Hi, Steemians!
Being an introvert, he preferred writing to people over talking to them. He fumbled for words when he talked to anyone, but when he sat to write, words flowed from his pen like a river. With the advancement in technology, things have become much easier. Especially, dating for introverts. Download an app called tinder, put up a cool profile picture with a well written bio, and swipe right. While he thought Tinder was a dating app, as it was marketed, he didn't know that it was more than a dating app. Like most people, after continuously swiping left and right till the 'likes' were over, he found a match.
It wasn't too difficult for him to sweep her off her feet. Or so her replies suggested. After all, he was a man of words. In the virtual world, at least. Soon, they exchanged digits, and switched from Tinder to WhatsApp. After having late night chats for a couple of days, one night, he decided to call her up. He called her up, and they spoke till the dawn. He stammered and stuttered as usual, but it didn't matter to her. The next night, on calling her, she told him that she's all alone at home, and she would like to see him. He told her he'd come to see her in half an hour, given that the address she mentioned wasn't too far from his place.
He took a shower, changed his clothes and left for her place. Parking his car in front of her old dilapidated building, he wondered how anyone could live in such a building. It seemed like it could fall any minute. Getting off the car, he looked at himself in his sideview mirror. He seemed fine. Unlike most men, he didn't think what he'd do if she looked different from the pictures on her profile. He didn't care how many editing apps or filters she used. He checked his wallet, and he had what he needed. As the building had no elevator, he walked up to the third floor. 'Flat No. 301, Sukhshanti Apartment,' her message read. He knocked on the door, but no one opened. He wondered if he should call her up, but rang the bell instead. An old lady, maybe in her sixties, opened the door.
He was shocked to see an old lady instead of a 23 year old Anamika. Was this old lady texting him all this while? Or was Anamika's mother back home already? He was too confused.
'May I help you, son?' The old lady asked.
He looked at his watch. It was 12.22 am.
'Aunty, I am a friend of Anamika.' He said, nervously. He felt stupid after saying it. What was he thinking? He could have asked for someone else and left.
'Come in, child.' She said.
He sighed.
'Please have a seat.' She said.
As he sat on the couch, his eyes fell on a huge garlanded picture hung on the wall. The picture was of a young girl in oversized spectacles. He immediately recognized her as Anamika. He looked at the picture in horror. The old lady told him it's been two years since she passed away.
'She was raped and murdered by a man she met on Tinder.' The old lady said.
His phone beeped.
'Welcome home.' A message from Anamika read.
