Adultery Sakshi's Universe

[yodam69420]

Chapter 3 -- Planning --- Story will be written from third person perspective ----

Ramu sat on his cot, the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him, a satisfied smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. His body was sore in the most satisfying ways, his chest still heaving occasionally with quiet chuckles as he remembered the night before. The scent of her still clung to his skin. His phone buzzed beside him, snapping him out of the reverie. He glanced at the screen—Ismail Bhai.
“Assalamu Alaikum, bhai,” Ramu greeted, voice gravelly but content.
“Wa Alaikum Assalam, Ramu!” Ismail’s voice was full of humor. “I thought I’d call to check if you’re still alive—or if that young woman of yours sucked the life right out of you.”
Ramu laughed deeply, the kind of laugh that made his belly move. “Alive? Bhai, I’ve never felt more alive in years. That woman isn’t just young flesh—she’s fire. She’s hunger itself. She’s not just in my bed—she’s under my skin. Sakshi. Even her name makes me ache.”
“Oh ho ho! You’ve fallen hard, old man. Don’t hold back, I want everything. Spill it—every inch,” Ismail teased, the grin audible through the phone.
Ramu leaned back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded with memory. “Last night… was our first. Not clumsy, not rushed. It was primal, yes—but tender too. She took me back to a version of myself I thought was long dead. And bhai, she didn’t just lie there like a girl lost in guilt—she devoured me like she had been starved for years. She wanted every bit of me, and she gave even more.”
Ismail let out a long whistle. “Masha’,.'. That sounds… dangerous. And she’s still married, no?”
Ramu’s tone turned heavier, darker. “Yes. Still chained to a man who doesn’t know her worth. She told me herself—he doesn’t look at her, doesn’t touch her. He walks past her like she’s a ghost. And the poor woman? She’s been drying up from the inside out.”
“So what now? Are you thinking long-term or just enjoying the madness?”
“I’ve already marked her,” Ramu replied, his voice low with conviction. “Body, heart... and bhai, even her milk. I told her—no more sharing. That milk is mine. Not for her son, not from a bottle. From the source, into my mouth. She agreed. Happily. Almost eagerly.”
Ismail burst into shocked laughter. “Subhan,.', you’ve gone full savage in your old age. This is what retirement looks like for you?”
Ramu chuckled. “Retirement? I’m just getting started. For a woman like that, I’d wake up every nerve in my body. I’ve been reborn in her arms.”
Ismail’s voice lowered a little. “Just be cautious, bhai. Her husband… if he senses something, it won’t end well.”
“He’s blind and dull,” Ramu said dismissively. “She won’t even let him touch her anymore. She said he repulses her now. Murugan has been sidelined, benched permanently.”
“Bhai,” Ismail sighed, a note of wistful mischief in his voice. “You’re living the dream I only dared to imagine. My grandson’s girlfriend? Sweet, clever thing. She had more sense than he did—she left him and chose me. Now we’re engaged.”
“Ha! The boy must be heartbroken!” Ramu laughed.
“He hasn’t spoken to me in a week. Found out at the engagement party. The look on his face—pure disbelief. Like the wind was knocked out of him.”
“Because boys don’t know how to hold on to a woman,” Ramu growled. “They think flowers and phone calls are enough. But we—we bring depth. Hunger. Command. And when women taste that, they never go back.”
“You speak like a man possessed,” Ismail said, amused.
“I am,” Ramu said plainly. “Possessed and blessed. Every moan she gave me, every drop of milk, every stare full of need—it’s carved into me now.”
“Then we must celebrate properly,” Ismail said, his tone turning conspiratorial. “I’ll be coming next month—with my bride. Let’s call it a double honeymoon.”
“You bring your young wife, I’ll bring my stolen queen,” Ramu replied, chuckling. “We’ll toast under the stars and compare battle scars.”
“Battle scars and breast milk,” Ismail quipped.
They both laughed, old lungs wheezing under the weight of mischief and desire.
The call ended not with goodbye but with silence—a comfortable, knowing one. Two old lions roaring one last time, still hungry for the hunt, still willing to burn for the taste of forbidden fire.
------------
Ramu leaned against the doorframe of Sakshi's kitchen, watching her rinse out a vessel, the morning sun casting golden glints off the edge of her cheekbone. He cleared his throat, drawing her attention.
She looked up. "What? Why that look on your face?"
He smirked. "I need to ask you something... and I want you to really consider it. Don’t say no immediately."
She turned fully, drying her hands. "What now? Another one of your rules?"
"No, this is... different," he said. "Ismail Bhai. He’s getting married. Again."
She blinked. "Who the hell is Ismail? And how many wives has he had?"
Ramu chuckled. "Old friend. Retired tradesman. Sharp as ever. This’ll be his fourth wife. Young girl too."
"Fourth? What’s he collecting, cricket trophies?" she shot back, incredulous.
"Not trophies," Ramu said with a grin. "But experience. The girl was actually dating his grandson before she chose him instead. Bold girl."
"You're serious?"
"Yes, and he invited me. It’s next month. But he didn’t just ask me to come. He wants to meet you. Properly. Said I should bring you along."
Her eyes widened. "Are you insane? How can I go to someone’s wedding like that? What will I say? What if someone finds out?"
"Sakshi," he said, walking to her, voice softer now. "You don’t understand. He’s not just some friend. He’s... like a mirror. He gets it. He knows what we have. He supports it. You won’t be judged. And it’s just a wedding. No one will ask who you are. You’ll be with me. You’ll be safe."
She crossed her arms. "Still sounds crazy. I’m not going to some wedding like your... what? Secret wife? Mistress?"
He stepped closer, cupping her cheek. "You’re not a mistress. You’re mine. You know that. And I want to show that to someone who understands, someone who has walked this same path. He’s marrying a woman his grandson used to date. Do you see? He knows what it means to be judged and still choose desire."
She narrowed her eyes suddenly. "Wait... how does he know about *us*? You told him?"
Ramu hesitated, then nodded. "He’s not just anyone, Sakshi. I trust him. He’s the only one I can talk to like this. He gets it."
Her mouth tightened. "You told someone about *me*? Our private... this whole thing? Without asking me first?"
"He won’t judge you," Ramu said calmly. "He respects you. He told me I was lucky to have a woman like you. He admires your courage."
Sakshi stared at him, torn between anger and something warmer flickering underneath. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased. "He said that?"
Ramu stepped closer. "He did. And he wants to meet you because he already respects what we have. He called it rare."
She looked down, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Still... next time, ask."
He raised both hands, mock surrender. "I swear. Cross my heart. Next time, full permission."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. He knows what it means to be judged and still choose desire."
Her jaw clenched. "I can't just vanish and go to a wedding. Murugan will never—"
"You’ll find a way," Ramu interrupted, gently. "You always do when you want something bad enough. And I know you want this. Think about it. A few days away. Just us. No hiding. No whispers."
She looked away, biting her lip. Her silence lingered.
"Say yes, Sakshi," he whispered. "Say yes for me."
After a long pause, she exhaled. "Fine. I’ll figure something out. But the lying to Murugan part... that’s on me."
Ramu smiled. "That’s my girl."
She smirked back. "Don’t get ahead of yourself. I haven’t started packing yet."
But deep inside, her heart was already running ahead of her.
-----
The phone rang just as Meena was finishing her tea. She smiled seeing Sakshi’s name and answered quickly.
“Hello, Sakshi! You’re calling early today.”
“Meena… I need your help,” Sakshi’s voice was hushed but urgent.
Meena sat upright. “What happened? You sound weird. Is everything okay?”
“I… I don’t know what to do. Ramu wants me to come with him to a wedding. His friend Ismail is getting married next month and he wants me there.”
“Wait, wait—who is Ismail?” Meena asked, confused. “And why are you even invited?”
“That’s the thing,” Sakshi said. “Ismail Bhai is a very old friend of Ramu. He’s getting married—to a girl who used to date his grandson. Can you believe that?”
“What?!” Meena shouted. “That’s like some scandal from a Tamil serial!”
“I know,” Sakshi sighed. “But that’s not the point. Ramu told him everything about us. About me. About what we’ve done.”
“Wait—what?” Meena’s tone dropped. “He told him? Without asking you?”
“I was furious at first,” Sakshi admitted. “But then… he told me Ismail didn’t judge. He said I must be special. And now… he wants to meet me. He even asked Ramu to bring me to the wedding.”
Meena exhaled sharply. “And you want to go.”
“I do,” Sakshi said. “But I have no idea what to tell Murugan. I can’t just say I’m going to a wedding with another man.”
They were both silent for a long moment.
Meena finally said, “So what do we do?”
“I was hoping you’d help me figure it out,” Sakshi said.
“Okay, okay,” Meena muttered. “Let’s think. We need a reason for you to travel. Somewhere believable. Something your husband won’t question.”
“A wedding?” Sakshi offered tentatively.
“Yes—but not Ismail’s,” Meena said, catching on. “We invent one. What if… what if we say it’s my cousin’s wedding? Somewhere a little far, so you need to stay a few days?”
“That could work,” Sakshi said slowly.
“You’ll say you promised long ago to attend. I’ll say I was planning to go with you, but I can’t anymore—sick, or family emergency. So you go alone, representing my side.”
Sakshi started to smile. “You’ll write up a fake card?”
“Already thinking about the fonts,” Meena said with a grin. “Actually, forget sending it. I’ll come over tomorrow with the card myself. Make it look official. I’ll even bring some sweets. Let Murugan see it’s all real.”
“Thank you,” Sakshi said, her voice soft. “You always save me.”
“You’re doing this for love, Sakshi. Or madness. Maybe both. But you deserve to live it your way.”
They sat in the quiet, letting the plan settle around them.
“I’ll call Murugan tonight,” Sakshi said. “I’ll tell him about your cousin’s wedding.”
“Good. Just don’t over-explain. Keep it simple.”
“I will.”
Meena smiled into the receiver. “Let me know what he says. And send me your saree pics once you pick them.”
Sakshi laughed. “Deal.”
-------
Sakshi stood by the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on the edge of her saree. Murugan was seated on the floor, scrolling his phone after dinner, their son half-asleep in his lap. She took a breath, rehearsed the tone in her head, and stepped forward.
“Murugan,” she began casually, trying not to sound too deliberate.
He looked up with a faint grunt. “Hmm?”
“You remember Mythili? That girl from our college—used to come with her father to temple functions? We both knew her, but I was closer to her,” she said, adjusting her voice to sound like the memory had just resurfaced.
Murugan paused. “Mythili... vaguely. What about her?”
“She’s getting married,” Sakshi said. “In Tirunelveli. I only found out today when Meena forwarded me a message about it.”
Murugan didn’t react much. “Okay?”
“I might have to go. She’s not exactly my best friend or anything, but we were very close during college days. We lost touch after marriage, but Meena’s been in contact more than I was. Apparently Mythili’s family asked about me and said they’d be sending an invite.”
He looked up more directly now. “You’re telling me you want to go to a wedding without an invite yet?”
“I’m not saying I’m going for sure,” Sakshi countered gently. “I just wanted to let you know. If the invite comes, I think I should go. It’ll just be for two days. Probably stay over one night max. It’s nothing big.”
Murugan sighed and adjusted their son, who had slipped further down his lap. “You’re saying all this now... who’s going with you?”
“Meena and I might go together,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “She’s still figuring out her schedule, but if she’s free, we’ll travel together. It’ll be easier that way.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And our son? You expect me to handle work and him?”
“You’re his father,” she replied, then softened her tone. “And you’ve handled him before. I’ll prep everything before I go. I won’t leave you stranded. Just think of it as one weekend.”
He didn’t reply, going back to scrolling.
“Like I said,” she added, backing away, “nothing’s final. I just didn’t want to spring it on you last minute.”
Murugan muttered something she didn’t catch.
She turned back to the sink, keeping her face composed. Her heart, though, was racing. First step: done.
------------
It was just past eleven when Meena arrived, her dupatta swinging over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Sakshi opened the door with a wide grin and hugged her in instantly, holding the embrace for a second longer, the excitement between them unspoken but loud.
“You came before time,” Sakshi whispered with a sly smile. “Good. I needed someone to share this madness with before I lose my nerve.”
“I couldn’t sit still at home,” Meena replied. “The drama we’re about to pull off... I needed to see your face and get every detail straight.”
Sakshi laughed and guided her inside. The aroma of roasted spices and freshly fried snacks lingered through the compact home, mingling with the scent of sandalwood oil from the incense burning in a corner. Plates clinked softly from the kitchen as Sakshi returned to finish arranging snacks, the tension in her shoulders masked by the rhythmic movements of her hands.
“You’re making those ribbon pakoras he likes?” Meena asked, peeking in through the half-drawn curtain that separated the kitchen from the living area.
“Of course,” Sakshi said with a knowing glance. “He can smell it from a mile away. It's bait, basically.”
The door from upstairs creaked loudly. Heavy, deliberate footsteps made their way down the wooden steps. Meena straightened her kurta and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Sakshi turned toward the hallway with an impish grin.
“Ah,” she called with a raised brow. “Ramu anna, come. Come meet the partner-in-crime I keep talking about—the one who taught me all my tricks.”
Ramu appeared at the hallway’s edge, his vest loosely tucked into his lungi, beard freshly trimmed, and his hair combed back with unusual precision. He looked like he had dressed up just enough to appear casual. His eyes flicked between Meena and Sakshi, but lingered on Sakshi just a moment longer than necessary, a silent message in his gaze.
“So this is the troublemaker,” he said, smirking at Meena, but walking straight to Sakshi. Without a pause, he leaned in, placed a slow kiss on her neck, and then followed with a firm smooch on her cheek.
“She talks about you nonstop,” he added, eyes still on her.
Meena raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “And here I thought I’d walked into a kitchen. Clearly it’s a honeymoon suite in disguise.”
Sakshi laughed and nudged Ramu away with a flushed smile. “Behave, you rascal. She’s here to work, not witness a matinee show.”
Ramu raised both hands in mock surrender but stayed close.
“Let’s talk plan,” Sakshi said as she gestured to the tray of pakoras and moved toward the small dining table. The three of them settled in, the air buzzing with the thrill of the lie they were about to bring to life.
Meena opened her bag and pulled out a neat envelope with shimmering gold script. “Mythili—you remember her, right? We all went to college together. She was the quiet one with the strict mother. This makes it believable.”
“Here,” she said, handing the envelope to Sakshi. “Fake invitation, courtesy of my graphic designer cousin. Took a lot of pleading to get him to make it look this legit.”
Sakshi took it, flipping it open. It looked indistinguishable from a real wedding card, complete with embossed names and Tamil scrollwork.
“I’ll come around six-thirty,” Meena continued, tapping her phone for emphasis. “Just before Murugan returns from the office. I’ll wait near the gate. When you hear his key in the door, give me a signal—maybe that old ringtone you never use.”
Sakshi nodded. “He usually takes ten minutes to freshen up. That’s your window. I’ll keep snacks ready so his mood stays neutral.”
“I walk in,” Meena said, dramatizing her words with hand gestures. “Say it’s urgent, invite you to our old college friend Mythili’s wedding, and hand the card. While I’m pretending to explain, I’ll get a fake call from the app. I’ll say my mother-in-law needs me urgently. That way I can’t go, and you offer to attend instead.”
Ramu leaned back, arms folded across his chest, the faint outline of a grin forming beneath his beard. “And my part in this soap opera?”
Sakshi smirked. “You show up just after the fake call. I told you, your nose will bring you here anyway because of the pakoras. You’ve also been invited—but weren’t planning to attend because going alone felt awkward.”
“Then I discover she’s going,” Ramu added, eyes lighting up. “Perfect coincidence. Very filmi.”
“Exactly,” Meena said, nodding. “You say something like, ‘Oh? That’s the same wedding? Small world!’ Now you have a reason to go.”
Ramu nodded thoughtfully. “Simple. Subtle. Solid.”
“You’re the only man who can say that while chewing pakoras like it’s life and death,” Meena teased.
He shrugged. “Multitasking is my real talent.”
They all laughed, the tension softening just a bit. Sakshi leaned her elbow on the table, her voice quieter now.
“I still feel nervous,” she admitted. “The whole thing is a risk.”
“You’ll do fine,” Meena reassured, reaching across to squeeze her hand. “The script is tight. Just breathe, stick to the lines, and act like you’re doing nothing wrong.”
Ramu looked at her with a warmth that bordered on pride. “You’re not alone in this, Sakshi. We’re in it together.”
Sakshi looked between the two people seated across from her—her oldest friend and her newest desire. She nodded, brushing her fingers over the edge of the steel plate absently.
This was reckless. It was thrilling. It was happening. And it felt more real than anything else she’d done in years.
----------------
It was just past eleven when Meena arrived, her dupatta swinging over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Sakshi opened the door with a wide grin and hugged her in instantly, holding the embrace for a second longer, the excitement between them unspoken but loud.
“You came before time,” Sakshi whispered with a sly smile. “Good. I needed someone to share this madness with before I lose my nerve.”
“I couldn’t sit still at home,” Meena replied. “The drama we’re about to pull off... I needed to see your face and get every detail straight.”
Sakshi laughed and guided her inside. The aroma of roasted spices and freshly fried snacks lingered through the compact home, mingling with the scent of sandalwood oil from the incense burning in a corner. Plates clinked softly from the kitchen as Sakshi returned to finish arranging snacks, the tension in her shoulders masked by the rhythmic movements of her hands.
“You’re making those ribbon pakoras he likes?” Meena asked, peeking in through the half-drawn curtain that separated the kitchen from the living area.
“Of course,” Sakshi said with a knowing glance. “He can smell it from a mile away. It's bait, basically.”
The door from upstairs creaked loudly. Heavy, deliberate footsteps made their way down the wooden steps. Meena straightened her kurta and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Sakshi turned toward the hallway with an impish grin.
“Ah,” she called with a raised brow. “Ramu anna, come. Come meet the partner-in-crime I keep talking about—the one who taught me all my tricks.”
Ramu appeared at the hallway’s edge, his vest loosely tucked into his lungi, beard freshly trimmed, and his hair combed back with unusual precision. He looked like he had dressed up just enough to appear casual. His eyes flicked between Meena and Sakshi, but lingered on Sakshi just a moment longer than necessary, a silent message in his gaze.
“So this is the troublemaker,” he said, smirking at Meena, but walking straight to Sakshi. Without a pause, he leaned in, placed a slow kiss on her neck, and then followed with a firm smooch on her cheek.
“She talks about you nonstop,” he added, eyes still on her.
Meena raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “And here I thought I’d walked into a kitchen. Clearly it’s a honeymoon suite in disguise.”
Sakshi laughed and nudged Ramu away with a flushed smile. “Behave, you rascal. She’s here to work, not witness a matinee show.”
Ramu raised both hands in mock surrender but stayed close.
“Let’s talk plan,” Sakshi said as she gestured to the tray of pakoras and moved toward the small dining table. The three of them settled in, the air buzzing with the thrill of the lie they were about to bring to life.
Meena opened her bag and pulled out a neat envelope with shimmering gold script. “Mythili—you remember her, right? We all went to college together. She was the quiet one with the strict mother. This makes it believable.”
“Here,” she said, handing the envelope to Sakshi. “Fake invitation, courtesy of my graphic designer cousin. Took a lot of pleading to get him to make it look this legit.”
Sakshi took it, flipping it open. It looked indistinguishable from a real wedding card, complete with embossed names and Tamil scrollwork.
“I’ll come around six-thirty,” Meena continued, tapping her phone for emphasis. “Just before Murugan returns from the office. I’ll wait near the gate. When you hear his key in the door, give me a signal—maybe that old ringtone you never use.”
Sakshi nodded. “He usually takes ten minutes to freshen up. That’s your window. I’ll keep snacks ready so his mood stays neutral.”
“I walk in,” Meena said, dramatizing her words with hand gestures. “Say it’s urgent, invite you to our old college friend Mythili’s wedding, and hand the card. While I’m pretending to explain, I’ll get a fake call from the app. I’ll say my mother-in-law needs me urgently. That way I can’t go, and you offer to attend instead.”
Ramu leaned back, arms folded across his chest, the faint outline of a grin forming beneath his beard. “And my part in this soap opera?”
Sakshi smirked. “You show up just after the fake call. I told you, your nose will bring you here anyway because of the pakoras. You’ve also been invited—but weren’t planning to attend because going alone felt awkward.”
“Then I discover she’s going,” Ramu added, eyes lighting up. “Perfect coincidence. Very filmi.”
“Exactly,” Meena said, nodding. “You say something like, ‘Oh? That’s the same wedding? Small world!’ Now you have a reason to go.”
Ramu nodded thoughtfully. “Simple. Subtle. Solid.”
“You’re the only man who can say that while chewing pakoras like it’s life and death,” Meena teased.
He shrugged. “Multitasking is my real talent.”
They all laughed, the tension softening just a bit. Sakshi leaned her elbow on the table, her voice quieter now.
“I still feel nervous,” she admitted. “The whole thing is a risk.”
“You’ll do fine,” Meena reassured, reaching across to squeeze her hand. “The script is tight. Just breathe, stick to the lines, and act like you’re doing nothing wrong.”
Ramu looked at her with a warmth that bordered on pride. “You’re not alone in this, Sakshi. We’re in it together.”
Sakshi looked between the two people seated across from her—her oldest friend and her newest desire. She nodded, brushing her fingers over the edge of the steel plate absently.
This was reckless. It was thrilling. It was happening. And it felt more real than anything else she’d done in years.
Murugan pushed the front gate open, his steps heavy with the fatigue of the day. He dragged his feet slightly, shoulders slumped, office bag hanging loose on one side and his helmet still dangling from the crook of his elbow. The sun was beginning to dip low, casting golden streaks through the grille of the compound gate. As he approached the front door, the familiar and comforting scent of fried pakoras hit his nose, causing his brows to lift slightly in surprise.
Inside, Sakshi stood by the window with Meena, peeking discreetly between the curtain folds. As soon as she spotted Murugan’s dusty shoes outside, she gave Meena a quick but confident nod.
“That’s him,” she murmured. “He’ll go straight to freshen up. Give it a minute, then you come in.”
Meena nodded, her heart pounding a bit faster than usual. The weight of their plan settled around her like a shawl, light yet ever-present.
The sound of keys jingling reached the door. The lock clicked, and Murugan stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room like he always did—looking first for the child, then the fan, then finally for Sakshi.
“Back, Sakshi,” he called out, loosening the strap of his bag as he kicked off his shoes and lined them up on the mat.
“Hmm, I’m here,” she called from the kitchen, her voice perfectly neutral. “Go freshen up. I’ve kept your clothes on the bed.”
He gave a tired grunt, barely nodding, and moved toward the bedroom, already pulling off his belt with one hand.
Meena straightened her dupatta and crept toward the door. She opened it quietly, slipped in with practiced ease, and gently shut it behind her. The light knock had been symbolic—it was already unlocked.
Inside, she stood in the hallway, eyes scanning the room with casual interest. A few moments later, Murugan stepped back out, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp from a quick splash of water.
His eyes caught Meena’s figure almost instantly. He blinked, half-surprised, half-curious.
“Oh! Meena,” he said, adjusting the towel on his neck. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
Meena offered a cheerful smile and brought her palms together briefly. “Surprise visit! I was nearby running a few errands. It’s been so long since I saw both of you together, I thought—why not drop in?”
Murugan gave a small chuckle, his shoulders relaxing a little. “It really has been a while. Still working those wild shifts of yours?”
Meena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Worse than ever. I barely get time to breathe. Between calls, home, and the occasional guilt trip from my in-laws, this little stopover feels like a vacation.”
He laughed again, this time more naturally. “That bad, huh?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to switch places with me,” she said with a wink.
At that moment, Sakshi emerged from the kitchen, balancing three steel tumblers of coffee on a tray, along with a small bowl of hot pakoras. The smell was now rich and pervasive, the kind that made mouths water before the plate hit the table.
“There’s no escape from her chatter,” Sakshi said playfully, handing Meena a tumbler first, then Murugan. “You just walked in and she’s already recapping her entire month.”
“All part of the plan,” Meena quipped, settling into the corner of the sofa. “Besides, I need something hot and fried to go with all the nonsense I bring with me.”
Murugan accepted the coffee and took a cautious sip. “Perfect temperature. And the pakoras—smelled them from the gate.”
“Then my timing was divine,” Meena replied. “You bring the tired face, I bring the gossip. Sakshi brings the snacks. Balance is restored.”
Murugan leaned back against the wall, visibly more at ease. His tie was still tucked into his pocket, and his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar. The tension in the room was almost completely disguised beneath this casual banter, every moment practiced, but not stiff.
Sakshi perched on the edge of the chair, her smile patient, as if waiting for the curtain to rise.
The performance would begin shortly.
Just as Meena settled back into the sofa with her tumbler of coffee and Sakshi handed Murugan a refill of pakoras, there came a knock—slow and unmistakable. Not too urgent, not too casual. It landed like a signal, just as they'd all anticipated. Sakshi and Meena exchanged a brief glance, Meena hiding her slight nervous smile behind her tumbler.
“That’ll be Ramu anna,” Sakshi said, her tone light and even as she wiped her hands on her saree pallu and stood up with casual grace.
Before she could take two steps toward the door, Murugan was already moving. “I’ll get it,” he offered, still chewing on a pakora as he wiped his fingers on a nearby towel.
He swung the door open, revealing Ramu in his usual comfortable attire—vest tucked into a loose lungi, hands casually behind his back. The man stood as if summoned by scent alone, which, in truth, he had been.
“Ah, Ramu anna!” Murugan greeted, breaking into a genuine smile. “Your timing, as always, is surgical. Come, come in.”
Ramu gave a humble nod, his eyes already scanning the air like a hunter locking onto his prize. “Smelled that magic from upstairs. The scent was too strong to ignore. Figured something sinful was happening in this kitchen.”
Murugan chuckled and stepped aside, gesturing inside with a wave of his hand. “You know how she gets when the oil’s hot. She made enough to feed a festival.”
As Ramu stepped in, wiping his forehead with a folded handkerchief, his eyes landed on Meena. She was halfway into a sip of coffee and paused with a polite smile, adjusting her dupatta slightly.
“Oh, we have company today?” Ramu asked, his tone friendly but measured, the way elders often spoke when walking into a room that was a little warmer than expected.
“Yes,” Murugan said as he closed the door. “Ramu anna, this is Meena—Sakshi’s childhood friend. You may have heard her name now and then. Meena, this is Ramu—our upstairs neighbor.”
Meena rose partway, giving a quick, respectful nod and smile. “Nice to finally meet you, Ramu anna. I’ve heard you have a sixth sense for pakoras.”
Ramu let out a hearty laugh, the kind that came from deep in the belly. “Not gossip, I’m afraid. It’s been medically proven. If there’s something crispy on the stove, I appear. Like magic.”
“Then it’s a good thing we didn’t burn them,” Sakshi said, appearing again with another steel tumbler of coffee and a fresh plate of pakoras stacked in golden spirals. She placed them gently on the table beside Ramu’s seat.
“Perfect timing, always,” she said with a wink. “You show up just when the second batch finishes.”
“Good things come to those who wait upstairs,” he quipped, lowering himself slowly into the cushioned corner of the sofa with a contented sigh.
Murugan pulled up a plastic chair and leaned back, still sipping his coffee. “This is exactly what I needed after a day like this. Pakoras, hot coffee, and surprise guests.”
“You look like the day chewed you up,” Ramu said to him, eyeing his disheveled shirt and damp forehead.
“Work’s been brutal,” Murugan admitted. “Clients think everything can be done in a minute. They should try actually doing the job once in their life.”
Meena laughed. “They probably wouldn’t last an hour.”
Ramu nodded at her. “So what do you do, Meena?”
“I work with a telecom company. Support side. My job is to listen to frustrated people scream into phones,” she said, sipping again.
“Ah,” Ramu said. “So you’re like a therapist with a mute button.”
“Exactly,” Meena replied with a grin.
Sakshi busied herself clearing empty plates and wiping the side table, her ears tuned to every word as she kept an eye on the time.
The conversation continued with the ease of new acquaintances, the setting sun casting soft shadows across the living room tiles. Murugan leaned into the backrest, letting his shoulders sink. Meena laughed more freely now, and Ramu settled in like he belonged to the rhythm of the room.
The stage was now full. Every actor in place. The curtain hadn’t risen yet, but the first breath of the script was hanging in the air.
The invitation was coming—it just hadn’t been spoken aloud. Not yet.
After a few more shared laughs and another round of hot coffee, Meena leaned forward, setting her now-empty tumbler down gently on the table. Her eyes flicked toward Sakshi—just enough for a silent nod between conspirators.
Murugan, stretching his arms behind his head, looked over with mild suspicion. “What now? That look between you two never ends in peace.”
Meena grinned. “Well, I didn’t just come to eat your pakoras and gossip about office politics.”
Murugan chuckled. “I knew it. There’s always an agenda.”
Sakshi smirked and shook her head. “You sound like some overworked minister. Calm down.”
Meena reached into her sling bag and pulled out a neatly folded envelope. “This is actually for you, Sakshi. Someone asked me to pass it along.”
Sakshi took it with a puzzled look, unfolding the card slowly, as if only now discovering its contents. “Oh wow... it’s Mythili’s wedding.”
Murugan blinked. “Who’s Mythili?”
Sakshi answered before Meena could. “She was a close college friend of mine. We lost touch after I got married and moved. She apparently got back in touch with Meena recently and asked her to hand this to me. She doesn’t have my number or address anymore, so Meena became the messenger.”
Meena nodded. “Yeah, she bumped into my cousin at a temple event and asked about Sakshi. When she heard we still talk, she insisted I deliver the invite personally. She's getting married next month in Tirunelveli. Very small wedding—mostly family.”
Murugan looked between them. “So you’re going?”
Sakshi glanced at the invite, then back at him. “If you’re okay with it. Meena might not be able to go due to her schedule, and since Mythili personally sent this... I feel like I should go.”
Murugan groaned playfully. “So now I’m going to be left here with our little monkey, huh?”
“You’ve handled worse,” Sakshi teased. “I’ll do all the prep. You’ll just have to follow the list.”
He shook his head. “It’s not just about food or clothes. He’s two, Sakshi. I can’t leave him home alone while I’m at work.”
“I’ve thought of that,” she said quickly. “Meena has a contact who does part-time childcare. A neighbor’s daughter. She’s good with toddlers, comes highly recommended. She’ll come over during work hours, just for two days. You’ll be here in the evenings. It’s just to cover those working hours.”
Murugan raised an eyebrow. “And you trust this girl?”
Meena jumped in. “She helped out at my cousin’s house for a whole month during a wedding. Very decent girl. I wouldn’t suggest anyone shady, da.”
Sakshi added, “I’ll meet her myself before finalizing. You’ll be home for breakfast and dinner. She’ll only handle a few hours midday. I’ll leave everything organized—meals prepped, clothes sorted, even notes on nap times.”
Murugan rubbed his chin. “This is starting to sound like a military operation.”
“Because it is,” Sakshi said with a smile. “You’ll only miss me emotionally.”
Murugan exhaled with a smirk. “You act like that’s not a big deal. I can’t sleep if your side of the bed is cold.”
“I’ll call every night,” she said, squeezing his hand. “And when I come back, I’ll spoil both of you.”
He grumbled, but the fight was leaving him. “Alright, alright. But if I end up feeding him biscuits and curd rice all weekend, don’t complain.”
Meena laughed. “He’ll love the freedom.”
Murugan gave her a playful glare. “You’re not helping.”
Ramu, who had been quietly munching on pakoras and sipping his coffee with a knowing smile, finally chimed in, wiping his fingers on the edge of his lungi.
"Aiyo, Murugan," he said, voice slow and deliberate, "let the ladies go have some fun, no? You’ll survive one weekend without your queen hovering over your every move."
Murugan chuckled, shaking his head. "Easy for you to say, you don’t have a two-year-old running around demanding dinosaur cartoons at 6 AM."
Ramu grinned. "True. But you’ll manage. You’re a man, aren’t you? We built houses, roads, kingdoms—and now you’re afraid of one toddler and a feeding schedule?"
Meena burst out laughing. "He has a point."
Sakshi raised an eyebrow with mock sternness. "Are you helping me or roasting my husband?"
Ramu leaned back and folded his arms. "Both. He needs it. Let the ladies breathe. This is 2025, not 1950."
Murugan smirked and threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. One toddler. One curd rice weekend. I’ll take the hit for Team Husband."
The invitation had been delivered—convincingly, naturally. And though the truth behind it was something else entirely, the play continued to unfold, one careful line at a time.
Just as the air felt ready to shift into the next beat of their meticulously rehearsed plan, something small—but crucial—went awry.
Meena, seated cross-legged beside Sakshi on the living room rug, carefully tilted her phone screen toward her. Her thumb tapped the fake call app once, then again, more firmly. Still nothing. The screen froze mid-load, unresponsive to every tap. No ringtone. No buzzing vibration. No simulated caller ID. It was as if the app had betrayed them in their moment of need.
A bead of sweat formed at her temple despite the fan humming above. Panic whispered up her spine.
Without turning her head, she subtly leaned the screen toward Sakshi and quickly typed a message into the notepad app, barely blinking as she hit 'Save.'
**"App not working. No call. Abort for now. Pretend everything is normal. I’ll come again tomorrow. We’ll fix this."**
Sakshi read the text from the corner of her eye. Her pulse quickened. She tightened her grip on the tumbler in her lap, knuckles whitening around the stainless steel. But somehow, she forced a smile onto her lips just as Murugan turned to her and began talking about how their toddler had insisted on taking a spoon to bed last night.
Sakshi nodded along, barely hearing him.
Meena, slipping her phone into her bag, cleared her throat and spoke into the quiet lull.
“You know,” she began, her voice animated but relaxed, “I was thinking of going to the bazaar tomorrow. I need to pick up something decent for Mythili’s wedding. I swear, if I go alone, I’ll end up buying another salwar that looks like every other one I own.”
Murugan looked up, mid-sip. “You and your shopping plans,” he muttered with a smirk. “Why tomorrow?”
“Weekend crowd’s better than weekday rush. Less pushing, more options,” Meena replied instantly, her performance fluid.
Sakshi picked up the cue without missing a beat. “Actually, yeah... sounds like a good idea. I haven’t shopped properly in ages. I could use something fresh for the wedding too.”
Murugan raised an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Well, I’m not coming with you. Just imagining standing outside that saree shop again gives me a headache.”
“Don’t worry,” Meena said, giving a bright laugh. “We weren’t going to ask you to suffer through that again.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Go, go. Take your time. Just don’t drag the boy along. He’ll make it worse.”
“I’ll leave him with you,” Sakshi said, feigning innocence.
Murugan looked at her. “I knew that was coming.”
The shift had worked. Their failed move had turned seamlessly into a new setup. The plan was still alive—just postponed until tomorrow.