Adultery Who Watches The Watchmen (continued)

[samgreenvalley]

Skype Call: Cyber Cafe, Mayur Vihar – 3 Days Later
 
The cyber cafe was a narrow shop wedged between a photocopy center and a mobile repair stall, its glass door fogged with Delhi's perpetual dust. Inside, five computers sat in a row, their monitors flickering with the blue light of outdated Windows versions. The owner—a gaunt man in his thirties with oiled hair and a permanent scowl—had raised his eyebrows when Menaka walked in alone, but he didn't comment. In Delhi, no one commented.
 
She booked for an hour, chose the computer in the corner, and logged into Skype. Her heart was pounding. She hadn't seen Prakash's face in weeks, not since he'd left with Ayan for the ship. The texts and emails were fine, but they weren't him.
 
The call connected on the third ring.
 
"Hey, stranger." Prakash's voice crackled through the cheap speakers, and suddenly there he was—tanned, tired, beautiful. His hair was longer than she remembered, and there were new lines around his eyes, but his smile was the same. That crooked, knowing smile that had first drawn her to him, all those years ago, in that arranged marriage meeting she'd almost said no to.
 
"Hi," Menaka breathed, and immediately felt tears prick her eyes. "God, I missed your face."
 
"Missed yours too. Ayan says hi. He's been asking about you every day. Wants to know when you're coming home."
 
"Soon. Tell him soon." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, aware of the cyber cafe owner glancing at her from his desk. "How is he? Really?"
 
"Good. A little seasick the first few days, but he's got his sea legs now. Made friends with the cook's son. They've been getting into trouble together." Prakash's smile softened. "He's got your stubbornness. Refuses to wear a life jacket because 'it's not cool.'"
 
Menaka laughed, and it felt like medicine. "That's definitely from me."
 
They talked for a while about Ayan—his homework, his new friends, the way he'd taken to calling the ship's engineer "Uncle" despite being told not to. Normal things. Domestic things. Things that made Menaka feel like she was still a mother, still a wife, still part of a family.
 
But eventually, the conversation turned.
 
"So," Prakash said, leaning back in his chair. On his end, she could see the metal walls of his cabin, the bunk bed behind him, the familiar clutter of his life at sea. "How's the experiment going? Playing house with Dara?"
 
Menaka hesitated. The cyber cafe owner was pretending to read a newspaper, but she could feel his attention flickering toward her every few seconds. She lowered her voice anyway.
 
"It's... complicated."
 
"Complicated how?"
 
"I don't know how to explain it." She ran her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break. "He's different here. Softer. More... respectful."
 
"And that's bad?"
 
"For him? Yes. For us? I don't know." She paused, searching for the right words. "Prakash, I miss the way he used to be. The way he was in Mumbai. The way he'd just... take what he wanted. Without asking. Without permission."
 
Prakash was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "You want me to be jealous?"
 
"No. I want you to understand."
 
"I'm trying to." He leaned forward, his face filling the screen. "But you have to help me, Menaka. What exactly are you asking for?"
 
"I'm not asking for anything. I'm just... telling you how I feel." She looked down at her hands, at the simple silver ring she still wore on her right hand—a gift from you, from your first anniversary. "I miss the danger. The taboo. The feeling that I was doing something wrong. Here, everything is so... sanctioned. So approved. Dara got his promotion because he's good at his job, and he's grateful, and he thanks me for being here, for cooking his meals, for playing house with him. But I don't want to be thanked, Prakash. I want to be... taken."
 
"Taken how?"
 
"I don't know." She shook her head, frustrated with her own inability to articulate the hunger that gnawed at her insides. "I just know that something is missing. And I don't know how to get it back."
 
Prakash was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle.
 
"Tell me about the spicy details. What have you two been up to? Besides the gentleness?"
 
Menaka smiled, a little sadly. "He still fucks me, if that's what you're asking. Every night. Sometimes twice. But it's different now. More... loving. He looks into my eyes. He tells me I'm beautiful. He waits until I come before he lets himself go."
 
"And that's bad?"
 
"It's not him." She sighed. "I miss the Dara who didn't care if I came. Who used me for his own pleasure and expected me to be grateful for the attention. I know that sounds crazy."
 
"It sounds like you've figured out what you want."
 
"Have I? Because I feel more lost than ever."
 
They sat in silence for a moment, the crackle of the connection filling the space between them.
 
"Come to Delhi," Menaka said suddenly. "Before Holi. I need to see you. I need to remember who I am when I'm with you."
 
Prakash's eyebrows rose. "You want me to come to Delhi? While you're playing house with Dara?"
 
"Yes. No. I don't know." She laughed, a little hysterically. "I just know I can't do this alone anymore. I need you, Prakash. Even if it's just for a day. Even if we just sit in a coffee shop and talk. I need to see your face in person."
 
Prakash was quiet for a long time, his expression thoughtful. Then he said, "Let me see what I can arrange. The ship's schedule is tight, but there might be a window. I'll let you know."
 
"Thank you." Menaka wiped her eyes again. "Thank you for not judging me."
 
"I could never judge you, Menaka. You're my wife. The mother of my child. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'm here."