Sheekha Singh

Writer, Technologist & Podcast Host

The Red Lipstick


She always wondered why girls her age loved painting the dead cells on their fingers. She asked her friend and received an answer which was not so convincing. The friend said “I paint my nails because I love colors. I like to flaunt my long nails.” This friend possessed variety of nail color bottles with different colors and shades. Some were matte and others were glitter. She shaped her nails quite too often. Looking at her friend and her collection, she thought to herself why do girls spend so much time on makeup. She hardly wore makeup. Shaping nails never made it to her schedule. Books, laptop, papers and coffee were her world. She was so engrossed in her world of books that she never felt her time was worth enough to paint her nails or take care of them.

This conversation got her thinking. Thinking about the days when her world was not just books, laptop, papers and coffee. He hugged her, planted a kiss on her neck and told her “I love you for the way you are.” She was gleaming with joy. He held her hands, kissed them and placed something in her palm. . .

But now, times have changed.

Two years have passed by and she looks at herself in the mirror. She did not change but she knew something made her appear different and attractive. Something different from what she was earlier. She opened the draw of the closet and looked at what he had given her that day. She took it out with hesitation. Apprehensive and unsure. She’d never touched it since that day. That dreadful day. Tears dribbled down her cheeks as the memories flashed by like a movie.

That day

She was jumping with joy, singing like a child, not knowing what was waiting for her. He would like it if I wore it tonight, she thought to herself. Hoping for a night filled with love, she dressed up like a doll. She ran towards the door as she heard the doorbell ring. He stood there and hugged her. She started to feel weak as she heard him whisper, “It is over. It is all over. I am sorry.

She never wore it again after that day. It was the first and last time she had worn it. She stared at it, crying and wished he had never turned her into a lady. She wished he hadn’t gifted it to her that day. She wished she had never worn the RED LIPSTICK that day.

That red lipstick…


InExAcT as always.
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