Ravi, 26, was known among his friends as “the wise man with vision”—the type who wasn’t into young girls or obsessed with superficial beauty. What fascinated him were older, experienced women.
So when Ravi married Meera, 44, everyone was stunned.
She had once been a creative director—elegant, confident, with a graceful charm. Her conversations were rich and thoughtful, and she seemed to understand men better than they understood themselves. Just two months into dating, Ravi said yes to becoming her husband.
“Others chase 18-year-old girls. Me? I married someone 18 years older. And I have zero regrets!”
“She’s mature, she’s wise…”
“She understands me like no one else!”
Ravi proudly declared it at their wedding.
Wedding night.
The bedroom was romantic, softly lit with scented candles. Ravi, feeling nervous and excited, changed into his nightwear and waited on the bed.
Meera entered gracefully, wearing a long white silk nightgown. Her makeup was still perfect, her curled hair fell like waves. She sat at the edge of the bed… smiled gently… and said nothing.
No touching. No talking. No movement.
Ravi cleared his throat:
“Um… would you like to talk first?”
She nodded slightly, still smiling, but said nothing.
Ravi thought, Maybe she wants me to take the lead…
Just as he was about to reach for her, she whispered:
“I’m tired. Let me sleep first.”
Then she turned to the wall and went silent.
3 a.m.
Ravi woke up, needing to use the restroom. He quietly slipped off the bed and tiptoed toward the bathroom. As he passed the full-length mirror by the wardrobe, something caught his eye—and froze him in place.
The white lace nightgown Meera had been wearing…
…was hanging neatly on a hook.
Ravi slowly turned his head to look at the bed.
Meera was still there—facing the wall, long hair draped over the pillow.
Her wedding ring still on her finger.
But if Meera was in the bathroom… then who was lying in that nightgown?
Just then, the light above flickered.
The figure’s arm dropped over the edge of the bed… unnaturally light—like it was hollow.
Ravi panicked and rushed over.
He yanked the blanket off—
A full-sized silicone mannequin lay still.
Its face was eerily lifelike, still holding the same serene smile from earlier.
Its left arm, connected by a sticky hook, had detached and dangled loosely.
Ravi screamed:
“WHAT IS THIS?! MEERA?!”
The bathroom door creaked open.
Meera stepped out—makeup removed, hair tied in a bun, completely calm.
“Oh… you’re up?” she asked sweetly.
“I don’t usually sleep next to strangers on the first night… so I let my ‘little sister’ take my place.”
“Wasn’t she sweet? Didn’t argue, didn’t ask for anything…”
Ravi stuttered:
“T-that… that thing… is fake?!”
Meera blinked:
“You said you loved experienced women… so you’ll have to get used to some… creative sleeping arrangements.”
From that night on, Ravi had a new midnight fear:
“My wife might be in the bathroom…
…but the one sleeping next to me?
I’m no longer sure she’s real.”
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