26-09-2025, 06:57 PM
Kumar Menon is 32 years old, but already he looks older than his years. A faint shadow of sleeplessness clings to his eyes, the kind that no ironed shirt or carefully knotted tie could hide. In his neighbourhood, everyone still speaks of him with pride. His parents never tire of saying it. “Assistant Manager,” his father announces to nosy relatives, as if the words themselves could purchase respect.
But Kumar knows the reality. The banking job that once promised dignity and security has become a noose. His mornings begin not with the sun but with his phone buzzing beside his pillow. WhatsApp messages from his regional manager, fresh with updated targets, reminders about insurance sales, instructions to push credit cards harder this week. By the time he reaches the branch, tie already tugging at his neck, his mind carries the weight of numbers he can never quite catch.
Once, not long ago, banking had been his dream. He remembers the pride in his father’s voice when he got promoted: Assistant Manager, probationary officer. Neighbours congratulated his family as though Kumar had won a medal for the whole street. Back then, he believed in the promise: job security, respect, a clean desk inside his cubicle keeping him safe from the afternoon heat.
But reality is different. Now, every day feels like a race he can’t win. By evening, he is still smiling at customers while his jaw aches. His reports pile higher, phone calls stretch later, and some nights he leaves the branch when the street outside is already taken over by dogs. At the branch, he balances between charming customers and bullying juniors into meeting quotas. Lunch breaks vanish into loan verifications or client meetings. His evenings extend past 9 p.m sometimes, often followed by calls with irate clients or late-night Zoom reviews with higher-ups.
And then there is Tulip. His fiancée. The one bright part of his future, the promise that something beautiful is waiting beyond the bank walls. Kumar thinks of her often when the work grinds him down. Her laughter quick and unrestrained, her presence filling a room before she even speaks. And her body, how could he not think of it? The long sweep of her legs, the tilt of her hips, the curve of her breasts pressing against fabric as if daring the world to look.
Sometimes he lies in bed at night, eyes shut, replaying the way her dupatta slips when she bends to pour tea, the subtle sway of her waist when she walks beside him. Desire for her burns like a secret he carries in his chest, raw and insistent. He knows she is far too gorgeous for him, yet she is promised to be his. That thought alone, Tulip sensual and untamed, soon to share his bed, makes him feel like the luckiest man alive.
Their courtship has been stolen from them, reduced to hurried phone calls, conversations cut short by the ping of another WhatsApp message. Sometimes he fears she will notice the truth he hides: that this job has carved hollows in him, left him thinner in spirit than he was just a few years ago.
When someone asks, “When’s the wedding, Kumar?” he smiles dutifully. But when he lies awake at night in his rented flat, staring at the fan whirring above him, it isn’t only the exhaustion that keeps him restless. It is Tulip’s image, her body etched into his mind, and the gnawing doubt of whether her laughter, her desire, her very essence can really survive the life that is consuming him.
________________________________________________________________________
Kumar is sitting across a client in a modest living room at the client's house, a stack of brochures neatly arranged on the table. The client, a middle-aged man with a hesitant expression, is trying to understand what ULIP is . Poor fellow only wanted to open an account!! Kumar was giving his rehearsed answers and his phone buzzes insistently in his pocket. He glances at the screen. Tulip.
He swipes it open, reading her bubbly text: *“Done with my lehenga, coming to Baskin Robbins! Priya is tagging along. Can’t wait to see you! ??”*
Shoot!! He forgot all about their meet-up plan.
Kumar feels a jolt of warmth, a rush that makes the meticulously prepared talking points blur into insignificance. He taps back, deliberately vague: *“Sounds good, see you soon.”*
He glances at the client, a mild panic rising. The man is clearly expecting a persuasive sales pitch, but Kumar knows his mind won’t be on the insurance plan, not today. He pushes the brochures aside. “We can go over the details later,” he says smoothly, masking his internal rebellion.
By the time he steps out of the client’s home, he’s on his bike, engine humming beneath him. Every turn, every acceleration is driven by anticipation of meeting Tulip.
Outside the ice cream parlour, Tulip is already animated, waving when she spots the approaching bike. Priya nudges her sister playfully, teasing, “Look who finally remembered! My jiju rushing to save your ice cream date.”
Tulip giggles, bouncing on her heels. “He always makes it in time, Priya. Don’t worry, I knew he’d come.” Her voice is light, melodic, brimming with love, and Kumar’s chest swells as he parks the bike.
He steps up beside them, sliding the helmet off, and greets her with a grin. “Hey, you two,” he says, casual, but his eyes are fixed on Tulip, drinking in her happiness.
Priya smirks knowingly. “So, Mister Assistant Manager, how does it feel to finally see your bride-to-be without spreadsheets and insurance forms between you?”
Tulip elbows Priya playfully, still laughing. “Kumar, ignore her. She is being bratty."
Kumar laughs, brushing an errant strand of hair from Tulip’s face. “You always are,” he says softly, pulling her gently into a quick hug before she can tease him back.
Priya pretends to swoon dramatically. “Ah, the perfect couple! This wedding is going to be one for the books. Dee, keep him in check!”
Tulip laughs, leaning into Kumar as they step inside for ice cream. “I will. Don’t worry,” she says to him, eyes sparkling.
Kumar shakes his head, grinning. “let's go inside,” he says. Inside, he’s thinking that nothing in the world could pull him away from this moment. No client, no targets, nothing. Just her.
Inside the ice-cream shop, the air is sweet and cool, humming with soft music and the chatter of evening customers.
Tulip loops her arm through Kumar’s, tugging him toward the counter with a little skip in her step, while Priya trails behind, smirking at the display of affection.
Kumar clears his throat “Ladies, what’s the order today? The usual?”
Tulip answers without hesitation, “Chocolate chip cookie .”
Priya adds, “And for me, Jamoca Almond Fudge, obviously. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”
Kumar smiles. “Right, right. Chocolate chip cookie for my Lady, Jamoca Almond Fudge for the critic.”
Priya raises an eyebrow. “Critic?”
“Of me,” Kumar says with a laugh. “Always of me.”
He scans the tubs behind the glass, the riot of colors and names, and pauses. “You know what… I’m trying something new today.” He points at a tub swirling with ribbons of purple and raisins within it. “Black currant . Why not?”
Priya gasps in mock-dramatic fashion. “Oh no! Did you hear that, Dee? Jiju is changing his usual flavour...no cotton candy today. Today it’s black currant , tomorrow Belgian bliss ,and then Vanilla affair ..then who knows?”
She leans close, stage whispering, “The way he is changing his flavour,Dee ...jiju may end up with two-three side chicks.”
Tulip lets out a scandalized laugh, cheeks flushing pink. “Priya!”
Kumar nearly chokes, his ears going red. “What? No! Absolutely not!”
Priya claps her hands, delighted at his fluster. “See? I only teased, but he’s already defending himself like he’s guilty.”
Tulip giggles and sides with her sister, eyes twinkling. “Mmm, she might be right. Maybe he’ll get tired of chocolate chip cookie dough & cotton candy… tired of me.” She lowers her voice playfully, glancing at Kumar through her lashes. “Will you, Kumar?”
He shakes his head furiously, leaning forward, his voice a low rumble meant only for her. “Never. You’re all I’ll ever want.”
Priya groans theatrically. “Ugh, too sweet. I will need an extra scoop to wash this syrup off.”
They take their ice-creams to a booth . Tulip curls into the seat beside Kumar, while Priya flops across from them, legs crossed casually.
Tulip licks her ice cream with lazy delight, not self-conscious at all, but Kumar’s gaze keeps flicking down to her mouth. The way her lips close over the edge of the scoop, the glisten left behind before her tongue darts to catch a drip. She hums in contentment, a little sound that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Priya notices his stolen glances and smirks. “Careful, jiju. If you stare at her like that in public, people will know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Tulip gasps softly, half-embarrassed, half-delighted, and swats Priya’s arm across the table. “Stop it!”
Kumar clears his throat, forcing his gaze back to his own cone. “I’m just making sure she doesn’t drip chocolate on her dress,” he says, too earnest to be convincing.
“Uh-huh,” Priya drawls, rolling her eyes. “Protective husband mode already. But seriously, Dee, see how he tries new flavours but pretends he’ll stick with only you?” She winks at Kumar.
Tulip leans against him, her shoulder brushing his, warmth seeping into him. “He’ll stick with me. I know it.” She looks up at him, smiling wide, and for a moment the teasing fades into something real, soft and intimate.
Kumar feels the knot of work stress loosen, feels himself anchored by her presence. In that tiny booth, with ice cream melting faster than they can eat, he knows he’d abandon a thousand clients just to sit here and watch her laugh, watch her lick chocolate from her lips, watch her glow in ways she doesn’t even realize.
But Kumar knows the reality. The banking job that once promised dignity and security has become a noose. His mornings begin not with the sun but with his phone buzzing beside his pillow. WhatsApp messages from his regional manager, fresh with updated targets, reminders about insurance sales, instructions to push credit cards harder this week. By the time he reaches the branch, tie already tugging at his neck, his mind carries the weight of numbers he can never quite catch.
Once, not long ago, banking had been his dream. He remembers the pride in his father’s voice when he got promoted: Assistant Manager, probationary officer. Neighbours congratulated his family as though Kumar had won a medal for the whole street. Back then, he believed in the promise: job security, respect, a clean desk inside his cubicle keeping him safe from the afternoon heat.
But reality is different. Now, every day feels like a race he can’t win. By evening, he is still smiling at customers while his jaw aches. His reports pile higher, phone calls stretch later, and some nights he leaves the branch when the street outside is already taken over by dogs. At the branch, he balances between charming customers and bullying juniors into meeting quotas. Lunch breaks vanish into loan verifications or client meetings. His evenings extend past 9 p.m sometimes, often followed by calls with irate clients or late-night Zoom reviews with higher-ups.
And then there is Tulip. His fiancée. The one bright part of his future, the promise that something beautiful is waiting beyond the bank walls. Kumar thinks of her often when the work grinds him down. Her laughter quick and unrestrained, her presence filling a room before she even speaks. And her body, how could he not think of it? The long sweep of her legs, the tilt of her hips, the curve of her breasts pressing against fabric as if daring the world to look.
Sometimes he lies in bed at night, eyes shut, replaying the way her dupatta slips when she bends to pour tea, the subtle sway of her waist when she walks beside him. Desire for her burns like a secret he carries in his chest, raw and insistent. He knows she is far too gorgeous for him, yet she is promised to be his. That thought alone, Tulip sensual and untamed, soon to share his bed, makes him feel like the luckiest man alive.
Their courtship has been stolen from them, reduced to hurried phone calls, conversations cut short by the ping of another WhatsApp message. Sometimes he fears she will notice the truth he hides: that this job has carved hollows in him, left him thinner in spirit than he was just a few years ago.
When someone asks, “When’s the wedding, Kumar?” he smiles dutifully. But when he lies awake at night in his rented flat, staring at the fan whirring above him, it isn’t only the exhaustion that keeps him restless. It is Tulip’s image, her body etched into his mind, and the gnawing doubt of whether her laughter, her desire, her very essence can really survive the life that is consuming him.
________________________________________________________________________
Kumar is sitting across a client in a modest living room at the client's house, a stack of brochures neatly arranged on the table. The client, a middle-aged man with a hesitant expression, is trying to understand what ULIP is . Poor fellow only wanted to open an account!! Kumar was giving his rehearsed answers and his phone buzzes insistently in his pocket. He glances at the screen. Tulip.
He swipes it open, reading her bubbly text: *“Done with my lehenga, coming to Baskin Robbins! Priya is tagging along. Can’t wait to see you! ??”*
Shoot!! He forgot all about their meet-up plan.
Kumar feels a jolt of warmth, a rush that makes the meticulously prepared talking points blur into insignificance. He taps back, deliberately vague: *“Sounds good, see you soon.”*
He glances at the client, a mild panic rising. The man is clearly expecting a persuasive sales pitch, but Kumar knows his mind won’t be on the insurance plan, not today. He pushes the brochures aside. “We can go over the details later,” he says smoothly, masking his internal rebellion.
By the time he steps out of the client’s home, he’s on his bike, engine humming beneath him. Every turn, every acceleration is driven by anticipation of meeting Tulip.
Outside the ice cream parlour, Tulip is already animated, waving when she spots the approaching bike. Priya nudges her sister playfully, teasing, “Look who finally remembered! My jiju rushing to save your ice cream date.”
Tulip giggles, bouncing on her heels. “He always makes it in time, Priya. Don’t worry, I knew he’d come.” Her voice is light, melodic, brimming with love, and Kumar’s chest swells as he parks the bike.
He steps up beside them, sliding the helmet off, and greets her with a grin. “Hey, you two,” he says, casual, but his eyes are fixed on Tulip, drinking in her happiness.
Priya smirks knowingly. “So, Mister Assistant Manager, how does it feel to finally see your bride-to-be without spreadsheets and insurance forms between you?”
Tulip elbows Priya playfully, still laughing. “Kumar, ignore her. She is being bratty."
Kumar laughs, brushing an errant strand of hair from Tulip’s face. “You always are,” he says softly, pulling her gently into a quick hug before she can tease him back.
Priya pretends to swoon dramatically. “Ah, the perfect couple! This wedding is going to be one for the books. Dee, keep him in check!”
Tulip laughs, leaning into Kumar as they step inside for ice cream. “I will. Don’t worry,” she says to him, eyes sparkling.
Kumar shakes his head, grinning. “let's go inside,” he says. Inside, he’s thinking that nothing in the world could pull him away from this moment. No client, no targets, nothing. Just her.
Inside the ice-cream shop, the air is sweet and cool, humming with soft music and the chatter of evening customers.
Tulip loops her arm through Kumar’s, tugging him toward the counter with a little skip in her step, while Priya trails behind, smirking at the display of affection.
Kumar clears his throat “Ladies, what’s the order today? The usual?”
Tulip answers without hesitation, “Chocolate chip cookie .”
Priya adds, “And for me, Jamoca Almond Fudge, obviously. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”
Kumar smiles. “Right, right. Chocolate chip cookie for my Lady, Jamoca Almond Fudge for the critic.”
Priya raises an eyebrow. “Critic?”
“Of me,” Kumar says with a laugh. “Always of me.”
He scans the tubs behind the glass, the riot of colors and names, and pauses. “You know what… I’m trying something new today.” He points at a tub swirling with ribbons of purple and raisins within it. “Black currant . Why not?”
Priya gasps in mock-dramatic fashion. “Oh no! Did you hear that, Dee? Jiju is changing his usual flavour...no cotton candy today. Today it’s black currant , tomorrow Belgian bliss ,and then Vanilla affair ..then who knows?”
She leans close, stage whispering, “The way he is changing his flavour,Dee ...jiju may end up with two-three side chicks.”
Tulip lets out a scandalized laugh, cheeks flushing pink. “Priya!”
Kumar nearly chokes, his ears going red. “What? No! Absolutely not!”
Priya claps her hands, delighted at his fluster. “See? I only teased, but he’s already defending himself like he’s guilty.”
Tulip giggles and sides with her sister, eyes twinkling. “Mmm, she might be right. Maybe he’ll get tired of chocolate chip cookie dough & cotton candy… tired of me.” She lowers her voice playfully, glancing at Kumar through her lashes. “Will you, Kumar?”
He shakes his head furiously, leaning forward, his voice a low rumble meant only for her. “Never. You’re all I’ll ever want.”
Priya groans theatrically. “Ugh, too sweet. I will need an extra scoop to wash this syrup off.”
They take their ice-creams to a booth . Tulip curls into the seat beside Kumar, while Priya flops across from them, legs crossed casually.
Tulip licks her ice cream with lazy delight, not self-conscious at all, but Kumar’s gaze keeps flicking down to her mouth. The way her lips close over the edge of the scoop, the glisten left behind before her tongue darts to catch a drip. She hums in contentment, a little sound that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Priya notices his stolen glances and smirks. “Careful, jiju. If you stare at her like that in public, people will know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Tulip gasps softly, half-embarrassed, half-delighted, and swats Priya’s arm across the table. “Stop it!”
Kumar clears his throat, forcing his gaze back to his own cone. “I’m just making sure she doesn’t drip chocolate on her dress,” he says, too earnest to be convincing.
“Uh-huh,” Priya drawls, rolling her eyes. “Protective husband mode already. But seriously, Dee, see how he tries new flavours but pretends he’ll stick with only you?” She winks at Kumar.
Tulip leans against him, her shoulder brushing his, warmth seeping into him. “He’ll stick with me. I know it.” She looks up at him, smiling wide, and for a moment the teasing fades into something real, soft and intimate.
Kumar feels the knot of work stress loosen, feels himself anchored by her presence. In that tiny booth, with ice cream melting faster than they can eat, he knows he’d abandon a thousand clients just to sit here and watch her laugh, watch her lick chocolate from her lips, watch her glow in ways she doesn’t even realize.
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