Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

Two minutes later…

My phone rang.

Sudden.

Sharp.

Like it had been waiting.

Like it knew what I was thinking.


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I looked down.

Lit screen.

Name glowing.

Prakash calling.

I exhaled.

Rolled my head to one side.

Muttered softly—

“Finally, hero is calling?”


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Still I picked up.

Slid green button.

“Hello?” I said.

Flat voice.

No smile.

No welcome.


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“Hello… madam…”

His voice.

Soft.

Careful.

Almost breathy.


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“Ohhh!” I said loudly.

Voice went up.

“Sir is finally free ah?”

“Very busy schedule?”


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“No madam, I was—”

“I called five minutes back.”

“Not fifty.”

“What were you doing?”


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“No no, I was just—”

“Stop.”

I snapped.

“Don’t want your life story.”

“Just listen.”


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“Yes madam.”

“Come to flat.”

“Now?”

“No, next Diwali.”

My voice sharp.

“Yes, now only.”


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He paused.

One second.

“Okay madam… any reason?”

I blinked.

My mouth opened.

My jaw tightened.


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“Eh! What you said?”

“Any… work is there or…”

I sat up straighter.

Back complaining.

Eyebrows raised.


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“You want reason ah?”

“You’re security or lawyer?”

“No madam… sorry…”

“When I say come—just come.”

“That’s the rule.”


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“Yes madam.”

“Don’t ask questions.”

He was quiet.

Fully silent.


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“Next five minutes.”

“I don’t want you taking one full round of building.”

“Yes madam. Coming now.”

“Very good.”

I cut the call.


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Phone tossed beside me.

Soft thump on cushion.

I leaned back again.

Back still aching.

Not breaking. But biting.


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And my mind?

That one was racing.

Talking.

Arguing.

Laughing at me.


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“What is this, Pavi…”

“You’re calling him again?”

“It’s just for cylinder,” I told myself.

“One dirty metal piece. Not dick.”


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But body…

That was not innocent.

That was not holy.

Chest was calm.

Breath steady.

But down…


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Lower part.

Panty place.

Still damp.

Still soft.

Still smiling.


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Like it knew.

Knew what was coming.

I stood slowly.

Back stretched.

Pain warned me again.

Sharp poke.


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I winced.

Sighed.

Then I patted my own backside.

Soft tap.

“Don’t show off when he comes,” I whispered.

“Stand straight. Be dignified.”


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Two minutes.

Passed.

Then three.

Then—

Ding-dong.

One sharp ring.

I adjusted pallu.

Quickly.


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Fingers checked blouse hook.

Still tight.

Then walked.

Not limping.

Not hurrying.

Just firm steps.


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Peep-hole flap lifted.

I peeked.

Corridor was empty.

Quiet.

Only him.


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Standing straight.

One hand behind.

Other adjusting belt.

Uniform was still new.

Still crisp.


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I opened door.

One small crack first.

Peeked again.

No neighbours.

No kids.

No aunties.


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“Come in,” I said.

Voice normal.

He nodded.

Stepped inside.

Two steps.

Stopped.


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His eyes…

Looked at face.

Then body.

Then…

He saw it.

That limp.

That tiny shift.


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“Madam… what happened?”

His voice changed.

Little worry.

I turned sharply.

Eyebrows up.


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“Why you care like that?”

“No… just saw you walking little… different…”

“You’re tracking my legs now?”

“No madam… just asking—”


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“Don’t ask.”

“Just listen.”

“Yes madam.”

“Come. Kitchen.”

I turned.

He followed.


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Each step…

I felt it.

His eyes behind me.

Not touching.

But following.


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I bit my cheek.

Just a little.

Not shame.

Just control.

Because heat had returned.


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That soft heat.

Under stomach.

Not burning.

Just smouldering.

Like memory of his hand near gate.


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I shook my head.

Tiny shake.

Focus.

Only gas.

We reached the cylinder.


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“See this thing?” I said.

He nodded.

Looked down.

“I tried. It didn’t move.”

He bent.

Held top.

Lifted.


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One pull.

Done.

He walked.

Placed it near stove.

No sound.

No struggle.


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Like bucket of water.

I watched.

One second too long.

Then turned face quickly.

“Okay. Done.”


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“Yes madam.”

“Now leave.”

I walked to him.

Hand up.

Shooed.


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He blinked.

Nodded.

“Okay madam…”

Turned.

Started to go.

But I…


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I bent.

Knee down.

Hand forward.

Regulator.

Twist.

Pull.


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But—

Snap.

Sharp ache.

Lower back.

Right curve.


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“Ahh…”

Mouth opened.

Soft sound.

Hand caught stove.

Body froze.


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One second.

Still.

Pain throbbed.

I didn’t move.

Then said—

“Prakash…”


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He turned.

Fast.

Came back.

“Yes madam?”

“Come…”

He stepped closer.

Stood near.


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Face looked confused.

Worried.

“My back is hurting.”

He bent slightly.

“What happened?”

“You happened.”

“Your gas happened.”


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“This stupid metal…”

“Sorry madam…”

“Sorry won’t fix.”

“Just help.”

He smiled.

Small.

Real.


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“Tell me what to do.”

That smile.

Like he was happy.

To be needed.

I saw it.

And rolled my eyes.


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I stood up slowly.

From the edge of the counter.

One palm pressing lightly there.

Supporting.

Balancing.


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Back still hurting.

Not sharp.

Not stabbing.

But still there.

Behind the hipbone.


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Like some small stone…

Pressed under skin.

Refusing to move.

Just sitting there.

Reminding.


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I didn’t show it on my face.

No frown.

No wince.

I stood straight.

Pulled the pallu slightly.


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Smoothed it once.

Voice calm.

“Come to kitchen,” I said.

“Do one more thing.”


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He nodded.

No question.

No “what?”

No “why?”

Just nodded.


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Walked behind me again.

Soft steps.

Quiet breath.

Respectful silence.

I walked ahead.


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Inside kitchen.

I leaned.

One elbow on side shelf.

Very casual.

Pretending.

Like nothing was wrong.


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But inside?

Inside…

I was clenching.

One small corner of saree.

In my fist.


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Just holding.

Tight.

Distracting myself.

So pain won’t grow.

So desire won’t rise.


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He looked at me once.

Then at the regulator.

Then again at me.

That pause.


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That wrinkle.

Near his brow.

He had noticed something.

Maybe my face.

Maybe my posture.


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Maybe the way I stood.

Tilted slightly.

Not full straight.

But he didn’t ask.

Didn’t point.


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Smart fellow.

He just bent.

Down.

Quietly.

No noise.

No showing off.


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Held the old regulator.

Fingers soft.

Twist.

Click.

Pull.

Done.


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Then fitted the new one.

Another click.

Another twist.

Firm.

Confident.

No drama.


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Then he stood.

Looked at me once.

No words.

Just a glance.

Then bent again.


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Lifted the old cylinder.

That big, heavy thing.

Like it was nothing.

Arms went around.

Tight.


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Metal hugged.

Pulled.

Balanced.

He carried it.

Like pillow.


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I stared.

At his back.

At his shoulder.

Muscles under cloth.

Uniform stretched.


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I looked away.

Fast.

“Control,” I told myself.

“Back is hurting.”


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“And you’re looking at man’s arm?”

He walked off.

To side room.

Placed cylinder near utility shelf.

Came back.


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Hands brushed.

Lightly.

Like removing dust.

Then he asked—

Soft voice.


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“Madam…”

“Shall I make tea?”

I blinked.

“What?”


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“Tea.”

“I’ll make.”

“If… okay for you.”

I looked at him.

Eyebrows lifted.


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“Why not?”

“Already you’ve come and danced inside my kitchen.”

“Might as well do full performance.”


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He smiled.

Slight.

Not full grin.

Not shameless.

Just a small lift of cheek.


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“Where’s ginger, madam?”

“Above fridge.”

“Small piece is there.”

“Elachi?”

“Same place.”

“Yellow dappa. Back side.”


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“Cardamom?”

“That’s elachi, fool.”

“Oh… okay…”

He nodded.

Opened fridge.


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Hands moved.

Careful.

Each item placed gently.

Checked.

Sniffed.

Set aside.


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Like trained cook.

Like small househusband.

I leaned on wall.

Arms crossed.

Eyes watching.


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Back still aching.

But no wince.

I shifted weight.

Left foot to right.


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He bent.

Opened drawer.

Looking.

“Green box,” I said.

“Left of sugar dabba.”

He found it.

Pulled it.


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Set everything neatly.

Then pan.

Small one.

Poured water.

Then milk.

Then sugar.


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Started slicing ginger.

Back of spoon.

Not knife.

Small pieces.

I watched his hands.


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Thick fingers.

Dark knuckles.

Scar on left thumb.

Wrist had light hair.

Veins showed when he moved.


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That motion.

That rhythm.

I looked away.

Fast.

“Why you taking full sweet time?” I asked.


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“Tea only…”

“Sorry madam… I’m just… making properly.”

“Making properly ah?”

“You tea master or what?”


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He paused.

Then said—

“Yes madam.”

“Sometime back…”

“I worked tea stall.”

“In hometown.”

“One year.”


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I blinked.

“Seriously?”

“Hardworking, no?”

He smiled.

Small again.

Didn’t reply.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Milk boiled.

Ginger inside.

Elachi too.

Smell changed.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Kitchen filled.

Spice.

Sugar.

Soft milk warmth.

He stirred slowly.


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I didn’t sit.

Even with pain.

I just stood.

Arms still folded.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Watched him stir.

Watched shoulder move.

He reached cupboard.

Took two cups.

Plastic.

Steel.


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Turned.

“Which one, madam?”

“Steel.”

He poured.

Half.

Careful.

No spill.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Brought it to me.

Held forward.

I took.

Our fingers brushed.

One second.

Just skin to skin.


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He stepped back.

Quiet again.

I looked down.

Steam rose.

Golden brown.


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I sipped.

Softly.

Lips on rim.

Closed eyes.

Just little.

Then opened.


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Looked at him.

“Not bad,” I said.

He waited.

No answer.

No jump.

Just standing.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Another sip.

Warmth went down throat.

Ginger bite.

Elachi soft.

Milk perfect.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Even sugar.

Exactly right.

I looked again.

He was still.

Watching.

Waiting.


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“Looks like tea master didn’t forget skill,” I said.

“Thank you madam.”

“I didn’t say it’s good.”


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He nodded.

Calm.

Quiet.

Still that same soft face.


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I sipped again.

Then said slowly:

“Still… better.”

He didn’t smile.

Just dipped head.

Like bowing.


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I walked.

Toward dining table.

Cup in both hands.

Each step—

Pull behind waist.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But I didn’t limp.

Didn’t flinch.

Just walked.

Sat down slowly.


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Held the cup.

Whispered in mind:

“Perfect tea…”

“From wrong person.”

Still didn’t thank him.

Only drank.

And mocked.


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I took one last sip of the tea.

Warm.

Still.

Let it swirl softly.

All around the tongue.


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Not drinking.

Just holding.

Then—

Swallowed.

Slowly.

Felt it slide down throat.


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That was the final drop.

The end.

I looked down at the cup.

Steel.

Thin.

Soft clinking sound when I tilted it once.


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Then I held it out.

One hand.

Casual.

Like it meant nothing.

“Take it,” I said.


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He stepped forward.

One step.

Not hurrying.

Just smooth.

His fingers reached.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Collected it.

Gently.

No brushing.

No touch.

Just took.

Turned back.


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Walked to sink.

No sound from feet.

Only small clink when cup touched steel.

He opened the tap.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Ran water slow.

No splash.

Just stream.

Calm.

Quiet.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then scrubbed.

No sponge.

Only hand.

Fingers rubbed rim.

Then inside.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I leaned.

On dining table edge.

One hand pressing softly on wood.

Hip tilted.

Body angled.


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Back was still aching.

Still there.

Still whispering.

But I didn’t show.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Only my fingers curled tighter.

One small pleat in saree.

Held like thread.

Not letting go.


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I watched him.

Arms moving.

Not fast.

Just steady.

Methodical.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Elbow flexed.

Shoulder shifted.

Tap water ran down cup.

His thumb circled the rim once.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Something about it…

Wrong.

But sweet.

Strange.

Like… he belonged here.


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Then I said it.

Loud.

Sharp.

“You’re comfortable, ah?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He paused.

Looked at me.

Blink.

“Huh?”

“Cleaning cup,” I said.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Moving around.”

“Acting like it’s your home.”

“All okay for you?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“No madam… I was just—”

“Just what?”

“Making yourself at home?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“No no, madam—”

I stood.

Slowly.

Back pulled.

Pinched.


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Face stayed blank.

Only pain underneath.

Barely flinched.

But he saw.

He noticed.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He turned quickly.

Voice came.

“Madam—are you okay?”

I waved hand once.

Sharp gesture.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Don’t act concerned now.”

“Pain came again?”

“It didn’t go only.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Shall I help?”

I stared.

Blank.

Still.

“You’re going to operate, ah?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He smiled.

Small.

Not wide.

Not teasing.

Just quiet smile.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“No madam.”

“Just… I know how to press sprain spots.”

“Ohhh, doctor now?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“No madam…”

“Just little knowledge.”

“Where you got it?”

“YouTube?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He shook head once.

“Grandmother.”

“She used to fix all family pain.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Your grandmother was orthopedic surgeon or what?”

“No…”

“Just… knew tricks.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I scoffed.

Snorted air through nose.

“Except study, you did everything no?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He looked down.

Smiled again.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“That’s why ended up like this, ah?”

“Wearing this uniform.”

“Washing my cup.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He didn’t answer.

Only rinsed the glass.

Last time.

Turned it.

Placed it upside down.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Tap still dripping.

One drop.

Then another.

I stood near the chair.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Hand on backrest.

Trying to straighten spine.

One warning came.

Back twisted slightly.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I let out soft sound.

Not scream.

Just half-breath.

But he heard.

He turned.

Came near.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Where is the pain, madam?”

I looked.

Expression flat.

Then pointed.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“What will you do if I tell?”

“Just show once…”

“I’ll press.”

“That’s all.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Ohhh, you’ve done this before, is it?”

“Yes madam.”

“I helped lot of people… who used to get sprain.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Ahhh! Full service!”

“No madam.”

“Only if they asked.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“You think I’m asking?”

He paused.

Didn’t push.

Just looked.

Gently.

Soft.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I sighed.

Then moved.

One hand went to pallu.

Lifted edge.

Away from waist.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then tapped.

Back.

Lower part.

Just above curve.

“Not hips,” I said.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Here only.”

“Just above the ass.”

His eyes followed.

Traced.

Then nodded once.

“Okay, madam.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I was still sitting in the chair.

Back flat against the wooden rest.

The seat slightly hard under me.

Not soft.

Not cushioned.

Just enough.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My legs were parted slightly.

Not wide.

Just natural.

The way a saree falls when you sit.

Pleats settled in the middle.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


The petticoat pulled a bit over my thighs.

That cotton tension.

That fabric tension.

Between my knees and hips.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Hands were resting on my thighs.

Both palms flat.

Not clenched.

Not fidgeting.

Just sitting calm.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Fingers curled slightly.

Like holding quiet.

Not showing anything.

But body was not fully quiet.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Pallu was pulled forward.

Neatly.

I had arranged it myself.

Tucked just enough to cover the blouse line.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But even then—

One side had slipped.

Barely.

That edge near my left side.

Falling just a bit.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Chest was covered.

But not hidden.

The shape still showed.

The outline was there.

Breathing soft beneath the fabric.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My back was warm.

Not just from pain.

Not anymore.

It was a new kind of heat now.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Tension heat.

That one which starts under skin.

Spreads like quiet fire.

Slowly.

Without drama.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I could feel him.

Behind me.

Not touching.

Not leaning.

Just there.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Near enough.

Near enough for my skin to notice.

The hairs on my nape…

They knew.

They were standing now.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He stepped forward.

Soft.

Like foot not even touching floor.

Then said—

That same voice.

That same obedient softness.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Madam… can I?”

I turned slightly.

Neck twisted over shoulder.

Gave him that one look.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


The eyebrow lift.

Just one.

Nothing else.

“For what?” I asked.

“Honeymoon?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He blinked.

Fast.

Eyes widened slightly.

Then said:

“For pressing… that spot.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I clicked my tongue.

Sharp.

Sideways.

“Why you’re asking like scared goat?” I said.

“You want to touch or not?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Only if you allow, madam…”

He stood still.

Didn’t move closer.

Didn’t step back.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I leaned back.

One inch.

Neck touched the edge of the chair.

That curve cooled my skin.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then nodded once.

Just a small move.

“Okay,” I said.

“Go ahead.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He came closer.

Slow.

No sound.

Hands still by his side.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then slowly—

Only his right hand came up.

No rush.

No hurry.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He hovered.

Behind my back.

Not touching.

Just air.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I felt it.

The shift.

Air moved.

Pressure changed.

Before the fingers even landed.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then—

Tap.

Fingertips touched.

Centre of my lower back.

Just rested.

No push.

No rub.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I stiffened.

Not from pain.

Not from cold.

From something else.

Something deeper.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


That strange, dangerous heat.

That inner switch.

His hand was warm.

His fingers — dry, rough.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But the way he touched?

It was not greedy.

It was not wild.

It was like prayer.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Here, no?” he asked.

“No,” I said softly.

“Little higher.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He adjusted.

Didn’t ask again.

Just moved hand.

Slid up slightly.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Now—

His fingers were just above the curve of my backside.

Right where the bone dips.

Right where nerve begins.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Here?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Okay madam…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He pressed.

Not suddenly.

Not sharp.

First gentle.

Then more.

Then—

Thumb came.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


His thumb pressed sideways.

Into one line.

One nerve.

And then—

CRRKK.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


A sound.

Soft.

Inside.

Like knuckle popping.

But deeper.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I gasped.

“AYY!”

Eyes blinked fast.

Breath held.

Then released.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


The pain?

Gone.

Just gone.

Like magic.

Like sin forgiven.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I turned.

Neck twisting again.

Looked at him.

“You did that?”

He nodded.

One simple nod.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Back okay now?”

I stood.

Slowly.

Cautious.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


No flinch.

No groan.

No lean.

I was upright.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Wait wait wait…” I said.

“How you did?”

“My grandma…”

“She taught me.”

“Which bone to press…”

“Which way to twist…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“She was local doctor or what?”

“No…”

“Just home things.”

“Old village tricks.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I rolled my eyes.

“But it worked.”

“Yes madam.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I took two steps.

Light.

Easy.

Still no pain.

“Gone!” I said.

“Fully gone!”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He smiled.

Not big.

Not proud.

Just soft.

Quiet.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


As if…

Fixing me was normal.

His job.

His work.

His role.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Okay okay…” I said.

“Now what?”

“You came and did everything, no?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Yes madam.”

“Cylinder moved.”

“Gas connected.”

“Tea made.”

“Cup washed.”

“Backside pressed.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Yes madam.”

“Anything left?”

He thought.

One second.

Then shook head.

“No madam.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Good…”

I sat again.

Same chair.

But this time—

Full straight.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


No leaning.

No wincing.

Back upright.

Shoulders proud.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Chest lifted.

Pallu neat.

Face calm.

Breath even.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Just pure sitting.

Like queen.

Like actress.

No disturbance.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He stood.

Still nearby.

Still in uniform.

Still silent.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Like villain.

Not loud one.

Not dangerous.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Just waiting.

Still.

Still under control.

My control.

Exactly where I liked him.