01-07-2025, 01:14 AM
Sunday Late Afternoon – Movie Afternoon
The movie had started.
A breezy Telugu comedy, Sandeep’s pick, played on the TV.
He sat at the center of the long three-seater couch, one leg stretched up, snacking on chakli from a steel dabba.
His laugh came easily.
Abhi had taken the seat to his right.
Madhavi had taken the far right, single couch
It should’ve been unremarkable.
Except for one small detail:
the wide beige cotton couch had no armrests between seats, only three large cushions to divide space—
and Madhavi’s saree-clad thigh, just under the dbang, was ever so close to Abhi’s.
Close enough that if either shifted by an inch…
She didn’t.
Neither did he.
Sandeep handed Abhi a glass of cold Fanta without looking away from the screen.
“You’ve got to try this scene, bro. Wait, wait, wait… this guy pretends to be his own twin, it’s mad.”
Abhi chuckled, accepting the drink.
As he reached forward to take the glass,
his wrist brushed against the edge of Madhavi’s pallu, not a dramatic touch, not deliberate…
but her fingers adjusted it quietly, slowly, as if to acknowledge the contact.
He glanced at her, just the corner of his eye.
She didn’t look at him.
But her hand slid down to rest on her lap,
The fingers spreading just slightly.
The movement should have meant nothing.
To Sandeep, it didn’t.
To Abhi, it meant everything.
The curve of her wrist near the saree’s border, the silent arch of her fingers, soft, still, inviting.
She hadn’t touched him.
-
The movie had started.
A breezy Telugu comedy, Sandeep’s pick, played on the TV.
He sat at the center of the long three-seater couch, one leg stretched up, snacking on chakli from a steel dabba.
His laugh came easily.
Abhi had taken the seat to his right.
Madhavi had taken the far right, single couch
It should’ve been unremarkable.
Except for one small detail:
the wide beige cotton couch had no armrests between seats, only three large cushions to divide space—
and Madhavi’s saree-clad thigh, just under the dbang, was ever so close to Abhi’s.
Close enough that if either shifted by an inch…
She didn’t.
Neither did he.
Sandeep handed Abhi a glass of cold Fanta without looking away from the screen.
“You’ve got to try this scene, bro. Wait, wait, wait… this guy pretends to be his own twin, it’s mad.”
Abhi chuckled, accepting the drink.
As he reached forward to take the glass,
his wrist brushed against the edge of Madhavi’s pallu, not a dramatic touch, not deliberate…
but her fingers adjusted it quietly, slowly, as if to acknowledge the contact.
He glanced at her, just the corner of his eye.
She didn’t look at him.
But her hand slid down to rest on her lap,
The fingers spreading just slightly.
The movement should have meant nothing.
To Sandeep, it didn’t.
To Abhi, it meant everything.
The curve of her wrist near the saree’s border, the silent arch of her fingers, soft, still, inviting.
She hadn’t touched him.
-
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