Amour Propre

Amour Propre

I am a thirty-five-year-old young woman working for a software company.

People have called me self-centered and egotistical. I call them jealous Jacks and grudging gargoyles. 

Why wouldn’t I be narcissistic? I have always been a topper, right from kindergarten. I am good at whatever I do. I am a senior executive at my company and a good conversationalist. I sing well, dance gracefully, and am a good conversationalist.

Whatever qualities I may have, my good looks make me popular among the opposite sex, and I am mighty proud of it.

AND OH!… I always get hit on by the guys. From schoolboys to old uncles, everyone ogles at me and flirts with me. Unlike the other girls who make an issue of it, I enjoy the adulation. Don’t look so shocked. I don’t mean to say I go around sleeping with random people. It’s just that it gives me immense pleasure when guys notice me and chat me up. I feel upset if they ignore me. (That happens very rarely, though).


I was taking the overnight train for a conference. Even though I am eligible for air travel, I enjoy train journeys. 

I settled into the window seat of the train with the magazine I had bought at the railway station.  I waited eagerly to see who would occupy the opposite place. I knew that the other two seats in the first-class compartment were unoccupied.

Just as the train was leaving, this young man hopped into the compartment, checked for his seat, and came to sit right in front of me.

I pretended to read the magazine and surreptitiously checked him out. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Maybe he was going for a job interview. He was handsome, well-built, and debonair-looking and had a distinct aura about him. 

I noticed that he was covertly looking at me. I wondered what he thought about me. 

Very casually, I pretended to stifle a yawn, left my magazine on my seat, and went to the washroom to look at myself.

My face shone even in the rusty mirror, lit by the overly bright yellow bulb. I smiled at my image to check if my dimples showed. I suddenly noticed a few grey hairs. Carefully, I pushed them under with my fingers and smoothed my thick dark hair over.

I returned, retrieved the magazine, and settled back daintily into my window seat.

He had his phone out and was browsing. 

I kept the magazine down and looked out the window, admiring how the setting sun colored the sky into a fabulous pink.

I suddenly felt his eyes on me. I pretended to be looking out, even though I was fully aware of him. 

I knew he was going to start a conversation with me. I was wondering what his gambit was going to be. Hopefully, it would be some new pick-up line.

He leaned towards me with a friendly smile and said, “Aunty, can I borrow the magazine?”
Connect with Penmancy:


Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!

Latest posts by Sudha Ramnath (see all)

Let us know what you think about this story.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

© Penmancy 2018 All rights reserved.
%d bloggers like this: