01-12-2025, 09:49 PM
Part One: The First Crack
Chapter Five: Day 4 – Thursday, 21 May 2020
The morning began with a small, deliberate ritual.
Radha woke at six, bathed in cold water, and stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. She chose a plain white cotton saree (so thin it was almost translucent when the light hit it right) and a matching blouse with tiny hooks down the front. She left the top two hooks undone, then fastened a light safety pin so the gap would stay hidden until she wanted it open. She told herself it was for the heat. She lied very well.
At 1:47 p.m. Lakshmi’s phone rang twice in quick succession: Mrs. Sharma again, and now Mrs. Gupta from 7B (both maids down, both desperate). Lakshmi looked pleadingly at Radha.
“Didi, they’ll pay triple. I’ll be back by four-thirty, pakka.”
Radha gave permission with the calm of a woman who had rehearsed this moment in her head all night.
The door closed at 1:55. The lock clicked. The flat fell into a hush so complete she could hear the clock in the living room ticking.
She walked to the study.
Nikhil was already standing (he had been standing since 1:50, notebook open, pen uncapped, pretending to revise circles). The moment she appeared he straightened like a soldier.
Today she did not speak immediately. She placed the Ludo board on the dining table, took her chair, and only then looked at him.
“Sit.”
He sat.
She opened the box slowly, let the tokens fall with soft wooden clatters.
“New rule today,” she said, voice low and steady. “Loser removes one small thing: tie, watch, bangle, hair-clip. Nothing major. If at any point you want to stop, say the word and we go back to push-ups forever. No questions, no punishment. Understood?”
Nikhil’s throat worked. He stared at the table for a long moment, then nodded.
“Words, Nikhil.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he whispered.
She rolled first. A three.
They played.
First game: he lost.
His fingers shook so badly he could barely unknot the college tie. He folded it into a perfect square and placed it in the centre of the table like an offering.
Radha’s eyes flicked to the small pile: one blue tie. She said nothing, just rolled again.
Second game: she lost on purpose.
She removed the thin gold bangle from her right wrist, let it clink softly beside his tie.
Two items now. Side by side.
Third game: he lost again.
He hesitated, then slid off his analogue watch (cheap Titan, probably a birthday gift) and placed it on the growing pile.
Three items.
Fourth game.
She leaned forward to move a token. The safety pin on her blouse “accidentally” caught on the edge of the board and came loose.
The two undone hooks opened.
The blouse parted just enough to reveal the inner curves of both breasts pressed together by a simple white bra, the faint shadow between them, the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
She stayed in that position (arm extended, torso angled) for seven deliberate seconds.
Nikhil’s dice fell from his hand and rolled in circles, forgotten.
His eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the open blouse as if the world had narrowed to that single strip of skin.
Seven seconds.
On the eighth she straightened, casually re-hooked the blouse, and re-pinned the pallu.
“Clumsy of me,” she murmured.
Nikhil swallowed audibly.
She won that game.
He removed his second bangle (her left wrist this time). Now the pile held: tie, watch, two gold bangles.
Fifth game.
She lost spectacularly.
She removed both her small gold earrings, placed them gently on the pile.
Six items now. Three of his, three of hers. A perfect, silent balance.
The clock on the wall showed 2:41 p.m. They had fifty minutes left.
Radha looked at the small collection of their things lying together and felt something inside her chest tighten and burn.
She spoke very softly.
“One more game. If you win, you may choose what I remove next. If I win… I choose what you remove.”
Nikhil’s breath hitched.
He rolled the dice with a hand that barely functioned.
Six. Six again. Another six.
His last token raced home.
He won.
Silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.
Radha looked at him across the table, eyes steady.
“Well?” she asked. “What will it be?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
His voice came out cracked and raw.
“Your… your pallu, Ma’am.”
She did not flinch.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the pallu from her shoulder and let it slide down her arm until it rested on the table like a white flag of surrender.
The blouse was fully visible now: thin cotton, damp in places, clinging to the shape of her bra, the outline of her nipples just beginning to show.
She sat back, hands in her lap, and let him look.
Twenty full seconds.
No words. Only the sound of his breathing and the ticking clock.
At the end of the twentieth second she picked up the pallu again, dbangd it loosely (not pinned, not tucked, just resting) and spoke.
“Time is running out. Lakshmi will be back soon.”
She stood, gathered the tokens, closed the box.
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached across and touched the small pile of their belongings (tie, watch, bangles, earrings) with two fingers.
“Leave these here,” she said. “Tomorrow we continue from where we left off.”
She walked away without looking back.
Nikhil remained seated, staring at the little altar of their discarded things, the white pallu still lying where she had left it like a promise.
Day 4 was over.
Six innocent objects lay between them on the teak table. And the distance from teacher and student had shrunk to the width of a fallen pallu.
Tomorrow, ninety minutes. Tomorrow, the next layer.
Neither of them would sleep tonight.
Chapter Five: Day 4 – Thursday, 21 May 2020
The morning began with a small, deliberate ritual.
Radha woke at six, bathed in cold water, and stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. She chose a plain white cotton saree (so thin it was almost translucent when the light hit it right) and a matching blouse with tiny hooks down the front. She left the top two hooks undone, then fastened a light safety pin so the gap would stay hidden until she wanted it open. She told herself it was for the heat. She lied very well.
At 1:47 p.m. Lakshmi’s phone rang twice in quick succession: Mrs. Sharma again, and now Mrs. Gupta from 7B (both maids down, both desperate). Lakshmi looked pleadingly at Radha.
“Didi, they’ll pay triple. I’ll be back by four-thirty, pakka.”
Radha gave permission with the calm of a woman who had rehearsed this moment in her head all night.
The door closed at 1:55. The lock clicked. The flat fell into a hush so complete she could hear the clock in the living room ticking.
She walked to the study.
Nikhil was already standing (he had been standing since 1:50, notebook open, pen uncapped, pretending to revise circles). The moment she appeared he straightened like a soldier.
Today she did not speak immediately. She placed the Ludo board on the dining table, took her chair, and only then looked at him.
“Sit.”
He sat.
She opened the box slowly, let the tokens fall with soft wooden clatters.
“New rule today,” she said, voice low and steady. “Loser removes one small thing: tie, watch, bangle, hair-clip. Nothing major. If at any point you want to stop, say the word and we go back to push-ups forever. No questions, no punishment. Understood?”
Nikhil’s throat worked. He stared at the table for a long moment, then nodded.
“Words, Nikhil.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he whispered.
She rolled first. A three.
They played.
First game: he lost.
His fingers shook so badly he could barely unknot the college tie. He folded it into a perfect square and placed it in the centre of the table like an offering.
Radha’s eyes flicked to the small pile: one blue tie. She said nothing, just rolled again.
Second game: she lost on purpose.
She removed the thin gold bangle from her right wrist, let it clink softly beside his tie.
Two items now. Side by side.
Third game: he lost again.
He hesitated, then slid off his analogue watch (cheap Titan, probably a birthday gift) and placed it on the growing pile.
Three items.
Fourth game.
She leaned forward to move a token. The safety pin on her blouse “accidentally” caught on the edge of the board and came loose.
The two undone hooks opened.
The blouse parted just enough to reveal the inner curves of both breasts pressed together by a simple white bra, the faint shadow between them, the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
She stayed in that position (arm extended, torso angled) for seven deliberate seconds.
Nikhil’s dice fell from his hand and rolled in circles, forgotten.
His eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the open blouse as if the world had narrowed to that single strip of skin.
Seven seconds.
On the eighth she straightened, casually re-hooked the blouse, and re-pinned the pallu.
“Clumsy of me,” she murmured.
Nikhil swallowed audibly.
She won that game.
He removed his second bangle (her left wrist this time). Now the pile held: tie, watch, two gold bangles.
Fifth game.
She lost spectacularly.
She removed both her small gold earrings, placed them gently on the pile.
Six items now. Three of his, three of hers. A perfect, silent balance.
The clock on the wall showed 2:41 p.m. They had fifty minutes left.
Radha looked at the small collection of their things lying together and felt something inside her chest tighten and burn.
She spoke very softly.
“One more game. If you win, you may choose what I remove next. If I win… I choose what you remove.”
Nikhil’s breath hitched.
He rolled the dice with a hand that barely functioned.
Six. Six again. Another six.
His last token raced home.
He won.
Silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.
Radha looked at him across the table, eyes steady.
“Well?” she asked. “What will it be?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
His voice came out cracked and raw.
“Your… your pallu, Ma’am.”
She did not flinch.
Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the pallu from her shoulder and let it slide down her arm until it rested on the table like a white flag of surrender.
The blouse was fully visible now: thin cotton, damp in places, clinging to the shape of her bra, the outline of her nipples just beginning to show.
She sat back, hands in her lap, and let him look.
Twenty full seconds.
No words. Only the sound of his breathing and the ticking clock.
At the end of the twentieth second she picked up the pallu again, dbangd it loosely (not pinned, not tucked, just resting) and spoke.
“Time is running out. Lakshmi will be back soon.”
She stood, gathered the tokens, closed the box.
Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached across and touched the small pile of their belongings (tie, watch, bangles, earrings) with two fingers.
“Leave these here,” she said. “Tomorrow we continue from where we left off.”
She walked away without looking back.
Nikhil remained seated, staring at the little altar of their discarded things, the white pallu still lying where she had left it like a promise.
Day 4 was over.
Six innocent objects lay between them on the teak table. And the distance from teacher and student had shrunk to the width of a fallen pallu.
Tomorrow, ninety minutes. Tomorrow, the next layer.
Neither of them would sleep tonight.
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