows. His cheek dimpled into a crescent crease as he smiled. His silhouette struck against the warm glow of the bar lights. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a lighter and offered it with a casual flick. It was as if the darkness of the room rearranged itself to highlight him.

​

“Need a light?”

​

Ananya wasn’t even smoking, but his proximity momentarily disabled her voice. She imagined a kiss followed by a tangled mess of sheets in a room and immediately realised that her choice of lingerie today was in poor taste.

​

“Do you believe in coincidences?”

“What do you mean?

“Like meeting someone at the exact moment, you need them the most.”

​

It felt like a well-rehearsed line, and this guy was definitely no Vronsky. So, a bait it was. Ananya should have downed her drink, muttered an excuse and disappeared into the safety of the city night. Instead, she stayed.

​

Everything about him was impeccable, yet his eyes were the kind of brown that could pass off as black under the dim bar lights.

​

Instead, she stayed. A few minutes into this conversation, he ordered shots until Ananya had discarded her apprehension. Hours later, they left the bar for a quieter place. His charm was eroding her better judgment as they walked towards his home. The path was lit by scattered lamps and the air was colder, sharper. Ananya, inebriated by now, had begun contemplating the rush she would soon feel with this unplanned closure on his bed. He held her hand and led her to a nearby park. The entrance to the park was covered by long eerie shadows of trees. She picked up on every detail, but the walk made the tension between the bodies more permanent.

​

“Come on.”

“I want to show you something.”

“What could possibly be here worth seeing at—” I checked my watch. “—midnight?”

“I found this at a garage sale last week,” he said, pulling a small notebook from his jacket. “It belonged to some woman named Ananya Roy. Ever heard of her?”

​

She shook her head.

​

“She was a socialite in the seventies. Disappeared under mysterious circumstances. This notebook— it’s her journal.”

Ananya raised an eyebrow. “And you are carrying it around in case you run into curious strangers at bars?”

He laughed, a deep sound that was equal parts endearing and unsettling. “No, I carry it because the last entry… is chilling.” He flipped through the pages, stopping near the end. In the faint light of the stars, I saw the handwriting. It was elegant but hurried, as if the words had been written under duress.

​

If I die tonight, it’s not an accident. He’s coming for me. He knows I know.

The chill that ran down her spine earlier returned, sharper now.

​

“This seems like something you should have handed over to the police,” Ananya said with a pitch too high to mask her discomfort.

​

“Eh, they wouldn’t care. A cold case from decades ago? They’d dismiss it.”

He leaned closer, his eyes locked into hers.

“But you are not dismissing it, are you?”

​

Something in his gaze was magnetic. They walked further into the park; the paths narrowed, and lamps grew sporadic. He recounted details he had pieced together from the journal: Ananya’s suspicions about her husband, the coded messages she left in the margins, her fear of an unnamed ‘him’.

​

“You think she was murdered?” Ananya asked.

“I think she knew something that got her killed,” he replied.

​

The shadows around them deepened and the night swallowed any semblance of normalcy. He stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Ananya asked.

​

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned, his face deadpan, and reached into his jacket pocket again. For a brief moment, she thought he might pull out something far more sinister than a notebook. But it was just his phone.

​

“This is where it gets interesting”, he said, scrolling through and then handing it to her. It was a news article dated four days ago.

​

Local Historian Found Dead in Park. Foul Play Suspected.

​

Ananya felt the sweat in her armpits. Her head was heavy from the shots but she had lost the adrenaline from before. The photo accompanying the article was of a man she recognized instantly—the bartender who had served Ananya the Martini earlier that evening.

​

“But… what does this have to do with Ananya’s journal?”, she demanded, her voice trembling like a maple leaf. He smirked again, but this time it wasn’t charming. It was cold. Calculating.

​

“Everything,” he said.

“She didn’t disappear. She was buried alive. Right here.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the park.

“What… what are you talking about?” she stammered, stepping back.

​

He didn’t follow. He crouched, brushing away the leaves and dirt from a spot a few steps to our left. Beneath the debris, the edge of something metallic gleamed in the lamplight. A shiver coursed through her. “Is that—”

​

“A bracelet,” he interrupted, picking it up and holding it out for her to see. “Her initials are engraved on the back. Found it last night.”

“Why didn’t you—”

“Go to the police?” he finished, standing again. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d come.”

​

The realisation hit me like a cargo train. This wasn’t a chance meeting, and it was definitely far from a one-night stand. He hadn’t stumbled across Ananya’s journal at a garage sale. This entire night had been orchestrated.

​

“You… you planned this?” she whispered.

He tilted his head, his expression as vacuous as before. “Let’s just say I am drawn to people who share my… interests.”

“What interests?”

​

He stepped closer, his voice dropping like the void in a black hole. She shuddered at this conspiratorial whisper.

“Secrets,” he said. “And the lengths people will go to keep them buried.”

​

By the time the police arrived around 5 am—alerted by a jogger who found Ananya stumbling out of the park hours later—the man was gone. So was the bracelet. She tried to explain what had happened, but the story sounded ridiculous, even to her. A charming stranger, an old journal, a hidden bracelet and a cryptic warning. She hoped she had shared enough information for the police to pursue. Sitting on the curb, she lit her cigarette, trembling and trying to piece together the night’s darkness. This wasn’t over, she knew.