Ashika was wandering through the bustling marketplace in Asan when a chilling sixth sense brought into her awareness a wicked shadow stealthily following her. An indiscernible figure quickly slipped into an alley behind her as she took a fleeting glimpse. Driven by curiosity, she ventured to investigate, only to find the space devoid of any suspenseful characters. She had simply misinterpreted the situation, she thought. She had been on edge lately. Every shadow felt like a stalker.

Berating her troubled psyche, Ashika began to navigate the narrow labyrinthine streets of Asan, her eyes flitting among the vibrant garments hung outside the small, cramped shops. She wanted to buy a birthday present for her mother, the best mother in the world. A porcelain white horse or a beautiful velvet Pashmina scarf—she was not sure. “The hell with the price!” she mused, “Life is too short. What’s money for, anyway?”

Ashika was a striking young woman in her early twenties. She was crazy about fashion. People would often call it nonsense, but it was her life. She loved donning trendy attires and attending bubbling cocktail parties. She has no definitive idea why she developed such proclivity; she simply knew that she was a girl who loved having a good time and looking good. She was a little selfish, you know, she was young. And she was looking for love.

*

The first time she encountered Rabin, he was looking at her from a table on the other side of an aisle. Ashika was at a restaurant in Durbarmarg. It was a lingering look, you know, the one that immediately drifts away when the other person catches you. She reciprocated with a warm smile, silently conveying the message, “It is okay; you can look.”

Of course, she liked him looking at her. Growing up, she was never the pretty one. To be noticed was a good feeling. This longing for recognition drew her into the world of fashion in the first place.

The man then rose from his seat, meticulously adjusted his shirt, and moved towards her.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but it is not an adequate description. It comes through the eyes and seeps into the brain. What it does inside, however, remains an enigma.

Rabin was a handsome guy, tall and strong, with sharp and shrewd eyes. He was muscular and sculpted. Irresistible, as women would say. Ashika had no reason yet to decline his advance.

There is this tendency among us to infer a person’s character from their physical patina. It is, of course, a tool—believed to be reliable —but it is also a trap.

As Ashika started to spend time with Rabin and got to know him more, she realised something was wrong. Friends kept telling her she was lucky he was interested, but they had no idea what he was like alone with her. He incessantly probed her about other male acquaintances—the names of boys she spoke to, how many, when, what about. All this started even before they got serious.

She began to feel funny when she discovered that Rabin, her admirer, had even resorted to secretly following her during her outings.

Once, Ashika was spending time with her friends, and Rabin was across the street, surreptitiously watching and taking photos on his phone. When she caught him, he quickly looked away, but this time, Ashika had decided.

Instead, she texted him: “Please, Rabin, I don’t think it will work out between us. Do not visit my house or message me. We should not meet anymore.”

Then, there was a radio silence. Rabin said nothing—failing to reply to all of her texts. Ashika told him it was over.

But that was not what he wanted.

In due course, Ashika met Swopna. Unlike Rabin, Swopna was beautiful. He would look at her with gloomy, sad eyes, and Ashika could not control the rush of affectionate emotions coursing through her veins for this lovely man.

But this time, her mother disapproved. She had arranged for her daughter to marry a wealthy businessman who ran his business in Nepal and India. Ashika went out with him a couple of times. He was sharp and intelligent, but Ashika didn’t like him enough.

Her sheer sense of fashion, complemented by an aura of unfettered confidence, made Ashika immensely desirable to any man she encountered. The men would root for her touch, approving smile, and body. The businessman had even promised her half share of his empire and had flattered her with a probable life of an empress. Ashika, however, knew that only she held the reins to decide whom to love and marry.

Hoping that a physical meet-up would change her mother’s mind, Ashika invited Swopna to her house. She immediately regretted the decision as her mother callously made derogatory remarks about Swopna’s background telling him that “his people are not their people,” insinuating the stark caste difference between them.

Under the weight of those hurtful words, the man with gloomy eyes wilted and walked away.

Ashika got into a heated row with her mother. She impulsively smashed one of her mother’s cherished possessions in a rift of rage. It was a small porcelain white horse with green eyes that Ashika had gifted her on Mother’s Day five years ago.

“What have I done?” she thought.

The mother-daughter didn’t speak for a week or two. The man with sad eyes would not respond to Ashika’s texts and calls. She was crushed.

One morning, her mother burst into her room. She cupped Ashika’s face in her hands and said, “Do you love this Swopna boy?”

Ashika softly said, “Yes.”

“Well then, ask him what his favourite dish is. His future mother-in-law will cook for him on her 50th birthday.”

*

That was why Ashika was particularly intent on buying her mother a birthday present. Not only to celebrate but also to apologise and say thank you. She contemplated buying another little white horse for a while but then realised it would only remind her mother of an old-broken one. She decided to buy a coloured scarf and then visit Swopna’s place to invite him for dinner tomorrow.

Ashika turned down a small alley, taking a shortcut, hoping to reach the famous Pashmina market within a minute. Between the walls of the tall buildings, she could see a thin ribbon of the blue sky above. The alley projected an ambience of mysterious numbness.

Suddenly, a screeching sound shattered the silence—it was an abrupt halt of a vehicle. Ashika was immediately engulfed in a searing stillness. Everything turned blur afterwards. The only thing she was aware of, albeit clouded and indistinct, was the menacing growl of an accelerating motorbike. Then, there was intense pain from the acid thrown at her face. Slowly, the world disappeared.