06-02-2026, 01:45 PM
Next Day
The morning was calm after the night’s bed tension. Mother was sitting in the living room, sipping her tea, when Taau announced he was preparing to leave.
“Arre, I think I should start back,” Taau said, stretching lazily. “Got to catch my train before it gets too late.”
Mother looked up, a playful glint in her eyes. “Hmm… But why are you in such a hurry today? You were planning to stay longer, no?”
Taau smiled faintly, unsure how much to reveal. “Well… some errands… family matters… you know.”
Before the conversation could go further, the phone rang. Father’s voice was brisk on the line, urgency underlined in every word. “I need to leave town immediately. Officer work… very important. Can’t be avoided.”
Almost immediately, Uncle’s voice came from his end. “I also need to leave. There’s a pending ritual of my first wife. It has to be done today. No one else can take care of it.”
Mother glanced between the two of them, a small, satisfied smile forming. Their usual protective instincts had been so obvious yesterday, and now without realizing both men were leaving her in the house alone with Taau.
“Then… you want me to stay here alone?” she asked casually, trying to mask the sudden excitement she felt.
“No” Father’s voice said pointing at taau. “Stay with her until we return. Take care of her while we are away.”
Uncle echoed the sentiment. “Don’t worry about anything. Just… keep her company.”
Mother looked at Taau, feeling a mixture of mischief and curiosity. He was sitting there, pretending calm, but she could sense a quiet tension, something unspoken, lingering.
Taau’s heartbeat skipped a little. He tried to respond casually, but the look in her eyes made him swallow hard. This was going to be interesting, he realized.
Mother chuckled softly to herself. With both Father and Uncle gone, the house suddenly felt like a playground of small, silent games, glances, and subtle testing of limits—just the way she liked it.
The house did not feel empty after Father and Uncle left. It felt paused, as if someone had lowered the volume of the world.
Mother stood near the window, watching the car turn at the corner. She did not wave. She simply adjusted her pallu, smoothing it across her shoulder, and turned back inside.
“Bas,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. “Ab ghar ka kaam dekhna hai.”
Taau was still standing near the door. He had been ready to leave that morning. His bag was half-packed. His mind had already rehearsed the goodbye. But plans had changed quickly too quickly.
Father’s urgent officer work.
Uncle’s pending ritual for his first wife.
Both unavoidable. Both important.
And without hesitation, both men had said the same thing.
“Tum yahin ruk jao.”
“Uska dhyaan rakhna.”
Mother had only smiled and nodded, as if this was the most natural arrangement in the world.
She moved through the house with an ease Taau had not noticed before. Windows opened. Curtains shifted. The kitchen filled with the sound of utensils and running water. Without the constant presence of the two men, she seemed lighter, less careful.
She spoke to Taau the way she always had.
“Fan zara slow kar dijiye”
“Upar wali shelf se woh dabba nikaal doge kya?.”
“Shaam ko chai bana lenge, thodi strong.”
Nothing personal. Nothing intimate.
Yet Taau felt each word settle somewhere deep inside him.
He answered politely, kept his distance, stayed busy without reason. When she entered a room, he found an excuse to step out. When she smiled, he looked away.
He told himself it was temporary.
That once he left, this unease would disappear.
But the house had its own rhythm now, and he was caught in it.
In the afternoon, Mother stood in the kitchen, stretching slightly to reach a heavy steel container kept high. It slipped a little in her grip.
“Arre,” she muttered.
Before she could adjust herself, Taau was already there.
“Ruko, main kar deta hoon.”
Their hands touched briefly as she let go.
She did not pause. Did not react. Did not even seem to register it.
“Thanks,” she said casually, turning back to the stove as if nothing had happened.
For her, nothing had happened.
For Taau, the moment lingered longer than it should have.
He stood there for a second, container still in his hands, heart beating faster for no clear reason. He felt foolish immediately after. Ashamed.
Yeh sirf mera hawas hai, he thought.
Later, as evening settled, she called out from the bedroom.
“Sunna, light ka switch dekhna zara. Flicker ho raha hai.”
He hesitated, then went.
She was adjusting the bedsheet, hair loose, saree worn comfortably—careless in a way that was not deliberate. She stepped aside to give him space, eyes already elsewhere.
He fixed the switch quickly.
“Ho gaya,” he said.
She smiled. Not warmly. Not coldly. Just normally.
“Achha hai. Aap ho toh kaam easy ho gaya varna akeli mei”
She meant help.
He heard importance.
And that frightened him more than desire ever could.
That night, Taau lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. Nothing wrong had occurred. No line had been crossed. And yet, his thoughts would not settle.
She had not encouraged anything.
She had not noticed anything.
Uske liye yeh sab kuch bhi nahi hai, he realised.
And somehow, that made it heavier.
His thoughts circled endlessly, uncomfortable and unwelcome. He replayed the day not events, but silences. The way she moved through the house without needing anyone. The way she did not look at him differently. The way she did not see what he was struggling with.
And somewhere in that confusion, a darker thought crept in.
If she can share her life with two men… why am I always the one standing outside?
The thought shocked him.
He sat up slightly, disturbed by himself.
Yeh main kya soch raha hoon?
Was it unfairness he felt—or something else?
Was he losing respect for her—or inventing meanings that didn’t exist?
He pressed his palms against his eyes.
Yeh sirf imagination hai, he told himself firmly.
Nothing more.
Yet the question lingered, unresolved, uncomfortable.
He didn’t want to think of her that way.
And yet, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering into places it shouldn’t.
That scared him most of all.
On the other side, That night, Mother turned on the bedside lamp and then switched it off again.
The bed felt unusually large.
She lay on her side, staring into the darkness, listening to the quiet hum of the fan. Normally, there was always some presence—someone shifting, someone breathing, someone awake beside her. Tonight, there was only space.
She sighed softly.
It surprised her, the feeling. She had managed so many nights alone before. Still, this felt different. Maybe because both of them were away together. Maybe because the house itself seemed to know.
She missed the familiarity.
The weight of routine.
The certainty that someone was there.
Not desire.
Just absence.
She turned once, pulled the blanket tighter, and closed her eyes, telling herself it would pass by morning.
The morning was calm after the night’s bed tension. Mother was sitting in the living room, sipping her tea, when Taau announced he was preparing to leave.
“Arre, I think I should start back,” Taau said, stretching lazily. “Got to catch my train before it gets too late.”
Mother looked up, a playful glint in her eyes. “Hmm… But why are you in such a hurry today? You were planning to stay longer, no?”
Taau smiled faintly, unsure how much to reveal. “Well… some errands… family matters… you know.”
Before the conversation could go further, the phone rang. Father’s voice was brisk on the line, urgency underlined in every word. “I need to leave town immediately. Officer work… very important. Can’t be avoided.”
Almost immediately, Uncle’s voice came from his end. “I also need to leave. There’s a pending ritual of my first wife. It has to be done today. No one else can take care of it.”
Mother glanced between the two of them, a small, satisfied smile forming. Their usual protective instincts had been so obvious yesterday, and now without realizing both men were leaving her in the house alone with Taau.
“Then… you want me to stay here alone?” she asked casually, trying to mask the sudden excitement she felt.
“No” Father’s voice said pointing at taau. “Stay with her until we return. Take care of her while we are away.”
Uncle echoed the sentiment. “Don’t worry about anything. Just… keep her company.”
Mother looked at Taau, feeling a mixture of mischief and curiosity. He was sitting there, pretending calm, but she could sense a quiet tension, something unspoken, lingering.
Taau’s heartbeat skipped a little. He tried to respond casually, but the look in her eyes made him swallow hard. This was going to be interesting, he realized.
Mother chuckled softly to herself. With both Father and Uncle gone, the house suddenly felt like a playground of small, silent games, glances, and subtle testing of limits—just the way she liked it.
The house did not feel empty after Father and Uncle left. It felt paused, as if someone had lowered the volume of the world.
Mother stood near the window, watching the car turn at the corner. She did not wave. She simply adjusted her pallu, smoothing it across her shoulder, and turned back inside.
“Bas,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. “Ab ghar ka kaam dekhna hai.”
Taau was still standing near the door. He had been ready to leave that morning. His bag was half-packed. His mind had already rehearsed the goodbye. But plans had changed quickly too quickly.
Father’s urgent officer work.
Uncle’s pending ritual for his first wife.
Both unavoidable. Both important.
And without hesitation, both men had said the same thing.
“Tum yahin ruk jao.”
“Uska dhyaan rakhna.”
Mother had only smiled and nodded, as if this was the most natural arrangement in the world.
She moved through the house with an ease Taau had not noticed before. Windows opened. Curtains shifted. The kitchen filled with the sound of utensils and running water. Without the constant presence of the two men, she seemed lighter, less careful.
She spoke to Taau the way she always had.
“Fan zara slow kar dijiye”
“Upar wali shelf se woh dabba nikaal doge kya?.”
“Shaam ko chai bana lenge, thodi strong.”
Nothing personal. Nothing intimate.
Yet Taau felt each word settle somewhere deep inside him.
He answered politely, kept his distance, stayed busy without reason. When she entered a room, he found an excuse to step out. When she smiled, he looked away.
He told himself it was temporary.
That once he left, this unease would disappear.
But the house had its own rhythm now, and he was caught in it.
In the afternoon, Mother stood in the kitchen, stretching slightly to reach a heavy steel container kept high. It slipped a little in her grip.
“Arre,” she muttered.
Before she could adjust herself, Taau was already there.
“Ruko, main kar deta hoon.”
Their hands touched briefly as she let go.
She did not pause. Did not react. Did not even seem to register it.
“Thanks,” she said casually, turning back to the stove as if nothing had happened.
For her, nothing had happened.
For Taau, the moment lingered longer than it should have.
He stood there for a second, container still in his hands, heart beating faster for no clear reason. He felt foolish immediately after. Ashamed.
Yeh sirf mera hawas hai, he thought.
Later, as evening settled, she called out from the bedroom.
“Sunna, light ka switch dekhna zara. Flicker ho raha hai.”
He hesitated, then went.
She was adjusting the bedsheet, hair loose, saree worn comfortably—careless in a way that was not deliberate. She stepped aside to give him space, eyes already elsewhere.
He fixed the switch quickly.
“Ho gaya,” he said.
She smiled. Not warmly. Not coldly. Just normally.
“Achha hai. Aap ho toh kaam easy ho gaya varna akeli mei”
She meant help.
He heard importance.
And that frightened him more than desire ever could.
That night, Taau lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. Nothing wrong had occurred. No line had been crossed. And yet, his thoughts would not settle.
She had not encouraged anything.
She had not noticed anything.
Uske liye yeh sab kuch bhi nahi hai, he realised.
And somehow, that made it heavier.
His thoughts circled endlessly, uncomfortable and unwelcome. He replayed the day not events, but silences. The way she moved through the house without needing anyone. The way she did not look at him differently. The way she did not see what he was struggling with.
And somewhere in that confusion, a darker thought crept in.
If she can share her life with two men… why am I always the one standing outside?
The thought shocked him.
He sat up slightly, disturbed by himself.
Yeh main kya soch raha hoon?
Was it unfairness he felt—or something else?
Was he losing respect for her—or inventing meanings that didn’t exist?
He pressed his palms against his eyes.
Yeh sirf imagination hai, he told himself firmly.
Nothing more.
Yet the question lingered, unresolved, uncomfortable.
He didn’t want to think of her that way.
And yet, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering into places it shouldn’t.
That scared him most of all.
On the other side, That night, Mother turned on the bedside lamp and then switched it off again.
The bed felt unusually large.
She lay on her side, staring into the darkness, listening to the quiet hum of the fan. Normally, there was always some presence—someone shifting, someone breathing, someone awake beside her. Tonight, there was only space.
She sighed softly.
It surprised her, the feeling. She had managed so many nights alone before. Still, this felt different. Maybe because both of them were away together. Maybe because the house itself seemed to know.
She missed the familiarity.
The weight of routine.
The certainty that someone was there.
Not desire.
Just absence.
She turned once, pulled the blanket tighter, and closed her eyes, telling herself it would pass by morning.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)