A very short story from the Duckbill Workshop in Delhi.
She swallowed her pills dry and crawled under the quilt. As always, she curled up on her side and tucked her fingers under her right cheek. She lay there, looking at drops forming outside the jug of cold water on her bedside table. She watched them race each other as they slid down the side of the jug and slipped into a ring of water that had formed on the wooden table. That will leave a stain, she thought foggily as she drifted off to sleep.
She jumped out of bed, choking and wheezing. This time she was sure of it … someone had been sitting next to her, stroking her hair as she slept. Whimpering in terror, she turned on the table lamp and reached for her water.
But the jug was empty.