Looking at that chocolate cake in my refrigerator made me feel like I was gaining pounds. It stood there waiting to be devoured while I brooded over the numbers displayed on the weighing scale. That routine physical check-up at the clinic two days ago was a disaster.  

"Those extra pounds need to be knocked off," the doctor exclaimed gravely. 

 I stared at his trim physique wrapped in an oversized white coat.  

"Probably water retention before my period," I replied.  

He shook his head and asked about my diet. My day began with a cup of coffee. A dash of caffeine was what I needed to kick start my day—a software engineer's job involved long hours of staring at the screen, making me susceptible to drowsiness. Lunch would comprise a sandwich filled with oodles of cheese, and dinner would be a burger, besides the alcohol at those local bars during happy hours. 

"Being overweight leads to other complications," the doctor rattled off about liver issues, heart attacks, arthritis, affecting my longevity, and further health complications.  

The thought of spending my future years circling hospitals or paying exorbitant medical bills made me shudder. And I was only 27. He emphasized eliminating dairy and sugar, including more greens and exercise. The mere thought of giving up coffee and cake was blasphemous. Life seemed to have come to a sudden halt. I left the clinic in low spirits. When I returned home, I saw the reflection of a cute woman with a double chin, chubby cheeks, and generously endowed hips. That is probably why I had difficulty finding a long-term partner. I wasn't attractive enough. I resolved to begin losing those pounds.  

A week elapsed. The trees began to portray resplendent shades of yellow, green, and red. The gloomy and cold weather increased my appetite. Every day felt like fighting an arduous battle. The coffee was replaced with green tea. I almost spat when I took a sip for the first time. It tasted like some bitter medicine forced down my throat when I usually had a cold—a far cry from the creamy caffeine I was used to. My plate was filled with green vegetables and grilled meat instead of the pizza or calzone with cheese oozing out. Added to the new diet, I began walking regularly in the neighborhood park, where I saw slender women running at fast paces. The sound of their panting reverberated in my ears while my heart rate shot up as I increased the miles gradually.  

A month went by. Seeing the pounds dip on the scale was gratifying. I still had to lose ten more pounds to be considered under the normal range. This meant more days of broccoli and lettuce. It made me cringe. Thanksgiving was just around the corner. I imagined my family baking pumpkin pies and talking about turkey stuffing. I hadn't touched a morsel of sugar for a while. I felt sour and bitter while I watched the world dive into sugar treats. I had drifted apart from friends as I no longer accompanied them to bars regularly. Besides, watching them feast on goodies I used to relish was torture. I wondered how they remained slender while devouring all that cheese, pasta, and cookies.  

With every passing day, everything around me was turning grey and cold. The weather and my moods. I missed the sweetness in my life. The lighter I became, the more irritable I was. On Thanksgiving Day, I sat with my family for dinner. I couldn't help noticing how much had changed in the last year. My sister was pregnant with her first child. My parents were aging gracefully. I was lighter by a few more pounds. The weighing scale had become my ally. The other day, the doctor looked at me approvingly, saying I looked fitter. My skin glowed. My dresses fit me better. I received compliments from my family. A colleague at my workplace had asked me out. Yet I felt a hollow feeling gnawing at the sides of my stomach. I experienced a certain emptiness as I watched snowflakes touching the slush white ground outside. I observed the bare branches of trees, once endowed with leaves.   

I recollected the days not so long ago when I was dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. I was taking healthy bites of chocolate cake, relishing the feel of sweetness swirling inside my mouth. I was less stressed because I did not have to count calories. I didn't have to be terrified of those numbers popping on my weighing scale, which made my life a nightmare. I had a better social life, visiting bars and restaurants on weekends. 

 I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face had become more chiseled, my jawline more prominent, my hips more toned. I would eventually end up with a steady partner. Yet some of me still craved that phase when I wasn't counting calories and worrying about dealing with health complications.  

Swetha Amit is an Indian author based in California and a recent MFA graduate from the University of San Francisco. She has published works across genres in 60-plus journals, including Atticus Review Toasted Cheese. (https://swethaamit.com). She has received two Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations.