01-12-2025, 09:48 PM
Part One: The First Crack
Chapter Four: Day 3 – Wednesday, 20 May 2020
The heat was worse today, thick and sour, the kind that made the air feel like wet cotton stuffed down the throat. At 1:58 p.m. Lakshmi’s phone rang. Mrs. Sharma from 4B, voice shrill through the speaker: her maid had tested positive, could Lakshmi please come for two hours? Double pay, emergency, please-please.
Lakshmi looked at Radha with apologetic eyes. “Didi, I’ll just go and come, forty-fifty minutes maximum…”
Radha waved her off with the magnanimity of a queen granting a favour. “Go. Sharma-ji will have a heart attack otherwise. Lock the front door from outside, I’ll open when you ring.”
The lift doors closed on Lakshmi at 2:03 p.m. The flat fell into a sudden, humming silence.
Radha stood in the corridor for a full minute, listening to her own pulse. Then she walked to the study.
Nikhil was already at the table, notebook open, but the pen lay untouched. He stood the moment she appeared, the way he had been trained for fourteen years.
She did not tell him to sit.
Instead she placed the Ludo board in the centre of the dining table (same place, same faded colours) and pulled out her chair.
Today she wore a bottle-green saree, thin as onion skin, no sleeveless blouse this time, just a regular short-sleeved one the colour of wet moss. But the fabric clung everywhere: waist, hips, the heavy sway of her breasts.
She sat. He sat.
She spoke first, voice low, almost conversational.
“Lakshmi won’t be back for at least forty minutes. That gives us time for a proper game.”
Nikhil swallowed. The sound was audible.
She opened the box, let the tokens spill.
“New rule today. Loser does ten push-ups. On the marble. No knee cheating. Agreed?”
He nodded, eyes already bright.
They played.
First game: Radha won in five minutes. She leaned back, folded her arms under her breasts.
“Floor.”
Nikhil dropped instantly. One… two… three… His college shirt stretched tight across his back; sweat darkened the cotton between his shoulder blades. Radha counted slowly, deliberately, letting each number linger.
“…eight… nine… ten. Up.”
He rose, breathing hard, hair stuck to his forehead.
Second game: she let him win, but made him fight for it.
When his last token reached home he looked up, half expecting a trap.
She smiled, small and dangerous.
“My turn.”
She slipped off her sandals, placed her palms flat on the cool marble, and executed ten perfect push-ups. The saree pallu fell forward with every dip, brushing the floor; the blouse pulled tight across her back, outlining the bra strap and the soft flesh beneath.
Nikhil’s mouth went dry.
At the tenth push-up she stayed low for an extra second, then rose gracefully.
“Your deal,” she said.
Third game.
Halfway through she leaned across to move a token and let the pallu slip again (this time deliberately, but slowly enough to look accidental).
The green blouse had three hooks at the front; the top one had mysteriously come undone sometime between breakfast and now. When the pallu fell away, the blouse gaped just enough to reveal the inner curves of both breasts pressed together by the tight bra, a single bead of sweat sliding down into shadow.
She stayed in that position (arm extended, body angled toward him) for six full seconds.
Nikhil’s dice slipped from his fingers again. This time it rolled all the way to the floor and kept going until it disappeared under the sofa.
He didn’t even notice.
His eyes were locked on the open blouse, pupils blown wide, lips parted. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Radha counted silently (one… two… three… four… five… six…) then straightened, pulled the pallu back into place, and hooked the blouse closed with calm fingers.
“Dice is under the sofa,” she said mildly. “Go fetch.”
He dropped to his knees, crawled, fumbled blindly until he found it. When he came back up his face was scarlet and his breathing ragged.
She won that game.
He did another ten push-ups. This time when he was on the floor she stepped forward and placed one bare foot lightly between his shoulder blades (just enough pressure to remind him who she still was).
“Form, Nikhil. Back straight. Or we start again.”
He groaned into the marble but obeyed.
Fourth game.
She lost on purpose, spectacularly.
When his final token reached home he looked at her, waiting for the order.
Radha stood, walked to the centre of the room, and lowered herself to the floor.
Ten push-ups.
But this time she let the pallu fall completely off one shoulder and stay there. Every time she went down, the blouse strained; every time she came up, her breasts rose like an offering.
Nikhil stood rooted, fists clenched at his sides, watching every movement with the hunger of a boy who had never been allowed to want anything.
At the tenth push-up she stayed low again, arms locked, face inches from the floor, then looked up at him through the fallen strands of her hair.
“Time?” she asked, voice husky.
He couldn’t speak. He just shook his head.
She rose slowly, let the pallu hang loose for another three heartbeats, then dbangd it back.
The front door buzzed. Lakshmi was early.
Radha smoothed her saree, adjusted the pallu perfectly, and walked to the intercom as if nothing had happened.
She pressed the button. “Aa jao, Lakshmi.”
Then, without turning around, she spoke to the boy still standing in the middle of the room, breathing like he had run a marathon.
“Tomorrow she goes to two flats. We will have ninety minutes.”
She paused at the doorway, looked back over her shoulder.
“Bring water. You’ll need it.”
Nikhil stood alone among the scattered tokens, the taste of Roohafza still on his tongue and the image of Radha Ma’am doing push-ups with her pallu down burned forever behind his eyes.
Day 3 was over.
Forty minutes of innocence had been quietly, surgically murdered.
And both of them were already counting the hours until tomorrow.
Chapter Four: Day 3 – Wednesday, 20 May 2020
The heat was worse today, thick and sour, the kind that made the air feel like wet cotton stuffed down the throat. At 1:58 p.m. Lakshmi’s phone rang. Mrs. Sharma from 4B, voice shrill through the speaker: her maid had tested positive, could Lakshmi please come for two hours? Double pay, emergency, please-please.
Lakshmi looked at Radha with apologetic eyes. “Didi, I’ll just go and come, forty-fifty minutes maximum…”
Radha waved her off with the magnanimity of a queen granting a favour. “Go. Sharma-ji will have a heart attack otherwise. Lock the front door from outside, I’ll open when you ring.”
The lift doors closed on Lakshmi at 2:03 p.m. The flat fell into a sudden, humming silence.
Radha stood in the corridor for a full minute, listening to her own pulse. Then she walked to the study.
Nikhil was already at the table, notebook open, but the pen lay untouched. He stood the moment she appeared, the way he had been trained for fourteen years.
She did not tell him to sit.
Instead she placed the Ludo board in the centre of the dining table (same place, same faded colours) and pulled out her chair.
Today she wore a bottle-green saree, thin as onion skin, no sleeveless blouse this time, just a regular short-sleeved one the colour of wet moss. But the fabric clung everywhere: waist, hips, the heavy sway of her breasts.
She sat. He sat.
She spoke first, voice low, almost conversational.
“Lakshmi won’t be back for at least forty minutes. That gives us time for a proper game.”
Nikhil swallowed. The sound was audible.
She opened the box, let the tokens spill.
“New rule today. Loser does ten push-ups. On the marble. No knee cheating. Agreed?”
He nodded, eyes already bright.
They played.
First game: Radha won in five minutes. She leaned back, folded her arms under her breasts.
“Floor.”
Nikhil dropped instantly. One… two… three… His college shirt stretched tight across his back; sweat darkened the cotton between his shoulder blades. Radha counted slowly, deliberately, letting each number linger.
“…eight… nine… ten. Up.”
He rose, breathing hard, hair stuck to his forehead.
Second game: she let him win, but made him fight for it.
When his last token reached home he looked up, half expecting a trap.
She smiled, small and dangerous.
“My turn.”
She slipped off her sandals, placed her palms flat on the cool marble, and executed ten perfect push-ups. The saree pallu fell forward with every dip, brushing the floor; the blouse pulled tight across her back, outlining the bra strap and the soft flesh beneath.
Nikhil’s mouth went dry.
At the tenth push-up she stayed low for an extra second, then rose gracefully.
“Your deal,” she said.
Third game.
Halfway through she leaned across to move a token and let the pallu slip again (this time deliberately, but slowly enough to look accidental).
The green blouse had three hooks at the front; the top one had mysteriously come undone sometime between breakfast and now. When the pallu fell away, the blouse gaped just enough to reveal the inner curves of both breasts pressed together by the tight bra, a single bead of sweat sliding down into shadow.
She stayed in that position (arm extended, body angled toward him) for six full seconds.
Nikhil’s dice slipped from his fingers again. This time it rolled all the way to the floor and kept going until it disappeared under the sofa.
He didn’t even notice.
His eyes were locked on the open blouse, pupils blown wide, lips parted. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Radha counted silently (one… two… three… four… five… six…) then straightened, pulled the pallu back into place, and hooked the blouse closed with calm fingers.
“Dice is under the sofa,” she said mildly. “Go fetch.”
He dropped to his knees, crawled, fumbled blindly until he found it. When he came back up his face was scarlet and his breathing ragged.
She won that game.
He did another ten push-ups. This time when he was on the floor she stepped forward and placed one bare foot lightly between his shoulder blades (just enough pressure to remind him who she still was).
“Form, Nikhil. Back straight. Or we start again.”
He groaned into the marble but obeyed.
Fourth game.
She lost on purpose, spectacularly.
When his final token reached home he looked at her, waiting for the order.
Radha stood, walked to the centre of the room, and lowered herself to the floor.
Ten push-ups.
But this time she let the pallu fall completely off one shoulder and stay there. Every time she went down, the blouse strained; every time she came up, her breasts rose like an offering.
Nikhil stood rooted, fists clenched at his sides, watching every movement with the hunger of a boy who had never been allowed to want anything.
At the tenth push-up she stayed low again, arms locked, face inches from the floor, then looked up at him through the fallen strands of her hair.
“Time?” she asked, voice husky.
He couldn’t speak. He just shook his head.
She rose slowly, let the pallu hang loose for another three heartbeats, then dbangd it back.
The front door buzzed. Lakshmi was early.
Radha smoothed her saree, adjusted the pallu perfectly, and walked to the intercom as if nothing had happened.
She pressed the button. “Aa jao, Lakshmi.”
Then, without turning around, she spoke to the boy still standing in the middle of the room, breathing like he had run a marathon.
“Tomorrow she goes to two flats. We will have ninety minutes.”
She paused at the doorway, looked back over her shoulder.
“Bring water. You’ll need it.”
Nikhil stood alone among the scattered tokens, the taste of Roohafza still on his tongue and the image of Radha Ma’am doing push-ups with her pallu down burned forever behind his eyes.
Day 3 was over.
Forty minutes of innocence had been quietly, surgically murdered.
And both of them were already counting the hours until tomorrow.
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