Yesterday, 09:34 AM
# Chapter 11: The Morning After
Morning came with the smell of leftover smoke, spilled alcohol, cold chicken, and dirty glasses.
The house looked rich from outside.
Inside, it looked used.
The drawing room table was still covered with plates. Half-eaten pieces of chicken sat beside lemon wedges. Empty glasses stood in small groups like tired men after a party. Napkins were crushed on the floor. One cushion had fallen near the sofa. The guest rooms needed cleaning. The kitchen sink was full.
Simran woke early, but her body did not want to move.
Her feet still hurt from yesterday.
Her shoulders still felt heavy.
But inside her palm, folded under the edge of her pillow, were the notes from last night.
Money.
Extra money.
Earned money.
At least that was what she told herself.
She sat up slowly and looked toward Ravi’s empty side of the bed.
He had not returned yet.
The farm had kept him late again.
Or maybe life had.
Simran washed her face, changed, tied her hair, and went toward the main house.
The morning felt different.
Not peaceful.
Not dangerous either.
Something in between.
Like a road covered in fog.
---
## Men After Drinking
In the guest room near the front corridor, Rajeev was awake before the others.
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead.
Mahesh stood near the window, buttoning his shirt. His face looked tired, but his eyes were clear.
Rajeev gave a low laugh.
“Arvind has found a perfect one.”
Mahesh looked at him.
“Perfect for what?”
Rajeev smirked.
“For housework. For night work. For making this dead house feel alive.”
Mahesh’s face tightened slightly.
“Talk properly.”
Rajeev ignored him.
“Her hands…” He stopped and laughed under his breath. “Last night, during massage, I understood why Arvind’s back pain disappeared.”
Mahesh turned away.
“You drank too much.”
“I drank enough to be honest.”
Mahesh lowered his voice.
“Careful. She is not one of your club jokes.”
Rajeev laughed.
“You controlled yourself too much, Mahesh ji. I saw your face after your massage.”
Mahesh’s expression hardened.
“I controlled myself because I know the line.”
Rajeev leaned back on the bed.
“Line? In Arvind’s house, lines move.”
The door opened quietly.
Arvind entered without knocking.
Both men became silent.
Arvind looked at Rajeev first.
“Still drunk?”
Rajeev smiled.
“Not drunk. Inspired.”
Arvind’s face did not change.
Mahesh adjusted his cuff.
“Morning, Arvind.”
Arvind closed the door behind him.
Rajeev pointed toward the corridor with his chin.
“She is useful. Very useful.”
Arvind’s eyes turned cold.
“Speak less.”
Rajeev raised both hands.
“Fine. But don’t act like a saint. You know what you are doing.”
Mahesh looked at Arvind carefully.
“What are you doing?”
Arvind walked to the table and picked up his watch.
“Managing the house.”
Rajeev laughed.
“Managing? You always call it management.”
Arvind turned.
His voice was quiet.
“That is because fools call everything desire. Smart men call it timing.”
Rajeev’s smile faded a little.
Mahesh said nothing.
Rajeev leaned forward.
“So what is the timing? You keep her close, make her trust you, then what? Keep the fruit locked in your own basket?”
Arvind looked at him slowly.
“Fruit is not eaten before it ripens.”
Rajeev grinned.
“And when it does?”
Arvind’s smile was thin.
“Jab tarbuj katega, sab ko hissa milega.”
*[When the watermelon is cut, everyone will get a share.]*
Mahesh’s face darkened.
“That is an ugly thing to say.”
Arvind looked at him.
“Then don’t listen.”
Rajeev chuckled, but even he felt the coldness in Arvind’s voice.
Outside the room, footsteps passed in the corridor.
Simran.
All three men fell silent.
Arvind opened the door and stepped out with his usual calm face.
The mask returned perfectly.
---
## Breakfast Tips
Simran served breakfast quietly.
Parathas.
Curd.
Pickle.
Tea.
She kept the plates in front of Rajeev and Mahesh. Both looked fresher now, dressed and ready to leave.
Rajeev smiled at her.
“Simran ji, kal raat ka massage kamaal tha. Shoulder light ho gaya.”
*[Simran, last night’s massage was amazing. My shoulder feels light.]*
Simran smiled politely.
“Good, sir.”
Mahesh placed his cup down.
“Thank you. Your work helped. You should not overwork yourself though.”
His tone was more respectful.
Simran noticed the difference.
Rajeev pulled out a five hundred rupee note and placed it near her tray.
“For massage.”
Simran hesitated.
Then Mahesh also placed five hundred beside it.
“For your time.”
Simran looked toward Arvind.
She did it automatically.
Not with words.
Only eyes.
Arvind gave a small nod.
Take it.
Simran accepted the money with both hands.
“Thank you, sir.”
Rajeev smiled wider.
“Sweet girl.”
Mahesh looked at Rajeev sharply, but Rajeev only laughed and sipped tea.
Simran felt awkward, but the money softened it.
One thousand rupees.
One thousand meant vegetables.
Dal.
Maybe oil.
Maybe phone balance.
Maybe a small breath.
After breakfast, Rajeev and Mahesh left.
Rajeev waved casually from the gate.
“Next time, same hospitality!”
Simran smiled because everyone else smiled.
Arvind stood near the door, calm and polished.
Billa opened the gate.
The car drove away.
The house became quiet.
Then Simran turned around and saw the mess waiting for her.
---
## Cleaning The Night
The drawing room looked worse in daylight.
Every stain had become clear.
Every glass had a smell.
Every plate had hardened food stuck to it.
Simran tied her dupatta tighter and began.
First glasses.
Then plates.
Then table.
Then floor.
Then sofa.
Then cushions.
Then ashtray.
Then guest rooms.
Rajeev’s room smelled of alcohol and cologne. She opened the window and stripped the bedsheet. One glass was on the floor. A towel had been thrown near the chair. She picked everything up and worked quickly.
Mahesh’s room was cleaner.
The bed was made badly but not destroyed. The glass was on the table. The towel was folded once. On the side table, she found a small note under a cup.
**Thank you. Take care.**
No money.
Just words.
She read it twice.
Then folded it and threw it in the dustbin.
She did not know why the note made her uncomfortable.
Maybe because it felt like warning without saying warning.
By noon, her back hurt again.
Her hands smelled of soap, onion, and yesterday’s party.
She went to the kitchen, washed her face, and took out the money.
One thousand.
She counted it once.
Then again.
This time, the number stayed beautiful.
She smiled faintly.
For the first time in many days, she did not feel completely helpless.
That was the dangerous thing about money.
It could make even a chain feel useful if it was made of notes.
---
## Arvind and Billa
Outside, near the garden wall, Arvind stood with Billa.
Billa was pretending to trim a plant.
The plant did not need trimming.
“Kal sab theek raha?” Arvind asked.
*[Did everything go well yesterday?]*
Billa grinned.
“Bahut theek, sir. Madam ji toh ab bilkul comfortable lag rahi.”
*[Very well, sir. Madam seems completely comfortable now.]*
Arvind looked toward the kitchen window.
“Comfort is not the same as surrender.”
Billa’s grin became smaller.
“Par plan track pe hai na?”
*[But the plan is on track, right?]*
Arvind turned to him.
“Yes. But excitement ruins plans.”
Billa nodded quickly.
“Main samajh gaya.”
“You don’t understand,” Arvind said quietly. “That is why I am saying again. Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”
*[Patience. Watch. Observe.]*
Billa repeated like a collegeboy:
“Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”
“Ravi?”
“Farm se late aayega. Thaka hoga. Din bhar soyega.”
“Good.”
“Simran?”
“Ab aap pe trust karti hai, sir.”
Arvind’s eyes stayed fixed on the kitchen.
“Trust is only the first door.”
Billa smiled again, unable to control himself.
“Phir second door?”
Arvind looked at him coldly.
“You will know when I open it.”
Billa lowered his eyes.
“Ji sir.”
“Until then, behave nicely. If she sees only dirt in you, she will keep distance. Today take her to market. Help her. Act useful.”
Billa looked surprised.
“Main?”
“Yes. Make her think even you can be decent when I want.”
Billa’s grin returned.
“Samajh gaya, sir.”
Arvind stepped closer.
“No dirty jokes. No touching. No mistake.”
“Ji sir.”
“And remember,” Arvind said, voice low, “she should feel that everything becomes easier when my people are around.”
Billa nodded.
This time, he understood.
---
## One Thousand Rupees
Simran stood in the kitchen, checking the jars.
Dal almost finished.
Rice low.
Onions enough for two days.
Tomatoes gone.
Oil low.
Green chilies finished.
She looked at the one thousand rupees in her hand.
This money had to stretch.
She walked to the dining room, where Arvind was reading a file.
“Sir?”
He looked up.
“Yes, Simran?”
“Vegetables aur dal khatam ho rahe hain. Market jana padega.”
*[Vegetables and dal are finishing. I need to go to the market.]*
Arvind glanced toward the window.
“Go today.”
She hesitated.
“Auto se?”
*[By auto?]*
“Billa is also going for shopping. Go with him. He knows better shops.”
Simran’s face changed slightly.
“Billa ke saath?”
*[With Billa?]*
Arvind noticed.
“He will behave. I’ll tell him.”
She still looked unsure.
Arvind’s voice softened.
“You don’t have to go alone in this heat. Market people cheat when they see someone new. Billa knows rates.”
That was practical.
Too practical to refuse easily.
Simran nodded.
“Ji. Theek hai.”
*[Yes. Fine.]*
“Take your time. Buy what you need.”
She almost said thank you.
Then stopped.
Why was she thanking him for sending her with Billa?
The thought came and went.
She returned to the kitchen.
---
## The Auto Ride
Billa was waiting near the gate.
For once, he did not smile in that oily way.
He held two cloth bags and stood a little away from her.
“Chalein, madam ji?”
*[Shall we go, madam?]*
Simran looked at him carefully.
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
They took an auto.
Simran sat on one side, Billa on the other, leaving space between them. The auto rattled through the Delhi streets, past fruit carts, tea stalls, cycle repair shops, and men standing in patches of shade.
For a few minutes, neither spoke.
Then Billa said:
“Market mein pehle dal lena. Wahan Sharma store mehnga deta hai. Gupta store se lena.”
*[Buy dal first in the market. Sharma store sells expensive. Buy from Gupta store.]*
Simran looked at him.
“You know rates?”
Billa puffed his chest a little.
“Garden ka aadmi hoon, madam ji. Ghar ka samaan bhi main hi laata tha pehle.”
*[I am the garden man, madam. I used to bring household items too before.]*
She did not answer.
He continued, sounding almost normal.
“Tamatar aaj mehnga hai. Par thoda aage wali stall se lena, sasta milega. Aur dhaniya free mein maangna. Nahi de toh mat lena.”
*[Tomatoes are expensive today. But buy from the stall a little ahead, you’ll get cheaper. And ask for coriander free. If they don’t give it, don’t buy.]*
Simran stared at him for a second.
This was the same Billa who had watched her like a street dog watches food.
Today he sounded like an uncle teaching market rates.
She did not trust it.
But she could use it.
“Theek hai,” she said.
*[Okay.]*
Billa looked pleased.
Not because he was helping.
Because behaving was also part of Arvind’s order.
---
## Market Eyes
The market was busy.
Loud bargaining.
Scooters squeezing through narrow gaps.
Women checking vegetables.
Men shouting prices.
Children running near carts.
Heat rising from the road.
Simran adjusted her dupatta before stepping out of the auto. The white suit she wore felt too light for the crowd, and the summer wind did not help. She pulled the cloth closer around herself and held the shopping bag in front.
Eyes found her quickly.
A fruit seller looked.
A man near the tea stall looked.
Two boys near a paan shop looked and whispered.
Simran’s shoulders tightened.
Billa noticed.
For once, he did not make it worse.
“Seedha chalo,” he said quietly. “Ignore karo.”
*[Walk straight. Ignore them.]*
She glanced at him.
He walked slightly ahead, clearing space.
“Gupta store udhar hai.”
*[Gupta store is there.]*
At the dal shop, the owner looked Simran up and down before looking at Billa.
“Billa bhai, nayi madam?”
*[Billa brother, new madam?]*
Billa’s face hardened slightly.
“Arvind sir ke ghar ka samaan hai. Rate seedha bol.”
*[This is for Arvind sir’s house. Say the proper rate.]*
The shopkeeper’s expression changed quickly.
Respect entered when Arvind’s name entered.
Simran noticed.
Arvind’s name worked like a key in places where she herself had no lock.
The shopkeeper gave the rate.
Billa leaned closer to the sacks.
“Jhooth mat bol. Kal kam tha.”
*[Don’t lie. Yesterday it was less.]*
The shopkeeper laughed.
“Market badal gaya.”
“Hum bhi badal denge shop,” Billa said.
The rate came down.
Simran bought dal.
Then rice.
Then oil.
Then spices.
Each time, Billa checked the rate, argued, and made sure she paid less.
Simran did not know what to feel.
Grateful?
Suspicious?
Both sat together inside her like two strangers sharing a bench.
---
## The Vegetable Stall
At the vegetable stall, the seller was young, maybe thirty, with sharp eyes and a smile that tried too hard.
“Madam ji, kya doon?”
*[Madam, what should I give?]*
“Tamatar, pyaaz, aloo, hari mirch,” Simran said.
*[Tomatoes, onions, potatoes, green chilies.]*
The seller began picking tomatoes.
“Soft wale ya hard wale?”
*[Soft ones or hard ones?]*
“Hard. Fresh.”
He smiled.
“Fresh toh sab hai. Bas dekhne wali nazar honi chahiye.”
*[Everything is fresh. One just needs the right eye to see it.]*
Simran understood the tone.
Her face became still.
Billa, standing nearby, looked at the seller.
“Sabzi bech. Shayari mat kar.”
*[Sell vegetables. Don’t recite poetry.]*
The seller laughed.
“Arre Billa bhai, mazaak tha.”
*[Billa brother, it was a joke.]*
Simran kept her eyes on the vegetables.
The seller placed coriander on top.
“Dhaniya free. Madam ke liye.”
*[Coriander free. For madam.]*
Billa picked up the bunch, checked it, and threw half back.
“Sada hua de raha hai? Achha wala de.”
*[You are giving rotten coriander? Give the good one.]*
The seller made a face but changed it.
Simran almost smiled.
Not at the seller.
At Billa scolding him.
The strange thing was, for a few minutes, she felt protected by the same man she had always avoided.
That confused her more than the market eyes.
When she paid, the seller said softly:
“Madam ji, roz aaya karo. Aap se market bright lagta hai.”
*[Madam, come every day. The market looks bright because of you.]*
Billa stepped forward.
“Zyada bright hua toh aankh band kar denge.”
*[If it gets too bright, we will shut your eyes.]*
The seller laughed nervously.
Simran turned away, hiding a small uncomfortable smile.
She did not like the joke.
But she liked that this time, it was not aimed at her.
It was aimed away.
That was enough for her tired mind to call it help.
---
## Returning Home
The auto ride back was full of bags.
Dal.
Rice.
Oil.
Vegetables.
Curd.
Spices.
Simran held the coriander in one hand and the money balance in the other.
Billa looked at the notes.
“Dekha? Arvind sir ke paise bach gaye.”
*[See? Arvind sir’s money got saved.]*
Simran corrected him.
“Mere paise.”
*[My money.]*
Billa looked at her.
Then laughed.
“Haan, madam ji. Aapke paise.”
*[Yes, madam. Your money.]*
She looked out of the auto.
The road moved past in heat waves.
For the first time, Billa had not made her feel trapped.
That made her uneasy.
Because in Arvind’s house, even good behavior felt planned.
But then she remembered the dal, the rice, the saved money.
Maybe everyone had different sides.
Maybe Billa was not always bad.
Maybe she had judged too quickly.
The thought came softly.
Exactly the way Arvind wanted.
At the gate, Billa carried the heavier bags inside without being asked.
“Kitchen mein rakh doon?”
*[Should I keep them in the kitchen?]*
Simran nodded.
“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*
He placed them near the counter and stepped back.
No joke.
No staring.
No lingering.
“Main garden mein hoon,” he said.
*[I am in the garden.]*
Then he left.
Simran stood in the kitchen, surprised by the silence he left behind.
A clean silence.
A useful silence.
From the dining room, Arvind’s voice came.
“Shopping done?”
She turned.
“Yes sir. Billa helped.”
Arvind smiled faintly.
“Good. He knows the market.”
Simran nodded.
“Rates bhi kam karwa diye.”
*[He got the rates reduced too.]*
“See? Not everyone is useless.”
She smiled a little.
“Maybe.”
Arvind watched that smile carefully.
Another small wall had moved.
---
## The House Smiles Back
That evening, Simran arranged the groceries in jars.
Dal in one.
Rice in another.
Oil near the stove.
Spices refilled.
Green chilies in a small steel bowl.
For the first time in days, the kitchen looked prepared.
She felt prepared too.
The thousand rupees had become food.
The market fear had become a story.
Billa had become slightly less frightening.
Arvind had become slightly more right.
That was how the house worked.
It did not change everything in one day.
It adjusted one feeling at a time.
One doubt.
One comfort.
One small kindness.
One useful lie.
By night, when Ravi left again for the farm, he asked:
“You went market?”
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
“Alone?”
“With Billa.”
Ravi’s face changed.
“Billa ke saath?”
Simran turned toward him.
“Arvind sir ne bheja tha. He helped. Rates bhi kam karwaye.”
*[Arvind sir sent him. He helped. He got the rates reduced too.]*
Ravi looked unhappy.
“Tumhe uske saath jaana zaruri tha?”
*[Was it necessary for you to go with him?]*
Simran’s tiredness returned at once.
“Ravi, please. Aaj fight mat karo.”
*[Ravi, please. Don’t fight today.]*
“I am not fighting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He had no answer.
She closed the jar lid harder than needed.
“Tum khud market le jaate? Tum toh din bhar sote ho. Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main karun kya?”
*[Would you take me to the market yourself? You sleep all day. If I go alone, problem. If I go with Billa, problem. What should I do?]*
Ravi looked down.
The farm call came.
He picked up his bag.
“I’ll go.”
Simran did not stop him.
This time, when he left, she did not feel only sadness.
She felt tired of his disappointment too.
And that frightened her less than it should have.
---
## The Chapter Closes
Later, after the kitchen was cleaned and the house grew quiet, Simran stood near the spice shelf.
The vitamin bottle sat beside the haldi.
The jars were full now.
Dal.
Rice.
Salt.
Survival.
She touched the one thousand rupees she had saved from the day, now reduced but not gone. She had managed. She had bought food. She had kept the house running.
With help.
Arvind’s help.
Billa’s help.
The thought should have felt strange.
Instead, it felt practical.
That was the most dangerous change of all.
Simran looked toward the main house corridor.
Arvind’s study light was still on.
For a moment, she thought of going to say the shopping was done properly.
Then she stopped.
Why did she want to tell him?
Why did his approval feel important?
The question rose.
This time, she heard it.
Then from the outside room, Ravi coughed in his sleep before leaving for the farm.
The sound pulled her back.
She closed the grocery jar and turned away.
“Bas kaam hai,” she whispered again.
*[It is only work.]*
But the house did not believe her anymore.
And somewhere inside her, neither did she.
## Massage Time
That night, Simran finished the kitchen earlier than usual.
The house had finally become quiet after a long day of shopping, cleaning, cooking, and arranging groceries. Ravi had already left for the farm, carrying his bag and his tired silence with him.
For once, Simran did not wait for Billa to call.
She went to the outside room, took a bath, changed into a clean suit, and tied her damp hair loosely behind her neck. The warm water had washed away the dust of the market, the smell of vegetables, and the heaviness of the day.
But it had not washed away the thoughts.
Arvind’s study light was still on.
The oil bottle stood on the small shelf.
Simran looked at it for a moment.
Then she picked it up.
“Bas massage,” she whispered.
*[Just massage.]*
But even she could hear that the words were weaker now.
She walked through the side corridor and stopped outside Arvind’s bedroom.
The door was half open.
She knocked softly.
“Sir?”
Arvind looked up from the chair near the lamp.
For a second, surprise crossed his face.
“You came?”
Simran lowered her eyes.
“Ji. Massage time ho gaya tha.”
*[Yes. It was massage time.]*
Arvind placed the file aside slowly.
Usually he had to send Billa.
Usually he had to ring the bell.
Usually she came with hesitation folded around her like another dupatta.
Tonight, she had come on her own.
That mattered.
Arvind smiled, but kept it soft.
“I thought you must be tired today. Market, cleaning, guests’ rooms, kitchen… long day.”
Simran stepped inside and placed the oil bottle on the side table.
“Tired hoon,” she said. “Par aadat ho gayi.”
*[I am tired. But I got used to it.]*
Arvind watched her carefully.
“To work?”
She did not look at him.
“To everything.”
The room became quiet.
Arvind stood slowly.
“You went with Billa today. He behaved?”
Simran nodded.
“Ji. Aaj theek tha. Market mein help ki. Rates kam karwaye.”
*[Yes. Today he was fine. He helped in the market. Got the rates reduced.]*
“Good.”
“Thoda ajeeb laga,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“Woh usually…” She stopped.
Arvind finished gently.
“Uncomfortable karta hai?”
*[He makes you uncomfortable?]*
Simran looked down.
“Kabhi-kabhi.”
*[Sometimes.]*
Arvind’s voice became calm.
“I told him to behave. He will not trouble you.”
She looked at him then.
There it was again.
Safety.
Or something wearing safety’s clothes.
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.
Arvind held her gaze.
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
But she felt thankful anyway.
That was the trap working neatly.
Arvind lay face down on the bed, folding his arms near the pillow. Simran poured oil into her palms and rubbed them together.
Her hands were no longer nervous like the first night.
They moved with practice now.
Shoulders first.
Slow circles.
Pressure near the upper back.
Careful along the side, not on the bone.
Arvind closed his eyes.
“Pressure is good.”
Simran gave a faint smile.
“Ab seekh gayi hoon.”
*[Now I have learned.]*
“Yes. You learn fast.”
She stayed silent, but the praise reached her.
For a few minutes, only the sound of the fan filled the room.
Then Arvind asked:
“Ravi said anything about the market?”
Simran’s hands slowed.
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
“What?”
“Problem.” She gave a tired laugh. “Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main kuch bhi karun, problem.”
*[Problem. If I went alone, problem. If I went with Billa, problem. Whatever I do, problem.]*
Arvind did not answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Some people don’t know how to protect, but they still want control.”
The sentence landed softly, but it cut.
Simran looked away.
“Ravi bura nahi hai.”
“I know.”
“Bas… weak hai.”
She said it before she realized.
Her hands stopped.
The word hung between them.
Weak.
Arvind opened his eyes slightly, but did not turn.
He let the word stay alive.
Simran quickly continued the massage.
“I shouldn’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is my husband.”
“Truth does not stop being truth because someone is your husband.”
She swallowed.
“Sir, please.”
“Okay,” Arvind said softly. “No more.”
He knew when to stop.
That was why she kept speaking.
After some time, Simran said:
“Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Thoda money bhi bach gaya.”
*[Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Some money was saved too.]*
“That is good.”
“For the first time, kitchen looked full.”
“And you felt in control?”
She thought about it.
“Maybe.”
Arvind’s voice softened.
“You should feel like that more often.”
Simran’s hands slowed again.
Nobody had said that to her before.
Not Ravi.
Not Billa.
Not even life.
You should feel in control.
The words felt expensive.
Like something she could not afford, but wanted to touch.
The hour passed quietly.
When she finished, she wiped her hands with the towel and stepped back.
“Done, sir.”
Arvind sat up slowly.
“You came on your own today.”
Simran’s face warmed.
“Time ho gaya tha.”
*[It was time.]*
He smiled.
“Of course.”
She picked up the oil bottle.
she was standing towords look at door.
and arvind understood.
he unhook her bra hook.
she was like waiting for this signal.
arvind hold her from behind.
( story will update every sunday due to busy work now days i will try to write few chapter every week )
Morning came with the smell of leftover smoke, spilled alcohol, cold chicken, and dirty glasses.
The house looked rich from outside.
Inside, it looked used.
The drawing room table was still covered with plates. Half-eaten pieces of chicken sat beside lemon wedges. Empty glasses stood in small groups like tired men after a party. Napkins were crushed on the floor. One cushion had fallen near the sofa. The guest rooms needed cleaning. The kitchen sink was full.
Simran woke early, but her body did not want to move.
Her feet still hurt from yesterday.
Her shoulders still felt heavy.
But inside her palm, folded under the edge of her pillow, were the notes from last night.
Money.
Extra money.
Earned money.
At least that was what she told herself.
She sat up slowly and looked toward Ravi’s empty side of the bed.
He had not returned yet.
The farm had kept him late again.
Or maybe life had.
Simran washed her face, changed, tied her hair, and went toward the main house.
The morning felt different.
Not peaceful.
Not dangerous either.
Something in between.
Like a road covered in fog.
---
## Men After Drinking
In the guest room near the front corridor, Rajeev was awake before the others.
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead.
Mahesh stood near the window, buttoning his shirt. His face looked tired, but his eyes were clear.
Rajeev gave a low laugh.
“Arvind has found a perfect one.”
Mahesh looked at him.
“Perfect for what?”
Rajeev smirked.
“For housework. For night work. For making this dead house feel alive.”
Mahesh’s face tightened slightly.
“Talk properly.”
Rajeev ignored him.
“Her hands…” He stopped and laughed under his breath. “Last night, during massage, I understood why Arvind’s back pain disappeared.”
Mahesh turned away.
“You drank too much.”
“I drank enough to be honest.”
Mahesh lowered his voice.
“Careful. She is not one of your club jokes.”
Rajeev laughed.
“You controlled yourself too much, Mahesh ji. I saw your face after your massage.”
Mahesh’s expression hardened.
“I controlled myself because I know the line.”
Rajeev leaned back on the bed.
“Line? In Arvind’s house, lines move.”
The door opened quietly.
Arvind entered without knocking.
Both men became silent.
Arvind looked at Rajeev first.
“Still drunk?”
Rajeev smiled.
“Not drunk. Inspired.”
Arvind’s face did not change.
Mahesh adjusted his cuff.
“Morning, Arvind.”
Arvind closed the door behind him.
Rajeev pointed toward the corridor with his chin.
“She is useful. Very useful.”
Arvind’s eyes turned cold.
“Speak less.”
Rajeev raised both hands.
“Fine. But don’t act like a saint. You know what you are doing.”
Mahesh looked at Arvind carefully.
“What are you doing?”
Arvind walked to the table and picked up his watch.
“Managing the house.”
Rajeev laughed.
“Managing? You always call it management.”
Arvind turned.
His voice was quiet.
“That is because fools call everything desire. Smart men call it timing.”
Rajeev’s smile faded a little.
Mahesh said nothing.
Rajeev leaned forward.
“So what is the timing? You keep her close, make her trust you, then what? Keep the fruit locked in your own basket?”
Arvind looked at him slowly.
“Fruit is not eaten before it ripens.”
Rajeev grinned.
“And when it does?”
Arvind’s smile was thin.
“Jab tarbuj katega, sab ko hissa milega.”
*[When the watermelon is cut, everyone will get a share.]*
Mahesh’s face darkened.
“That is an ugly thing to say.”
Arvind looked at him.
“Then don’t listen.”
Rajeev chuckled, but even he felt the coldness in Arvind’s voice.
Outside the room, footsteps passed in the corridor.
Simran.
All three men fell silent.
Arvind opened the door and stepped out with his usual calm face.
The mask returned perfectly.
---
## Breakfast Tips
Simran served breakfast quietly.
Parathas.
Curd.
Pickle.
Tea.
She kept the plates in front of Rajeev and Mahesh. Both looked fresher now, dressed and ready to leave.
Rajeev smiled at her.
“Simran ji, kal raat ka massage kamaal tha. Shoulder light ho gaya.”
*[Simran, last night’s massage was amazing. My shoulder feels light.]*
Simran smiled politely.
“Good, sir.”
Mahesh placed his cup down.
“Thank you. Your work helped. You should not overwork yourself though.”
His tone was more respectful.
Simran noticed the difference.
Rajeev pulled out a five hundred rupee note and placed it near her tray.
“For massage.”
Simran hesitated.
Then Mahesh also placed five hundred beside it.
“For your time.”
Simran looked toward Arvind.
She did it automatically.
Not with words.
Only eyes.
Arvind gave a small nod.
Take it.
Simran accepted the money with both hands.
“Thank you, sir.”
Rajeev smiled wider.
“Sweet girl.”
Mahesh looked at Rajeev sharply, but Rajeev only laughed and sipped tea.
Simran felt awkward, but the money softened it.
One thousand rupees.
One thousand meant vegetables.
Dal.
Maybe oil.
Maybe phone balance.
Maybe a small breath.
After breakfast, Rajeev and Mahesh left.
Rajeev waved casually from the gate.
“Next time, same hospitality!”
Simran smiled because everyone else smiled.
Arvind stood near the door, calm and polished.
Billa opened the gate.
The car drove away.
The house became quiet.
Then Simran turned around and saw the mess waiting for her.
---
## Cleaning The Night
The drawing room looked worse in daylight.
Every stain had become clear.
Every glass had a smell.
Every plate had hardened food stuck to it.
Simran tied her dupatta tighter and began.
First glasses.
Then plates.
Then table.
Then floor.
Then sofa.
Then cushions.
Then ashtray.
Then guest rooms.
Rajeev’s room smelled of alcohol and cologne. She opened the window and stripped the bedsheet. One glass was on the floor. A towel had been thrown near the chair. She picked everything up and worked quickly.
Mahesh’s room was cleaner.
The bed was made badly but not destroyed. The glass was on the table. The towel was folded once. On the side table, she found a small note under a cup.
**Thank you. Take care.**
No money.
Just words.
She read it twice.
Then folded it and threw it in the dustbin.
She did not know why the note made her uncomfortable.
Maybe because it felt like warning without saying warning.
By noon, her back hurt again.
Her hands smelled of soap, onion, and yesterday’s party.
She went to the kitchen, washed her face, and took out the money.
One thousand.
She counted it once.
Then again.
This time, the number stayed beautiful.
She smiled faintly.
For the first time in many days, she did not feel completely helpless.
That was the dangerous thing about money.
It could make even a chain feel useful if it was made of notes.
---
## Arvind and Billa
Outside, near the garden wall, Arvind stood with Billa.
Billa was pretending to trim a plant.
The plant did not need trimming.
“Kal sab theek raha?” Arvind asked.
*[Did everything go well yesterday?]*
Billa grinned.
“Bahut theek, sir. Madam ji toh ab bilkul comfortable lag rahi.”
*[Very well, sir. Madam seems completely comfortable now.]*
Arvind looked toward the kitchen window.
“Comfort is not the same as surrender.”
Billa’s grin became smaller.
“Par plan track pe hai na?”
*[But the plan is on track, right?]*
Arvind turned to him.
“Yes. But excitement ruins plans.”
Billa nodded quickly.
“Main samajh gaya.”
“You don’t understand,” Arvind said quietly. “That is why I am saying again. Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”
*[Patience. Watch. Observe.]*
Billa repeated like a collegeboy:
“Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”
“Ravi?”
“Farm se late aayega. Thaka hoga. Din bhar soyega.”
“Good.”
“Simran?”
“Ab aap pe trust karti hai, sir.”
Arvind’s eyes stayed fixed on the kitchen.
“Trust is only the first door.”
Billa smiled again, unable to control himself.
“Phir second door?”
Arvind looked at him coldly.
“You will know when I open it.”
Billa lowered his eyes.
“Ji sir.”
“Until then, behave nicely. If she sees only dirt in you, she will keep distance. Today take her to market. Help her. Act useful.”
Billa looked surprised.
“Main?”
“Yes. Make her think even you can be decent when I want.”
Billa’s grin returned.
“Samajh gaya, sir.”
Arvind stepped closer.
“No dirty jokes. No touching. No mistake.”
“Ji sir.”
“And remember,” Arvind said, voice low, “she should feel that everything becomes easier when my people are around.”
Billa nodded.
This time, he understood.
---
## One Thousand Rupees
Simran stood in the kitchen, checking the jars.
Dal almost finished.
Rice low.
Onions enough for two days.
Tomatoes gone.
Oil low.
Green chilies finished.
She looked at the one thousand rupees in her hand.
This money had to stretch.
She walked to the dining room, where Arvind was reading a file.
“Sir?”
He looked up.
“Yes, Simran?”
“Vegetables aur dal khatam ho rahe hain. Market jana padega.”
*[Vegetables and dal are finishing. I need to go to the market.]*
Arvind glanced toward the window.
“Go today.”
She hesitated.
“Auto se?”
*[By auto?]*
“Billa is also going for shopping. Go with him. He knows better shops.”
Simran’s face changed slightly.
“Billa ke saath?”
*[With Billa?]*
Arvind noticed.
“He will behave. I’ll tell him.”
She still looked unsure.
Arvind’s voice softened.
“You don’t have to go alone in this heat. Market people cheat when they see someone new. Billa knows rates.”
That was practical.
Too practical to refuse easily.
Simran nodded.
“Ji. Theek hai.”
*[Yes. Fine.]*
“Take your time. Buy what you need.”
She almost said thank you.
Then stopped.
Why was she thanking him for sending her with Billa?
The thought came and went.
She returned to the kitchen.
---
## The Auto Ride
Billa was waiting near the gate.
For once, he did not smile in that oily way.
He held two cloth bags and stood a little away from her.
“Chalein, madam ji?”
*[Shall we go, madam?]*
Simran looked at him carefully.
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
They took an auto.
Simran sat on one side, Billa on the other, leaving space between them. The auto rattled through the Delhi streets, past fruit carts, tea stalls, cycle repair shops, and men standing in patches of shade.
For a few minutes, neither spoke.
Then Billa said:
“Market mein pehle dal lena. Wahan Sharma store mehnga deta hai. Gupta store se lena.”
*[Buy dal first in the market. Sharma store sells expensive. Buy from Gupta store.]*
Simran looked at him.
“You know rates?”
Billa puffed his chest a little.
“Garden ka aadmi hoon, madam ji. Ghar ka samaan bhi main hi laata tha pehle.”
*[I am the garden man, madam. I used to bring household items too before.]*
She did not answer.
He continued, sounding almost normal.
“Tamatar aaj mehnga hai. Par thoda aage wali stall se lena, sasta milega. Aur dhaniya free mein maangna. Nahi de toh mat lena.”
*[Tomatoes are expensive today. But buy from the stall a little ahead, you’ll get cheaper. And ask for coriander free. If they don’t give it, don’t buy.]*
Simran stared at him for a second.
This was the same Billa who had watched her like a street dog watches food.
Today he sounded like an uncle teaching market rates.
She did not trust it.
But she could use it.
“Theek hai,” she said.
*[Okay.]*
Billa looked pleased.
Not because he was helping.
Because behaving was also part of Arvind’s order.
---
## Market Eyes
The market was busy.
Loud bargaining.
Scooters squeezing through narrow gaps.
Women checking vegetables.
Men shouting prices.
Children running near carts.
Heat rising from the road.
Simran adjusted her dupatta before stepping out of the auto. The white suit she wore felt too light for the crowd, and the summer wind did not help. She pulled the cloth closer around herself and held the shopping bag in front.
Eyes found her quickly.
A fruit seller looked.
A man near the tea stall looked.
Two boys near a paan shop looked and whispered.
Simran’s shoulders tightened.
Billa noticed.
For once, he did not make it worse.
“Seedha chalo,” he said quietly. “Ignore karo.”
*[Walk straight. Ignore them.]*
She glanced at him.
He walked slightly ahead, clearing space.
“Gupta store udhar hai.”
*[Gupta store is there.]*
At the dal shop, the owner looked Simran up and down before looking at Billa.
“Billa bhai, nayi madam?”
*[Billa brother, new madam?]*
Billa’s face hardened slightly.
“Arvind sir ke ghar ka samaan hai. Rate seedha bol.”
*[This is for Arvind sir’s house. Say the proper rate.]*
The shopkeeper’s expression changed quickly.
Respect entered when Arvind’s name entered.
Simran noticed.
Arvind’s name worked like a key in places where she herself had no lock.
The shopkeeper gave the rate.
Billa leaned closer to the sacks.
“Jhooth mat bol. Kal kam tha.”
*[Don’t lie. Yesterday it was less.]*
The shopkeeper laughed.
“Market badal gaya.”
“Hum bhi badal denge shop,” Billa said.
The rate came down.
Simran bought dal.
Then rice.
Then oil.
Then spices.
Each time, Billa checked the rate, argued, and made sure she paid less.
Simran did not know what to feel.
Grateful?
Suspicious?
Both sat together inside her like two strangers sharing a bench.
---
## The Vegetable Stall
At the vegetable stall, the seller was young, maybe thirty, with sharp eyes and a smile that tried too hard.
“Madam ji, kya doon?”
*[Madam, what should I give?]*
“Tamatar, pyaaz, aloo, hari mirch,” Simran said.
*[Tomatoes, onions, potatoes, green chilies.]*
The seller began picking tomatoes.
“Soft wale ya hard wale?”
*[Soft ones or hard ones?]*
“Hard. Fresh.”
He smiled.
“Fresh toh sab hai. Bas dekhne wali nazar honi chahiye.”
*[Everything is fresh. One just needs the right eye to see it.]*
Simran understood the tone.
Her face became still.
Billa, standing nearby, looked at the seller.
“Sabzi bech. Shayari mat kar.”
*[Sell vegetables. Don’t recite poetry.]*
The seller laughed.
“Arre Billa bhai, mazaak tha.”
*[Billa brother, it was a joke.]*
Simran kept her eyes on the vegetables.
The seller placed coriander on top.
“Dhaniya free. Madam ke liye.”
*[Coriander free. For madam.]*
Billa picked up the bunch, checked it, and threw half back.
“Sada hua de raha hai? Achha wala de.”
*[You are giving rotten coriander? Give the good one.]*
The seller made a face but changed it.
Simran almost smiled.
Not at the seller.
At Billa scolding him.
The strange thing was, for a few minutes, she felt protected by the same man she had always avoided.
That confused her more than the market eyes.
When she paid, the seller said softly:
“Madam ji, roz aaya karo. Aap se market bright lagta hai.”
*[Madam, come every day. The market looks bright because of you.]*
Billa stepped forward.
“Zyada bright hua toh aankh band kar denge.”
*[If it gets too bright, we will shut your eyes.]*
The seller laughed nervously.
Simran turned away, hiding a small uncomfortable smile.
She did not like the joke.
But she liked that this time, it was not aimed at her.
It was aimed away.
That was enough for her tired mind to call it help.
---
## Returning Home
The auto ride back was full of bags.
Dal.
Rice.
Oil.
Vegetables.
Curd.
Spices.
Simran held the coriander in one hand and the money balance in the other.
Billa looked at the notes.
“Dekha? Arvind sir ke paise bach gaye.”
*[See? Arvind sir’s money got saved.]*
Simran corrected him.
“Mere paise.”
*[My money.]*
Billa looked at her.
Then laughed.
“Haan, madam ji. Aapke paise.”
*[Yes, madam. Your money.]*
She looked out of the auto.
The road moved past in heat waves.
For the first time, Billa had not made her feel trapped.
That made her uneasy.
Because in Arvind’s house, even good behavior felt planned.
But then she remembered the dal, the rice, the saved money.
Maybe everyone had different sides.
Maybe Billa was not always bad.
Maybe she had judged too quickly.
The thought came softly.
Exactly the way Arvind wanted.
At the gate, Billa carried the heavier bags inside without being asked.
“Kitchen mein rakh doon?”
*[Should I keep them in the kitchen?]*
Simran nodded.
“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*
He placed them near the counter and stepped back.
No joke.
No staring.
No lingering.
“Main garden mein hoon,” he said.
*[I am in the garden.]*
Then he left.
Simran stood in the kitchen, surprised by the silence he left behind.
A clean silence.
A useful silence.
From the dining room, Arvind’s voice came.
“Shopping done?”
She turned.
“Yes sir. Billa helped.”
Arvind smiled faintly.
“Good. He knows the market.”
Simran nodded.
“Rates bhi kam karwa diye.”
*[He got the rates reduced too.]*
“See? Not everyone is useless.”
She smiled a little.
“Maybe.”
Arvind watched that smile carefully.
Another small wall had moved.
---
## The House Smiles Back
That evening, Simran arranged the groceries in jars.
Dal in one.
Rice in another.
Oil near the stove.
Spices refilled.
Green chilies in a small steel bowl.
For the first time in days, the kitchen looked prepared.
She felt prepared too.
The thousand rupees had become food.
The market fear had become a story.
Billa had become slightly less frightening.
Arvind had become slightly more right.
That was how the house worked.
It did not change everything in one day.
It adjusted one feeling at a time.
One doubt.
One comfort.
One small kindness.
One useful lie.
By night, when Ravi left again for the farm, he asked:
“You went market?”
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
“Alone?”
“With Billa.”
Ravi’s face changed.
“Billa ke saath?”
Simran turned toward him.
“Arvind sir ne bheja tha. He helped. Rates bhi kam karwaye.”
*[Arvind sir sent him. He helped. He got the rates reduced too.]*
Ravi looked unhappy.
“Tumhe uske saath jaana zaruri tha?”
*[Was it necessary for you to go with him?]*
Simran’s tiredness returned at once.
“Ravi, please. Aaj fight mat karo.”
*[Ravi, please. Don’t fight today.]*
“I am not fighting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He had no answer.
She closed the jar lid harder than needed.
“Tum khud market le jaate? Tum toh din bhar sote ho. Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main karun kya?”
*[Would you take me to the market yourself? You sleep all day. If I go alone, problem. If I go with Billa, problem. What should I do?]*
Ravi looked down.
The farm call came.
He picked up his bag.
“I’ll go.”
Simran did not stop him.
This time, when he left, she did not feel only sadness.
She felt tired of his disappointment too.
And that frightened her less than it should have.
---
## The Chapter Closes
Later, after the kitchen was cleaned and the house grew quiet, Simran stood near the spice shelf.
The vitamin bottle sat beside the haldi.
The jars were full now.
Dal.
Rice.
Salt.
Survival.
She touched the one thousand rupees she had saved from the day, now reduced but not gone. She had managed. She had bought food. She had kept the house running.
With help.
Arvind’s help.
Billa’s help.
The thought should have felt strange.
Instead, it felt practical.
That was the most dangerous change of all.
Simran looked toward the main house corridor.
Arvind’s study light was still on.
For a moment, she thought of going to say the shopping was done properly.
Then she stopped.
Why did she want to tell him?
Why did his approval feel important?
The question rose.
This time, she heard it.
Then from the outside room, Ravi coughed in his sleep before leaving for the farm.
The sound pulled her back.
She closed the grocery jar and turned away.
“Bas kaam hai,” she whispered again.
*[It is only work.]*
But the house did not believe her anymore.
And somewhere inside her, neither did she.
## Massage Time
That night, Simran finished the kitchen earlier than usual.
The house had finally become quiet after a long day of shopping, cleaning, cooking, and arranging groceries. Ravi had already left for the farm, carrying his bag and his tired silence with him.
For once, Simran did not wait for Billa to call.
She went to the outside room, took a bath, changed into a clean suit, and tied her damp hair loosely behind her neck. The warm water had washed away the dust of the market, the smell of vegetables, and the heaviness of the day.
But it had not washed away the thoughts.
Arvind’s study light was still on.
The oil bottle stood on the small shelf.
Simran looked at it for a moment.
Then she picked it up.
“Bas massage,” she whispered.
*[Just massage.]*
But even she could hear that the words were weaker now.
She walked through the side corridor and stopped outside Arvind’s bedroom.
The door was half open.
She knocked softly.
“Sir?”
Arvind looked up from the chair near the lamp.
For a second, surprise crossed his face.
“You came?”
Simran lowered her eyes.
“Ji. Massage time ho gaya tha.”
*[Yes. It was massage time.]*
Arvind placed the file aside slowly.
Usually he had to send Billa.
Usually he had to ring the bell.
Usually she came with hesitation folded around her like another dupatta.
Tonight, she had come on her own.
That mattered.
Arvind smiled, but kept it soft.
“I thought you must be tired today. Market, cleaning, guests’ rooms, kitchen… long day.”
Simran stepped inside and placed the oil bottle on the side table.
“Tired hoon,” she said. “Par aadat ho gayi.”
*[I am tired. But I got used to it.]*
Arvind watched her carefully.
“To work?”
She did not look at him.
“To everything.”
The room became quiet.
Arvind stood slowly.
“You went with Billa today. He behaved?”
Simran nodded.
“Ji. Aaj theek tha. Market mein help ki. Rates kam karwaye.”
*[Yes. Today he was fine. He helped in the market. Got the rates reduced.]*
“Good.”
“Thoda ajeeb laga,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“Woh usually…” She stopped.
Arvind finished gently.
“Uncomfortable karta hai?”
*[He makes you uncomfortable?]*
Simran looked down.
“Kabhi-kabhi.”
*[Sometimes.]*
Arvind’s voice became calm.
“I told him to behave. He will not trouble you.”
She looked at him then.
There it was again.
Safety.
Or something wearing safety’s clothes.
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.
Arvind held her gaze.
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
But she felt thankful anyway.
That was the trap working neatly.
Arvind lay face down on the bed, folding his arms near the pillow. Simran poured oil into her palms and rubbed them together.
Her hands were no longer nervous like the first night.
They moved with practice now.
Shoulders first.
Slow circles.
Pressure near the upper back.
Careful along the side, not on the bone.
Arvind closed his eyes.
“Pressure is good.”
Simran gave a faint smile.
“Ab seekh gayi hoon.”
*[Now I have learned.]*
“Yes. You learn fast.”
She stayed silent, but the praise reached her.
For a few minutes, only the sound of the fan filled the room.
Then Arvind asked:
“Ravi said anything about the market?”
Simran’s hands slowed.
“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*
“What?”
“Problem.” She gave a tired laugh. “Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main kuch bhi karun, problem.”
*[Problem. If I went alone, problem. If I went with Billa, problem. Whatever I do, problem.]*
Arvind did not answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Some people don’t know how to protect, but they still want control.”
The sentence landed softly, but it cut.
Simran looked away.
“Ravi bura nahi hai.”
“I know.”
“Bas… weak hai.”
She said it before she realized.
Her hands stopped.
The word hung between them.
Weak.
Arvind opened his eyes slightly, but did not turn.
He let the word stay alive.
Simran quickly continued the massage.
“I shouldn’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is my husband.”
“Truth does not stop being truth because someone is your husband.”
She swallowed.
“Sir, please.”
“Okay,” Arvind said softly. “No more.”
He knew when to stop.
That was why she kept speaking.
After some time, Simran said:
“Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Thoda money bhi bach gaya.”
*[Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Some money was saved too.]*
“That is good.”
“For the first time, kitchen looked full.”
“And you felt in control?”
She thought about it.
“Maybe.”
Arvind’s voice softened.
“You should feel like that more often.”
Simran’s hands slowed again.
Nobody had said that to her before.
Not Ravi.
Not Billa.
Not even life.
You should feel in control.
The words felt expensive.
Like something she could not afford, but wanted to touch.
The hour passed quietly.
When she finished, she wiped her hands with the towel and stepped back.
“Done, sir.”
Arvind sat up slowly.
“You came on your own today.”
Simran’s face warmed.
“Time ho gaya tha.”
*[It was time.]*
He smiled.
“Of course.”
She picked up the oil bottle.
she was standing towords look at door.
and arvind understood.
he unhook her bra hook.
she was like waiting for this signal.
arvind hold her from behind.
( story will update every sunday due to busy work now days i will try to write few chapter every week )
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