22-07-2025, 05:55 PM
Wednesday Night – Ravi’s Dream
He had barely closed his eyes when the scent of cardamom and something sweeter floated into his mind like a whispered promise.
In the soft haze of his dream, Ravi found himself inside a softly lit kitchen, not his, not 205, but some strange,
Glowing version of 401. The tiles shimmered faintly, as if touched by moonlight.
The walls were quiet, save for the sound of anklets gently clinking.
Neetu stood at the kitchen counter, dressed in something he couldn’t quite name, something between a saree and a dream.
Soft cream tones that hugged her in places dreams are allowed to wander,
And light enough to let the imagination play along the fabric’s curve.
She was smiling, stirring something in a small pot. Steam rose lazily, carrying a fragrance too tempting to ignore.
“Rasmalai?” Ravi asked.
She turned, her smile as soft as the dessert she held up toward him.
“Only if you’re sweet,” she whispered.
He stepped closer.
Every footfall felt slow, like the dream didn’t want to rush.
He noticed the way her bangles moved when she lifted the silver plate, how her eyes held a glint of something playful.
And something unspoken.
She held out a spoonful, and as he leaned in, she pulled it back slightly
Letting just a bit of the syrup touch his lower lip. His eyes widened.
“You’re torturing me,” he murmured.
“Only the best kind,” she replied, her voice like silk warmed by laughter.
- o -
He had barely closed his eyes when the scent of cardamom and something sweeter floated into his mind like a whispered promise.
In the soft haze of his dream, Ravi found himself inside a softly lit kitchen, not his, not 205, but some strange,
Glowing version of 401. The tiles shimmered faintly, as if touched by moonlight.
The walls were quiet, save for the sound of anklets gently clinking.
Neetu stood at the kitchen counter, dressed in something he couldn’t quite name, something between a saree and a dream.
Soft cream tones that hugged her in places dreams are allowed to wander,
And light enough to let the imagination play along the fabric’s curve.
She was smiling, stirring something in a small pot. Steam rose lazily, carrying a fragrance too tempting to ignore.
“Rasmalai?” Ravi asked.
She turned, her smile as soft as the dessert she held up toward him.
“Only if you’re sweet,” she whispered.
He stepped closer.
Every footfall felt slow, like the dream didn’t want to rush.
He noticed the way her bangles moved when she lifted the silver plate, how her eyes held a glint of something playful.
And something unspoken.
She held out a spoonful, and as he leaned in, she pulled it back slightly
Letting just a bit of the syrup touch his lower lip. His eyes widened.
“You’re torturing me,” he murmured.
“Only the best kind,” she replied, her voice like silk warmed by laughter.
- o -
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