25-04-2025, 09:51 AM
We reached the 7th floor landing.
He didn’t even slow down near the sixth.
Just kept climbing.
Step after step.
Not even one grunt. Not a sound from his mouth.
I kept watching his face from the side.
Not a drop of strain.
Not even a twitch on his forehead.
His hold stayed steady. Arms firm.
Like carrying me was nothing.
Not special.
Not difficult.
Just another weight.
That made something twist inside me.
I wasn’t expecting to feel so… small.
He reached the landing.
Stopped neatly near the staircase gate.
My back brushed against the wall behind the door.
His grip adjusted slightly near my hip, maybe just to balance—but again, nothing indecent.
Still, that rough hand was there.
Right on my waist.
My saree clung a little, and I could feel the way his fingers touched the edge of the knot line.
That pressure.
Not sliding. Not grabbing.
But present.
I turned slightly, enough to face him.
My voice came out immediately.
“Hey…”
He looked at my face but not into my eyes.
“Put me down.”
He nodded.
No questions.
No delay.
Just lowered me gently.
His knees bent softly.
One hand slid away from under my thigh. The other from my waist.
I was back on the floor.
But for a moment… my balance wasn’t perfect.
My feet touched down, but my knees bent slightly, not ready.
My hand went quickly to the railing beside the gate.
Held it.
Took one breath.
Then straightened.
I stood tall.
Blouse clinging at the back, soaked from sweat and warmth.
I pulled my pallu tight.
Dbangd it flat across my chest. Tucked the edge deeper.
One flick of my fingers to fix the pleats near my thigh.
Slight rub under the bust to push the blouse back into place.
I wasn’t fixing for beauty.
I was sealing everything again.
Then I turned to him.
His head was down.
Eyes still not meeting mine.
“Don’t think this is some chance,” I snapped.
“Just because I said okay… doesn’t mean anything.”
He didn’t reply.
Not even a blink.
I took a step forward, my voice sharper.
“Don’t even dream of taking this as advantage.”
His body didn’t shift.
Hands by his side.
Still.
Just breathing lightly.
“Now go,” I said finally, my tone low and final.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t nod.
Just turned.
Took one step.
Then another.
Back down the stairs.
I stood still.
Watched his shoulders disappear around the curve of the staircase.
His slippers made soft, dragging sounds on the cement.
Not rushed.
Not loud.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t smile.
Just left.
I turned back toward the gate.
Pressed the latch.
Pushed it open.
The corridor was quiet.
Evening breeze came from the small window near the lift shaft.
I stood there for a second.
My body still warm from the lift.
My waist still carried that pressure.
My right hand slowly moved to my hip… pressed once on the spot he held.
Not thinking.
Just reacting.
I let out a quiet breath.
Then walked.
Each step slow.
The sound of my anklet rang lightly across the empty hallway.
As I neared my flat, I adjusted my hair once—flowers had loosened. I plucked one jasmine strand and held it between my fingers.
And then… that thought came.
I didn’t even say thank you.
He carried me all the way.
Didn’t drop.
Didn’t touch wrong.
Didn’t speak a single vulgar word.
Not once.
And still—
I scolded.
I warned.
I chased him away.
What kind of woman am I…?
I reached my door.
Took the keys out from my blouse.
Stood there for a second.
Not unlocking.
Just standing.
My forehead leaned slightly against the wooden door.
The steel key cold in my fingers.
I closed my eyes once.
Inhaled.
His smell was gone now.
My scent had returned—flowers, sweat, powder, soap.
Home.
I unlocked the door.
Pushed it open.
Stepped inside.
And gently shut the door behind me.
I turned the latch slowly.
The main door clicked shut.
The hallway outside was quiet. Slight echo from someone opening a distant balcony grill.
Inside the house, the light from the ceiling fan cast soft circles on the floor.
Arjun was still inside the bedroom, on call.
His voice came through the wall—low, focused.
“…yes, I’ll drop that draft tomorrow morning…”
Sounded like office again.
I didn’t bother going in.
Instead, I walked slowly toward the sofa and sat down.
Right under the fan.
My body let out a tired breath.
It was still hot.
Even in the night.
The ceiling fan above spun fast, but the air was only moving—not cooling.
My saree stuck to my lower back. I felt it cling as I leaned.
The pallu had shifted again. Folded wrong.
I didn’t adjust it.
Just pulled my legs up onto the cushion and rested one ankle over the other.
The cotton saree stretched over my thighs. It wrinkled near the knee.
I leaned back fully.
My head rested against the sofa.
Eyes slowly closing.
Just for a second.
I needed that pause.
Not just from walking stairs.
Not just from being carried.
But from everything.
My chest rose and fell slowly.
The blouse still had a sweat patch near the underarm.
Sticky. Slightly cold now.
But I stayed like that.
Not caring.
Let it be.
Around 7:30, I heard the sound of Arjun’s footsteps.
He came out of the bedroom.
T-shirt. Loose pants.
Holding his phone in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other.
Looked like he had ended the call just now.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
I looked up.
Our eyes met for one second.
“Shall we eat?” he asked softly.
I nodded.
No words.
I got up slowly.
Walked to the dining table and uncovered the plates.
We sat opposite each other.
He served himself rice and curry.
I watched him quietly.
That same neatness in the way he scooped food.
No hurry.
Always calm.
Halfway through the meal, he looked up and asked, “Kartik anna?”
I shrugged. “Usual. Late.”
He nodded.
Didn’t ask further.
Didn’t joke.
We ate silently after that.
The only sound was the spoon touching the plate, and the fan above whirring fast.
After dinner, I cleaned up the kitchen.
Still in the same saree.
Didn’t change.
Didn’t tie my hair.
Just rolled up my pallu once, tucked it over my shoulder, and began washing.
The water felt cold against my fingers.
Soap smell rose from the dishcloth.
I cleaned each plate slowly, dried the sink basin, wiped the counter with one clean towel.
Every corner. Every tile.
Habit.
By the time I finished everything, it was close to 8:30.
I looked at the wall clock once.
Then walked back to the hall.
Arjun was already on the single sofa.
TV remote in hand.
He had set up something on the screen.
Not music.
Not sports.
Some American series.
Dark shadows. Low lighting. Blue tones.
A man with spectacles was standing in a lab.
White shirt.
Middle-aged.
Arjun was watching intently.
I sat down near the opposite end of the room.
Legs stretched slightly.
Hands resting on my lap.
I turned to him and asked, “What is this?”
He looked at me. “Breaking Bad.”
I raised one eyebrow. “What?”
He smiled lightly. “It’s a series. English. About a chemistry teacher. Around fifty years old. He’s very smart. But stuck as a college teacher. Underpaid. Life not going anywhere. One day he finds out he has cancer.”
I blinked.
“And then?”
He leaned forward a bit.
“And then he decides to break bad. Like… change completely. He starts making drugs. Becomes a drug lord. But it’s slow. Very slow. One step at a time.”
I turned my head toward the TV.
That man—balding, thin moustache, heavy spectacles—stood in a lab holding a small flask.
Not shouting.
Not evil.
Just still.
Just calm.
Like something was waiting inside him.
Ready to come out.
My eyes stayed on the screen.
But my mind…
Went somewhere else.
Isn’t that me?
I looked down at my lap.
My hands folded.
My blouse slightly crumpled from sitting.
Waistline still holding the tightness from the saree knot.
My body was tired.
But inside… something else was happening.
I’m like him.
A simple woman.
Routine life.
Kids. Husband. Groceries. Saree pleats.
But slowly…
Something is changing.
Not into crime.
But into something…
Unseen.
Unsaid.
I bit my lower lip softly.
Then looked at Arjun.
He was watching the next scene.
Focused.
His face calm. But eyes following every shift.
He didn’t notice me watching.
I turned away.
Looked at the screen again.
The man was washing blood from his hands.
Slowly. Quietly. As if he didn’t feel anything anymore.
I leaned back.
Closed my eyes for two seconds.
And whispered in my head—
“I’m not bad yet. But I’m not the same anymore.”
Time was around 9.
I heard the sound of the door unlocking.
Kartik.
Finally.
He stepped in, dusting his shoulder, removing his shoes slowly.
He looked at me once.
His eyes stayed for a second longer.
“Wearing saree after how many days?” he asked casually.
I gave a soft smile. “Felt like it.”
He nodded and washed his face in the washbasin.
I served him dinner without a word.
Arjun was still in the hall, watching his series quietly. Volume low. Respectful as always.
I sat opposite Kartik as he ate.
He didn’t talk much, but asked a few things in between bites.
“When did Appa come?”
“Afternoon.”
“Kids?”
“Left around 4:30. Reached before dinner it seems.”
“Okay,” he said, chewing.
His eyes drifted to the kitchen shelf once, then to my pallu.
I knew that look.
That quiet interest that comes when you’ve seen your wife in old t-shirts too many times, and suddenly she’s in saree.
After dinner, he washed his hands.
I wiped the table.
He stretched slightly. “Shall we sleep?”
I nodded.
We turned to Arjun.
“Good night,” Kartik said.
Arjun waved from the sofa. “Good night anna… anni.”
I smiled faintly and turned off the hall light.
We entered the bedroom.
Kartik closed the door behind.
And locked it.
I could hear Arjun’s series still playing—soft voices, no music.
I didn’t speak.
Walked to the corner, undid my pallu, and began undressing.
Untied the knot of my saree slowly.
The soft cotton fell in a coil near my feet.
I stepped out.
Now I was in bra, petticoat, and panty.
The blouse had already been removed.
I pulled open the nighty from the drawer.
Old. Comfortable. Faded green.
Worn-out shoulders. Soft cotton near the chest.
I slipped it over my head and let it fall down over my hips.
Didn’t tie the top button.
Let it stay loose.
Kartik turned off the bathroom light and came near the bed.
He didn’t say anything.
Just removed his shirt and lay down.
I lay beside him.
A small pause.
Our arms didn’t touch.
Then he shifted closer.
His hand slid under the blanket and touched my thigh.
I didn’t stop him.
Maybe because of the whole week.
Maybe because my body was still warm from so many silent moments.
So I let him come close.
He kissed my cheek.
Tried to pull the nighty up.
I helped a little.
But as usual…
It didn’t last.
Just three minutes.
That same hurried movement.
That same quick release.
No build-up. No whisper. No rhythm.
I felt it end.
Just like that.
He let out a small breath and moved away.
I turned slightly.
He didn’t look at my face.
He just got up, took the towel, cleaned himself, and came back.
I followed.
Wiped between my thighs. No mess, but still that wetness that had nothing to do with pleasure.
Just routine.
I lay down again.
He was already turned the other side.
Sleeping.
I looked at the ceiling fan.
It turned slowly.
My body was still hot.
But not from him.
My legs stayed pressed together.
And I let out a small sigh.
No one heard.
I adjusted the blanket near my waist.
Pulled my nighty up slightly near the thighs to cool down.
Then turned toward the window.
Closed my eyes.
I acted like I liked it.
But inside…
I was still awake.
He didn’t even slow down near the sixth.
Just kept climbing.
Step after step.
Not even one grunt. Not a sound from his mouth.
I kept watching his face from the side.
Not a drop of strain.
Not even a twitch on his forehead.
His hold stayed steady. Arms firm.
Like carrying me was nothing.
Not special.
Not difficult.
Just another weight.
That made something twist inside me.
I wasn’t expecting to feel so… small.
He reached the landing.
Stopped neatly near the staircase gate.
My back brushed against the wall behind the door.
His grip adjusted slightly near my hip, maybe just to balance—but again, nothing indecent.
Still, that rough hand was there.
Right on my waist.
My saree clung a little, and I could feel the way his fingers touched the edge of the knot line.
That pressure.
Not sliding. Not grabbing.
But present.
I turned slightly, enough to face him.
My voice came out immediately.
“Hey…”
He looked at my face but not into my eyes.
“Put me down.”
He nodded.
No questions.
No delay.
Just lowered me gently.
His knees bent softly.
One hand slid away from under my thigh. The other from my waist.
I was back on the floor.
But for a moment… my balance wasn’t perfect.
My feet touched down, but my knees bent slightly, not ready.
My hand went quickly to the railing beside the gate.
Held it.
Took one breath.
Then straightened.
I stood tall.
Blouse clinging at the back, soaked from sweat and warmth.
I pulled my pallu tight.
Dbangd it flat across my chest. Tucked the edge deeper.
One flick of my fingers to fix the pleats near my thigh.
Slight rub under the bust to push the blouse back into place.
I wasn’t fixing for beauty.
I was sealing everything again.
Then I turned to him.
His head was down.
Eyes still not meeting mine.
“Don’t think this is some chance,” I snapped.
“Just because I said okay… doesn’t mean anything.”
He didn’t reply.
Not even a blink.
I took a step forward, my voice sharper.
“Don’t even dream of taking this as advantage.”
His body didn’t shift.
Hands by his side.
Still.
Just breathing lightly.
“Now go,” I said finally, my tone low and final.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t nod.
Just turned.
Took one step.
Then another.
Back down the stairs.
I stood still.
Watched his shoulders disappear around the curve of the staircase.
His slippers made soft, dragging sounds on the cement.
Not rushed.
Not loud.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t smile.
Just left.
I turned back toward the gate.
Pressed the latch.
Pushed it open.
The corridor was quiet.
Evening breeze came from the small window near the lift shaft.
I stood there for a second.
My body still warm from the lift.
My waist still carried that pressure.
My right hand slowly moved to my hip… pressed once on the spot he held.
Not thinking.
Just reacting.
I let out a quiet breath.
Then walked.
Each step slow.
The sound of my anklet rang lightly across the empty hallway.
As I neared my flat, I adjusted my hair once—flowers had loosened. I plucked one jasmine strand and held it between my fingers.
And then… that thought came.
I didn’t even say thank you.
He carried me all the way.
Didn’t drop.
Didn’t touch wrong.
Didn’t speak a single vulgar word.
Not once.
And still—
I scolded.
I warned.
I chased him away.
What kind of woman am I…?
I reached my door.
Took the keys out from my blouse.
Stood there for a second.
Not unlocking.
Just standing.
My forehead leaned slightly against the wooden door.
The steel key cold in my fingers.
I closed my eyes once.
Inhaled.
His smell was gone now.
My scent had returned—flowers, sweat, powder, soap.
Home.
I unlocked the door.
Pushed it open.
Stepped inside.
And gently shut the door behind me.
I turned the latch slowly.
The main door clicked shut.
The hallway outside was quiet. Slight echo from someone opening a distant balcony grill.
Inside the house, the light from the ceiling fan cast soft circles on the floor.
Arjun was still inside the bedroom, on call.
His voice came through the wall—low, focused.
“…yes, I’ll drop that draft tomorrow morning…”
Sounded like office again.
I didn’t bother going in.
Instead, I walked slowly toward the sofa and sat down.
Right under the fan.
My body let out a tired breath.
It was still hot.
Even in the night.
The ceiling fan above spun fast, but the air was only moving—not cooling.
My saree stuck to my lower back. I felt it cling as I leaned.
The pallu had shifted again. Folded wrong.
I didn’t adjust it.
Just pulled my legs up onto the cushion and rested one ankle over the other.
The cotton saree stretched over my thighs. It wrinkled near the knee.
I leaned back fully.
My head rested against the sofa.
Eyes slowly closing.
Just for a second.
I needed that pause.
Not just from walking stairs.
Not just from being carried.
But from everything.
My chest rose and fell slowly.
The blouse still had a sweat patch near the underarm.
Sticky. Slightly cold now.
But I stayed like that.
Not caring.
Let it be.
Around 7:30, I heard the sound of Arjun’s footsteps.
He came out of the bedroom.
T-shirt. Loose pants.
Holding his phone in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other.
Looked like he had ended the call just now.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
I looked up.
Our eyes met for one second.
“Shall we eat?” he asked softly.
I nodded.
No words.
I got up slowly.
Walked to the dining table and uncovered the plates.
We sat opposite each other.
He served himself rice and curry.
I watched him quietly.
That same neatness in the way he scooped food.
No hurry.
Always calm.
Halfway through the meal, he looked up and asked, “Kartik anna?”
I shrugged. “Usual. Late.”
He nodded.
Didn’t ask further.
Didn’t joke.
We ate silently after that.
The only sound was the spoon touching the plate, and the fan above whirring fast.
After dinner, I cleaned up the kitchen.
Still in the same saree.
Didn’t change.
Didn’t tie my hair.
Just rolled up my pallu once, tucked it over my shoulder, and began washing.
The water felt cold against my fingers.
Soap smell rose from the dishcloth.
I cleaned each plate slowly, dried the sink basin, wiped the counter with one clean towel.
Every corner. Every tile.
Habit.
By the time I finished everything, it was close to 8:30.
I looked at the wall clock once.
Then walked back to the hall.
Arjun was already on the single sofa.
TV remote in hand.
He had set up something on the screen.
Not music.
Not sports.
Some American series.
Dark shadows. Low lighting. Blue tones.
A man with spectacles was standing in a lab.
White shirt.
Middle-aged.
Arjun was watching intently.
I sat down near the opposite end of the room.
Legs stretched slightly.
Hands resting on my lap.
I turned to him and asked, “What is this?”
He looked at me. “Breaking Bad.”
I raised one eyebrow. “What?”
He smiled lightly. “It’s a series. English. About a chemistry teacher. Around fifty years old. He’s very smart. But stuck as a college teacher. Underpaid. Life not going anywhere. One day he finds out he has cancer.”
I blinked.
“And then?”
He leaned forward a bit.
“And then he decides to break bad. Like… change completely. He starts making drugs. Becomes a drug lord. But it’s slow. Very slow. One step at a time.”
I turned my head toward the TV.
That man—balding, thin moustache, heavy spectacles—stood in a lab holding a small flask.
Not shouting.
Not evil.
Just still.
Just calm.
Like something was waiting inside him.
Ready to come out.
My eyes stayed on the screen.
But my mind…
Went somewhere else.
Isn’t that me?
I looked down at my lap.
My hands folded.
My blouse slightly crumpled from sitting.
Waistline still holding the tightness from the saree knot.
My body was tired.
But inside… something else was happening.
I’m like him.
A simple woman.
Routine life.
Kids. Husband. Groceries. Saree pleats.
But slowly…
Something is changing.
Not into crime.
But into something…
Unseen.
Unsaid.
I bit my lower lip softly.
Then looked at Arjun.
He was watching the next scene.
Focused.
His face calm. But eyes following every shift.
He didn’t notice me watching.
I turned away.
Looked at the screen again.
The man was washing blood from his hands.
Slowly. Quietly. As if he didn’t feel anything anymore.
I leaned back.
Closed my eyes for two seconds.
And whispered in my head—
“I’m not bad yet. But I’m not the same anymore.”
Time was around 9.
I heard the sound of the door unlocking.
Kartik.
Finally.
He stepped in, dusting his shoulder, removing his shoes slowly.
He looked at me once.
His eyes stayed for a second longer.
“Wearing saree after how many days?” he asked casually.
I gave a soft smile. “Felt like it.”
He nodded and washed his face in the washbasin.
I served him dinner without a word.
Arjun was still in the hall, watching his series quietly. Volume low. Respectful as always.
I sat opposite Kartik as he ate.
He didn’t talk much, but asked a few things in between bites.
“When did Appa come?”
“Afternoon.”
“Kids?”
“Left around 4:30. Reached before dinner it seems.”
“Okay,” he said, chewing.
His eyes drifted to the kitchen shelf once, then to my pallu.
I knew that look.
That quiet interest that comes when you’ve seen your wife in old t-shirts too many times, and suddenly she’s in saree.
After dinner, he washed his hands.
I wiped the table.
He stretched slightly. “Shall we sleep?”
I nodded.
We turned to Arjun.
“Good night,” Kartik said.
Arjun waved from the sofa. “Good night anna… anni.”
I smiled faintly and turned off the hall light.
We entered the bedroom.
Kartik closed the door behind.
And locked it.
I could hear Arjun’s series still playing—soft voices, no music.
I didn’t speak.
Walked to the corner, undid my pallu, and began undressing.
Untied the knot of my saree slowly.
The soft cotton fell in a coil near my feet.
I stepped out.
Now I was in bra, petticoat, and panty.
The blouse had already been removed.
I pulled open the nighty from the drawer.
Old. Comfortable. Faded green.
Worn-out shoulders. Soft cotton near the chest.
I slipped it over my head and let it fall down over my hips.
Didn’t tie the top button.
Let it stay loose.
Kartik turned off the bathroom light and came near the bed.
He didn’t say anything.
Just removed his shirt and lay down.
I lay beside him.
A small pause.
Our arms didn’t touch.
Then he shifted closer.
His hand slid under the blanket and touched my thigh.
I didn’t stop him.
Maybe because of the whole week.
Maybe because my body was still warm from so many silent moments.
So I let him come close.
He kissed my cheek.
Tried to pull the nighty up.
I helped a little.
But as usual…
It didn’t last.
Just three minutes.
That same hurried movement.
That same quick release.
No build-up. No whisper. No rhythm.
I felt it end.
Just like that.
He let out a small breath and moved away.
I turned slightly.
He didn’t look at my face.
He just got up, took the towel, cleaned himself, and came back.
I followed.
Wiped between my thighs. No mess, but still that wetness that had nothing to do with pleasure.
Just routine.
I lay down again.
He was already turned the other side.
Sleeping.
I looked at the ceiling fan.
It turned slowly.
My body was still hot.
But not from him.
My legs stayed pressed together.
And I let out a small sigh.
No one heard.
I adjusted the blanket near my waist.
Pulled my nighty up slightly near the thighs to cool down.
Then turned toward the window.
Closed my eyes.
I acted like I liked it.
But inside…
I was still awake.
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