Yesterday, 10:46 AM
The latch clicked softly under my fingers. The noise didn’t match what had just happened. Nothing about this moment was soft.
I was still flushed. Still full of heat. Not due to summer. But from that brief, stupid, chaotic stumble where I had landed straight into him—my chest crushed into his face, his hands gripping me far too firmly. Tumblers falling. Saree in complete disarray.
I didn’t look at him yet.
My back was against the door now. My palm rested against the cool wood, but my skin beneath my blouse was burning.
I felt the cotton blouse cling between my breasts, damp and pulled low from how I fell. My pallu was gone—God knows where it had slipped—and my hair stuck to the side of my face.
I took a deep breath and turned.
Raj was still standing near the sofa, frozen. His eyes weren’t meeting mine. They were somewhere lower. Trying to behave. Failing.
I smirked without meaning to.
“Next time,” I said, adjusting the pallu half-heartedly at my elbow, “if I’m going to fall on your face, at least warn me.”
His lips parted. The blink that followed was slow, guilty.
“I didn’t exactly plan it,” he said, voice low.
“No?” I tilted my head, stepping slightly to the side so I wasn’t fully blocking the doorway. “You didn’t look very shocked.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You... surprised me.”
“Oh, I surprised you?”
A small laugh slipped out of me. I wasn’t trying to mock him, not really. But the tension in the room needed an exit valve.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His eyes flicked up, caught mine, then dropped again—just for a second.
That’s when I followed his gaze. And saw it.
A bulge.
Obvious. Not cartoonish. But real enough.
My eyes paused there longer than they should’ve.
Then quickly darted away.
No comment. Not even a breath.
But my body noticed.
A tiny jolt ran through my stomach. A familiar squeeze low between my legs. One I hadn’t felt in too long.
I cleared my throat and adjusted my pallu—finally doing it properly, dbanging it across my chest, pretending like I hadn’t just stared at my husband’s hard-on like some teenage girl.
I turned slightly. That’s when I saw the tumblers.
Two of them.
One lying just near the leg of the sofa, the other rolled off toward the edge of the rug. They looked strangely out of place. As if their fall had marked the moment things had slipped—between us, inside me.
My hand moved slightly, instinctively, like I was about to start cleaning up.
He stepped forward.
“ Do you need my help? Again,” he said quietly.
I didn’t look at him. “It’s okay.”
My voice wasn’t steady.
He didn’t say anything after that.
I walked past him. Slowly.
I could feel his eyes on my back. On my hips. On the faint imprint of damp fabric where my blouse clung tighter than it should.
Each step felt like I was walking through fog.
The house was silent. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Nothing else.
I reached the first tumbler—just there on the floor, near the teapoy leg. My toes touched the edge of it. I paused.
Took a slow breath.
Then bent down.
—
My fingers wrapped around the first tumbler.
It was cool against my skin. The steel felt smooth and a little wet. A small drop rolled down and touched my palm.
I wiped it quickly on my saree.
My other hand stayed on my chest, still holding my pallu close. The edge of the fabric was damp from sweat, sticking to my fingers. My blouse had pulled low when I bent. The air touched the top of my chest and made me shiver slightly.
I didn’t stand up yet.
I looked to the side.
The second tumbler had rolled under the sofa. Not deep, but just enough that I couldn’t reach it easily.
I stayed crouched for a second. Thinking.
Then shifted my knee.
The floor was cool and hard. My right knee touched it gently. I placed the tumbler in my hand on the floor next to me so I could stretch better.
My pallu slipped a little again.
I adjusted it quickly. Pulled it higher. But the blouse was already stuck to my skin. My chest moved with every breath—tight, warm, soft. I felt the shape of it in my own body. Noticed how exposed I was if I let go of the pallu.
So I held it tighter.
I bent lower now. My upper body leaned forward, and my face came near the sofa. I stretched my hand under it. My fingers reached, almost—
But just then…
I heard something behind me.
Footsteps. Soft.
Before I could turn—
Raj bent down too.
Fast.
His hand moved toward the tumbler at the same time as mine.
Our heads bumped.
Hard.
“Ah!” I gasped.
He pulled back with a groan. “Aiyo—sorry!”
I sat up quick, one hand still holding my chest. The other rubbing my forehead.
“Ow! Raj anna!” I looked at him with big eyes. “You broke my head!”
He looked shocked. “I didn’t know you were already down there!”
“What are you doing charging in like that? Trying to fight me for a tumbler?”
He smiled awkwardly, still rubbing his own forehead. “I was just trying to help…”
I narrowed my eyes, still rubbing mine. “Help? This is the second time today you attacked me!”
His brows rose. “Attacked?”
“Yes!” I pointed at him. “First, you caught me in that fall, like a movie fight scene. Then now, a headbutt! What’s next? Body slam?”
He laughed. “Hey, that fall was your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You slipped!”
I stared at him. “So now I’m clumsy too?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You didn’t need to,” I said, turning back toward the sofa. “Help me once more and I’ll throw this tumbler at you.”
He held up his hands like surrender. “Okay, okay! I’m not moving.”
I gave him a sideways glance, still holding in a smile.
I leaned down again, slower this time.
He stayed still behind me.
My saree pulled tighter across my hips. I felt the stretch of the blouse again. This time, I didn’t adjust the pallu. I just kept it pressed with my arm while I reached forward.
The tumbler was right there now.
My fingers touched it. Nudged it.
It rolled a little. I reached again and pulled it out slowly.
I sat up again. This time without bumping anyone.
Raj was still crouching beside me. He looked at the tumbler in my hand, then at my face. Then quickly looked away.
I saw his eyes flicker down my chest for a second.
I didn’t say anything.
I picked up the first tumbler again. Held both now—one in each hand.
I stood up slowly.
My legs were a little stiff from kneeling. I straightened my back, adjusted my saree again. The pallu had bunched at the waist now. I took a second to fix it properly across my chest, tucking it tight.
My blouse stuck to my skin. I could feel it even under the fabric.
Raj stood up too. He didn’t speak.
I didn’t look at him.
I turned, holding the two tumblers, and walked toward the kitchen.
Each step felt longer than it needed to be.
I knew he was watching.
I could feel it like a warm line running down my spine.
---
I placed the tumblers in the sink. The metal clinked softly as they touched the bottom. I turned the tap. The sound of water filled the silence, but it didn’t drown out the feeling still clinging to my skin.
My pallu had stayed in place now. But only because I was holding it tightly across my chest. My blouse was still stuck to me from earlier. The sweat hadn’t dried. It clung to me—along my back, under my breasts, the space just below where the fabric ended. I felt it with every tiny movement.
I rinsed both tumblers slowly. Watched the water swirl around the rim. I wasn’t in a hurry. But I also didn’t want to look up. I could feel him near the kitchen door. Not moving. Just standing.
Then he spoke.
“I’ll leave now.”
I didn’t turn.
“You’re leaving like that?”
“Like what?”
I picked up the first tumbler, filled it with water, turned around, and held it out.
“Anna,” I said, keeping my face straight. “Have water and go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why? You think I’ll faint without it?”
“No. But maybe you’ll crash into someone again.”
He let out a quiet laugh and walked toward me.
“Hey, I didn’t crash,” he said, taking the tumbler from my hand. “You slipped.”
“I didn’t slip. You stood too close.”
“I was helping.”
“You were catching,” I corrected. “Two different things.”
He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a long sip.
I watched him.
His Adam’s apple moved as he drank. His hand was strong, fingers wrapped around the glass tight. His shirt was a little wrinkled now—from the way he held me earlier, maybe. His hair looked slightly out of place.
He finished and handed the tumbler back.
I took it without touching his hand. Barely.
“Thanks,” he said.
I turned to rinse the glass again. “You’re welcome.”
He lingered for a second longer. I could feel him behind me. Then I heard his feet shift.
“Okay,” he said, softer now. “I’ll go.”
I gave a small nod.
He stepped away. I didn’t turn. Just listened.
But just before he left, I heard it—that tiny pause in his breath. I felt his eyes.
On my back.
On the side of my waist.
On the place where the saree tucked in low.
Where the blouse pulled tight and didn’t hide much.
That space just above my hip where skin met fabric.
He didn’t say anything.
And then I heard the door.
Latch.
The sound echoed.
He was gone.
I rinsed the last tumbler slowly. Dried my hands on the end of my pallu.
Then walked back to the hall.
Everything was quiet again. Same fan. Same light.
But I felt full.
Not heavy. Just warm.
I sat down on the sofa. My legs pulled close. My arms folded loose across my stomach.
The spot where I sat still had the slight dent from when Raj had been there earlier.
I didn’t fix it.
I was still flushed. Still full of heat. Not due to summer. But from that brief, stupid, chaotic stumble where I had landed straight into him—my chest crushed into his face, his hands gripping me far too firmly. Tumblers falling. Saree in complete disarray.
I didn’t look at him yet.
My back was against the door now. My palm rested against the cool wood, but my skin beneath my blouse was burning.
I felt the cotton blouse cling between my breasts, damp and pulled low from how I fell. My pallu was gone—God knows where it had slipped—and my hair stuck to the side of my face.
I took a deep breath and turned.
Raj was still standing near the sofa, frozen. His eyes weren’t meeting mine. They were somewhere lower. Trying to behave. Failing.
I smirked without meaning to.
“Next time,” I said, adjusting the pallu half-heartedly at my elbow, “if I’m going to fall on your face, at least warn me.”
His lips parted. The blink that followed was slow, guilty.
“I didn’t exactly plan it,” he said, voice low.
“No?” I tilted my head, stepping slightly to the side so I wasn’t fully blocking the doorway. “You didn’t look very shocked.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You... surprised me.”
“Oh, I surprised you?”
A small laugh slipped out of me. I wasn’t trying to mock him, not really. But the tension in the room needed an exit valve.
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His eyes flicked up, caught mine, then dropped again—just for a second.
That’s when I followed his gaze. And saw it.
A bulge.
Obvious. Not cartoonish. But real enough.
My eyes paused there longer than they should’ve.
Then quickly darted away.
No comment. Not even a breath.
But my body noticed.
A tiny jolt ran through my stomach. A familiar squeeze low between my legs. One I hadn’t felt in too long.
I cleared my throat and adjusted my pallu—finally doing it properly, dbanging it across my chest, pretending like I hadn’t just stared at my husband’s hard-on like some teenage girl.
I turned slightly. That’s when I saw the tumblers.
Two of them.
One lying just near the leg of the sofa, the other rolled off toward the edge of the rug. They looked strangely out of place. As if their fall had marked the moment things had slipped—between us, inside me.
My hand moved slightly, instinctively, like I was about to start cleaning up.
He stepped forward.
“ Do you need my help? Again,” he said quietly.
I didn’t look at him. “It’s okay.”
My voice wasn’t steady.
He didn’t say anything after that.
I walked past him. Slowly.
I could feel his eyes on my back. On my hips. On the faint imprint of damp fabric where my blouse clung tighter than it should.
Each step felt like I was walking through fog.
The house was silent. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Nothing else.
I reached the first tumbler—just there on the floor, near the teapoy leg. My toes touched the edge of it. I paused.
Took a slow breath.
Then bent down.
—
My fingers wrapped around the first tumbler.
It was cool against my skin. The steel felt smooth and a little wet. A small drop rolled down and touched my palm.
I wiped it quickly on my saree.
My other hand stayed on my chest, still holding my pallu close. The edge of the fabric was damp from sweat, sticking to my fingers. My blouse had pulled low when I bent. The air touched the top of my chest and made me shiver slightly.
I didn’t stand up yet.
I looked to the side.
The second tumbler had rolled under the sofa. Not deep, but just enough that I couldn’t reach it easily.
I stayed crouched for a second. Thinking.
Then shifted my knee.
The floor was cool and hard. My right knee touched it gently. I placed the tumbler in my hand on the floor next to me so I could stretch better.
My pallu slipped a little again.
I adjusted it quickly. Pulled it higher. But the blouse was already stuck to my skin. My chest moved with every breath—tight, warm, soft. I felt the shape of it in my own body. Noticed how exposed I was if I let go of the pallu.
So I held it tighter.
I bent lower now. My upper body leaned forward, and my face came near the sofa. I stretched my hand under it. My fingers reached, almost—
But just then…
I heard something behind me.
Footsteps. Soft.
Before I could turn—
Raj bent down too.
Fast.
His hand moved toward the tumbler at the same time as mine.
Our heads bumped.
Hard.
“Ah!” I gasped.
He pulled back with a groan. “Aiyo—sorry!”
I sat up quick, one hand still holding my chest. The other rubbing my forehead.
“Ow! Raj anna!” I looked at him with big eyes. “You broke my head!”
He looked shocked. “I didn’t know you were already down there!”
“What are you doing charging in like that? Trying to fight me for a tumbler?”
He smiled awkwardly, still rubbing his own forehead. “I was just trying to help…”
I narrowed my eyes, still rubbing mine. “Help? This is the second time today you attacked me!”
His brows rose. “Attacked?”
“Yes!” I pointed at him. “First, you caught me in that fall, like a movie fight scene. Then now, a headbutt! What’s next? Body slam?”
He laughed. “Hey, that fall was your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You slipped!”
I stared at him. “So now I’m clumsy too?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You didn’t need to,” I said, turning back toward the sofa. “Help me once more and I’ll throw this tumbler at you.”
He held up his hands like surrender. “Okay, okay! I’m not moving.”
I gave him a sideways glance, still holding in a smile.
I leaned down again, slower this time.
He stayed still behind me.
My saree pulled tighter across my hips. I felt the stretch of the blouse again. This time, I didn’t adjust the pallu. I just kept it pressed with my arm while I reached forward.
The tumbler was right there now.
My fingers touched it. Nudged it.
It rolled a little. I reached again and pulled it out slowly.
I sat up again. This time without bumping anyone.
Raj was still crouching beside me. He looked at the tumbler in my hand, then at my face. Then quickly looked away.
I saw his eyes flicker down my chest for a second.
I didn’t say anything.
I picked up the first tumbler again. Held both now—one in each hand.
I stood up slowly.
My legs were a little stiff from kneeling. I straightened my back, adjusted my saree again. The pallu had bunched at the waist now. I took a second to fix it properly across my chest, tucking it tight.
My blouse stuck to my skin. I could feel it even under the fabric.
Raj stood up too. He didn’t speak.
I didn’t look at him.
I turned, holding the two tumblers, and walked toward the kitchen.
Each step felt longer than it needed to be.
I knew he was watching.
I could feel it like a warm line running down my spine.
---
I placed the tumblers in the sink. The metal clinked softly as they touched the bottom. I turned the tap. The sound of water filled the silence, but it didn’t drown out the feeling still clinging to my skin.
My pallu had stayed in place now. But only because I was holding it tightly across my chest. My blouse was still stuck to me from earlier. The sweat hadn’t dried. It clung to me—along my back, under my breasts, the space just below where the fabric ended. I felt it with every tiny movement.
I rinsed both tumblers slowly. Watched the water swirl around the rim. I wasn’t in a hurry. But I also didn’t want to look up. I could feel him near the kitchen door. Not moving. Just standing.
Then he spoke.
“I’ll leave now.”
I didn’t turn.
“You’re leaving like that?”
“Like what?”
I picked up the first tumbler, filled it with water, turned around, and held it out.
“Anna,” I said, keeping my face straight. “Have water and go.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why? You think I’ll faint without it?”
“No. But maybe you’ll crash into someone again.”
He let out a quiet laugh and walked toward me.
“Hey, I didn’t crash,” he said, taking the tumbler from my hand. “You slipped.”
“I didn’t slip. You stood too close.”
“I was helping.”
“You were catching,” I corrected. “Two different things.”
He brought the tumbler to his lips and took a long sip.
I watched him.
His Adam’s apple moved as he drank. His hand was strong, fingers wrapped around the glass tight. His shirt was a little wrinkled now—from the way he held me earlier, maybe. His hair looked slightly out of place.
He finished and handed the tumbler back.
I took it without touching his hand. Barely.
“Thanks,” he said.
I turned to rinse the glass again. “You’re welcome.”
He lingered for a second longer. I could feel him behind me. Then I heard his feet shift.
“Okay,” he said, softer now. “I’ll go.”
I gave a small nod.
He stepped away. I didn’t turn. Just listened.
But just before he left, I heard it—that tiny pause in his breath. I felt his eyes.
On my back.
On the side of my waist.
On the place where the saree tucked in low.
Where the blouse pulled tight and didn’t hide much.
That space just above my hip where skin met fabric.
He didn’t say anything.
And then I heard the door.
Latch.
The sound echoed.
He was gone.
I rinsed the last tumbler slowly. Dried my hands on the end of my pallu.
Then walked back to the hall.
Everything was quiet again. Same fan. Same light.
But I felt full.
Not heavy. Just warm.
I sat down on the sofa. My legs pulled close. My arms folded loose across my stomach.
The spot where I sat still had the slight dent from when Raj had been there earlier.
I didn’t fix it.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)