Adultery Sakshi's Universe

[yodam69420]

The call came just after dusk, the sky outside brushed in strokes of muted coral and fading violet. Ramu had just settled into his favorite creaking cane chair by the open window. A faint breeze carried the smell of burnt jasmine and camphor from the neighbor's evening pooja. His room was still, untouched by conversation or memory, until a knock came at the door.
It was Janani and her husband, Arun—the landlords. Sakshi opened the door, wiping her hands on her saree. Her son peeked out from behind her legs, clutching a small toy car.
Arun gave a warm nod. "Sorry to disturb, Sakshi. Can we come in for a moment?"
Murugan, adjusting his shirt collar, came from the kitchen. "Of course, come in."
They all sat down in the front room, the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.

Janani spoke first. "We just wanted to ask a small favor. We’re going out of town for ten days. My cousin’s wedding in Madurai."
Arun added, "Appa’s not coming with us. The travel is too much for him. We were hoping you could keep an eye on him. Just basic things—meals, making sure he’s taking his medicine, maybe checking in once or twice."
Murugan nodded slowly. "Of course. That’s not a problem."
Sakshi added quickly, "I already see him most days in the corridor. We’ll make sure he’s alright."
Janani gave a grateful smile. "He likes you, akka. Says you remind him of someone. He won’t say who."
Murugan glanced at the clock and stood, picking up his bag. "I need to leave now or I’ll miss the train. You’ll manage fine, right?" he asked Sakshi.
She nodded. "I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry."
Arun and Janani stood as well. "Thank you again. Really. Just call us if anything comes up."
After they left, Murugan kissed his son’s forehead and headed out. Sakshi watched him go from the balcony before retreating inside. The house felt still again.

-----------
Ramu's old Nokia, tucked in his drawer, suddenly rang an hour later. He glanced at the screen and squinted.
“Ismail bhai.”
That name hadn’t flashed on his screen in nearly a decade. Like hearing a voice through fog—half dream, half miracle.
He answered. “Hello?”
“Ramu! You’re still alive? Or did someone finally hang a garland on your photo?”
Ramu laughed, his chest filling with that special kind of warmth that only old friends bring. “Still breathing, brother. Same house. Same fan. Just fewer hairs now.”
“That fan must be worthy of a temple donation by now,” Ismail teased. “Your voice sounds exactly the same. Bet you still use coconut oil and keep that stubborn heart well polished.”
“You sound heavy. And old.”
“Both true. And... I’m getting married.”
Ramu was startled. “Married?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fourth time. The nikah is next month. Date not fixed yet. But you’ll show up before you die, right?”
Ramu sat up straight. “Are you insane? Who is she?”
A pause. Then, softly, Ismail said, “Her name is Noor. She’s twenty-one.”
Ramu coughed. “Twenty-one? She could be your great-granddaughter.”
“I know,” Ismail said, almost laughing. “She used to be my grandson’s girlfriend.”
Ramu nearly dropped the phone. “What?”
“Long story. Bad breakup last year. Everyone thought the boy would leave town like he’d planned. But fate kicked him in the teeth—no visa, no job, no escape. He got stuck here. Had to move into a hostel near college—nowhere else to go. It wasn’t by choice, it was desperation. Poor kid still sees her. Doesn’t say a word, but I know. His face changes when someone says her name. Like his heart skips a beat.”
“They don’t talk anymore. He doesn’t have the courage. But he watches her. Every other week when he comes home, he makes some excuse to visit my shop. Stands far off. Noor works there now—part-time. Handles the register, serves tea. Like the queen of silence. And him? He just stands there in the corner watching her. Doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t even glance at him. Like he’s furniture. Like he was never hers at all.”
“But still he comes. Still clings to hope. And burns a little more each time.”
Ramu was stunned. “And now she’s marrying you?”
“She chose it. I offered a proper proposal—no hidden agenda, no romance. Just a dignified relationship. And why not? I may be old, but I’m still the lion of this broken family. If something must be done with respect, I’ll be the one to do it. And she said yes.”
“And your grandson?”
“He still messages her. Voice notes, poems, campus photos. He doesn’t know Noor’s getting married. No one told him. Noor hasn’t replied for months, but he keeps trying—like her silence is just a network issue he’ll fix. He’s still trying to understand why she left. But I think... he never really saw her. Just what he wanted to see.”
Ramu’s voice was quiet. “And she sees you?”
“Yes,” Ismail said. “She doesn’t see me as her future. But she sees me as something real. And for now, that’s enough.”
There was a silence. Then Ramu exhaled deeply. “Strange that you called today. I was thinking about you too.”
“Oh? Missed my awful poetry?”
“No,” Ramu muttered. “Because something strange is happening with me too.”
“Tell me.”
Ramu took a deep breath. His words were heavy, but firm. “A couple moved into the upstairs flat. They have a small child. The wife’s name is Sakshi.”
Ismail fell silent.
“Yeah,” Ramu said. “Sakshi. When I first heard it, it felt like my wife had come back. But when I saw her—she was different. Young. Sharp. Walks like the corridor belongs to her. Her saree catches light the way my Sakshi’s used to. I couldn’t stop watching.”
“Ramu…”
“I’ve started listening for her anklets. I wait for the clink of her bangles. When I know she’ll be outside, I start making tea. And last week… I gave her my Sakshi’s mangalsutra.”

“You did what?”
“In a box. Left it at her door. Wrote a note—if it means nothing, return it. If it does, wear it.”
“And?”
“She came. Holding it. Asked me why. I told her everything. She didn’t wear it. But she didn’t return it either.”
Ismail let out a long breath. “She’s married, Ramu.”
“I know. That’s why I never asked. Just offered. She can leave if she wants. Stay if she wants. But whatever happens, she’s already lived inside me.”
“Crazy old man.”
“Since she came, the house feels alive again. The walls respond to her footsteps. Even the silence bows before her.”
Ismail was quiet for a long time. “You always fell hardest when no one expected you to.”
“She reminds me I’m not incomplete. That I can still be seen.”
“Maybe that’s all any of us want. For someone to really see us... one last time.”
They stayed on the call for nearly an hour. Talking—about age, loneliness, hunger, and second chances. About turmeric pills, funeral news, forgotten relatives, and aching bones.
Even after the call ended, Ramu sat holding the phone. The blinking signal bar on the screen had grown tired.
Outside, the lights in Sakshi’s flat turned off one by one.
Ramu thought of Noor. Of Ismail. Of the kinds of fires that don’t arrive with noise—but only with invitation.
And he wondered if Sakshi would ever open that box again.
And if she would ever wear that past... which now belonged to her.