Ravi, 26, was known as “the wise man with vision”—never interested in superficial beauty, only experienced women. So when he married Meera, 44—a former creative director, elegant, confident, endlessly perceptive—it stunned everyone. Two months of dating and he said yes, with no regrets: “Others loved 18‑year‑olds. Me? I married someone 18 years older. Zero regrets!”
Their wedding night was dreamy—candles, soft light. Ravi waited in his nightwear as Meera appeared in a white silk nightgown, makeup perfect, hair curled. She sat silently, smiling. No touch, no words.
“Um… would you like to talk first?” he asked. She nodded, stayed silent. As he leaned in, she whispered, “I’m tired. Let me sleep,” turned her back, and fell silent.
At 3 a.m., Ravi got up for the bathroom. Passing the wardrobe mirror, he froze. Meera’s white lace nightgown still hung on a hook—yet someone lay on the bed. He glanced back: her long hair draped the pillow, ring on finger. The figure’s arm dangled unnaturally light. He rushed over, yanked the blanket—and recoiled. It was a full-sized silicone mannequin, eerily lifelike, its left arm dangling by a hook.
“WHAT IS THIS?! MEERA?!” he screamed. Meera emerged from the bathroom, calm and makeup-free. “Oh, you’re up? I don’t usually sleep next to strangers on the first night… so I let my ‘little sister’ take my place. Sweet—no arguing, no asking.” Ravi stammered, “That… thing… is fake?!” She answered serenely, “You said you loved experienced women… so you’ll have to get used to some… creative sleeping arrangements.”
From that night on, Ravi couldn’t sleep easy—wondering if his wife was really beside him—or if she was anywhere at all.