[SuitAndSyahi]

Chapter 5: The Unexpected Kiss

The morning began with deliberate avoidance.
Ritu heard the familiar chime of the doorbell at exactly eight o'clock.
She knew it was Sarla before she even reached the door.
For a brief second, she considered pretending she hadn't heard it.
The thought embarrassed her.
She unlocked the door anyway.
"Good morning, Memsaab."
Sarla stood with the same faded cloth bag over her shoulder, her hair neatly tied back, her expression calm.
As though nothing extraordinary had happened the evening before.
"Good morning," Ritu replied.
She stepped aside.
Sarla entered quietly, slipped off her sandals, and walked toward the kitchen.
Neither woman mentioned yesterday.
Not the conversation.
Not the bruises.
Not the tears that had nearly surfaced but never quite did.
The apartment filled with ordinary sounds.
Running water.
Steel utensils touching one another.
The soft scbang of a broom across the floor.
Ritu sat at the dining table with her laptop open, trying to lose herself in emails before her first meeting.
It didn't work.
Every time Sarla entered the room, she became acutely aware of her presence.
When Sarla asked, "Tea?"
Ritu answered without looking up.
"Yes... thank you."
When Sarla placed the cup beside her, Ritu murmured thanks while keeping her eyes fixed on the screen.
She wasn't being rude.
She simply didn't know how to behave anymore.
Yesterday had erased the comfortable distance between employer and employee.
Yet neither of them knew what was supposed to replace it.
Sarla seemed to understand.
She never forced conversation.
She worked quietly, giving Ritu the space she appeared to need.
By late morning, the floor had been swept and only the mopping remained.
The smell of fresh floor cleaner drifted through the apartment.
Ritu was reviewing a presentation when her phone vibrated.
Her manager's name flashed across the screen.
Incoming Meeting.
She glanced at the time.
She had forgotten.
"Oh no..."
She snatched up the phone and headset.
"I'm joining!"
Already accepting the call, she hurried around the coffee table toward the quieter bedroom.
She took two quick steps.
The third landed on the freshly mopped marble.
Her foot slid.
The world lurched sideways.
The phone slipped from her hand.
She instinctively reached for the edge of the sofa, missed it, and hit the floor with a dull thud.
A sharp pain shot through her ankle.
The headset clattered beside her.
"Memsaab!"
Sarla dropped the mop immediately and hurried over.
"Don't get up."
"I'm fine," Ritu said automatically.
She tried to stand.
The moment she put weight on her foot, pain flared through her ankle.
She sank back with a quiet gasp.
Sarla crouched beside her.
"I said don't get up."
Her voice was calm but firm.
The meeting notification continued chiming from the fallen phone.
Without thinking, Sarla picked it up and muted it before placing it on the table.
"They'll call again," she said.
"Your foot comes first."
Ritu let out a frustrated sigh.
"I never miss meetings."
"You've also never fallen in my kitchen before."
Despite herself, Ritu gave a breathless laugh.
"Fair enough."
"Can you move your ankle?"
Ritu tried.
A wince answered the question.
"Slowly," Sarla said.
"Don't force it."
Supporting Ritu carefully beneath the arm, Sarla helped her sit on the sofa.
Every movement was unhurried.
She waited whenever Ritu needed a moment.
Once Ritu was settled, Sarla disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cushion.
"Lift your leg."
"It's all right—"
"Lift it."
There was gentle authority in her tone.
Ritu obeyed.
Sarla slid the cushion beneath the injured ankle.
"There."
The position eased the pain slightly.
Ritu exhaled.
"I suppose we're even now."
Sarla looked puzzled.
"Yesterday you looked after me."
She smiled faintly.
"Today it's my turn."
Ritu couldn't help smiling back.
The awkwardness that had hung between them all morning eased, if only a little.
Sarla opened the first-aid box from the side cabinet.
"I think the pain-relief gel will help until the swelling settles."
Ritu nodded.
"Would you like me to apply it?"
The question was simple.
Matter-of-fact.
After yesterday, the request carried no embarrassment—only the same respect Sarla herself had been shown.
Ritu looked at her for a moment.
Then she gave a small, trusting nod.
"Please."
For the first time that morning, both women met each other's eyes without looking away.
The silence between them no longer felt uncomfortable.
It felt understood.


Sarla sat down carefully on the edge of the sofa, her body angled toward Ritu’s outstretched leg. The cushion was already in place, but she adjusted it once more, making sure it supported the ankle perfectly. For a few seconds, she simply rested her hand lightly on Ritu’s calf, as if giving the injured foot time to settle.
The ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. Outside, a distant pressure horn blared from the main road, but inside the apartment, everything felt strangely hushed.
Sarla squeezed a small amount of the cooling gel onto her fingertips. The sharp menthol scent rose between them. She began applying it with slow, thoughtful strokes — starting from the lower part of the ankle and moving upward in gentle circles. Her touch was warm, steady, and far more careful than necessary.
Neither woman spoke for a long time.
Then Sarla broke the silence, her voice low and almost reflective.
“Your husband is a lucky man, Memsaab,” she said softly. “Not many women care this much… for someone like me.”
Ritu felt warmth bloom across her cheeks. She kept her eyes fixed on a crack in the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing. “It was nothing,” she murmured.
Sarla didn’t reply immediately. Her fingers continued their slow, rhythmic movement, pressing just enough to soothe the swelling. The silence stretched again, comfortable yet charged.
After some time, Sarla spoke once more, her tone quieter. “Intimacy… it keeps a marriage alive, doesn’t it?” She paused, her thumb tracing a small circle near Ritu’s ankle bone. “I have seen so many homes. People living together, but still so far apart. Real closeness is rare.”
Ritu swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. She knew she should change the subject. She should say something safe about work or the weather. But the words wouldn’t come.
“It can be… complicated,” she said instead, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sarla nodded slowly, as if she had expected that answer. She shifted a little closer on the sofa. Her thigh now rested lightly against the side of the cushion. The proximity felt both natural and dangerous.
“I have never known a kiss like they show in films,” Sarla continued after a long pause. Her voice had dropped even lower. “The kind that makes you forget everything. Passionate. Long.” She gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “My husband is a simple man. For people like us, such things don’t happen.”
Ritu’s heart was beating noticeably faster now. She felt a strange mix of shyness and something deeper — an unexpected tenderness.
“It’s… quite common in marriages,” she said gently. “And it is a good thing. It brings two people closer.”
Sarla’s hand stilled on her ankle. She remained quiet for several seconds, as though weighing her next words carefully. Then she lifted her gaze and looked directly into Ritu’s eyes.
“How does your husband kiss you?”
The question landed heavily between them. Ritu’s breath caught. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.
“I… I can’t really explain it,” she said, her voice unsteady. “It’s just something he does. It feels…”
She trailed off, unable to finish.
Sarla didn’t look away. The air between their faces felt thinner now. Slowly, very slowly, Sarla leaned forward. Not suddenly. Not forcefully. But with a deliberate, almost hesitant movement — giving Ritu plenty of time to pull back, to speak, to stop her.
Their faces drew closer.
Close enough for Ritu to notice the tiny mole just above Sarla’s upper lip. Close enough to smell the faint trace of coconut oil in her hair. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.
“Like this?” Sarla whispered, so softly it was almost lost in the sound of the fan.
Ritu’s mind screamed at her to move away. But her body remained still.
Sarla’s lips brushed against hers — incredibly soft, tentative, and warm. The contact was feather-light at first, almost testing. A question more than a demand. There was no rush. No hunger. Just a quiet exploration that sent a slow, electric current through Ritu’s entire body.
Time seemed to stretch. The menthol scent, the coolness beneath her ankle, the distant city noise — everything faded into the background. All that remained was the gentle pressure of Sarla’s mouth and the thunderous beating of her own heart.
When Sarla finally pulled back, only a few inches, her eyes searched Ritu’s face with quiet intensity. She said nothing. She simply waited — patient, vulnerable, and unafraid of whatever came next.
Ritu sat frozen on the sofa, her heart hammering so violently she could feel it in her throat. The ghost of Sarla’s lips still lingered on hers — warm, impossibly soft, and completely unexpected. For several long seconds, her mind simply refused to process what had just happened.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not here. Not with her.
Sarla remained close, her face only inches away, watching Ritu with calm, patient eyes. There was no guilt in them. No panic. Only a quiet, almost tender curiosity, as if she were waiting to see which way the wind would blow.
Ritu’s breath came shallow and uneven. Heat flooded her face, spreading down her neck. Her injured ankle throbbed in time with her pulse, but the pain felt distant now, unimportant. All she could focus on was the woman sitting beside her — the woman who had just kissed her in her own living room, in the middle of an ordinary workday.
“I… I didn’t…” Ritu’s voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. “What was that?”
Sarla tilted her head slightly, her expression gentle, almost understanding. “Did I make you uncomfortable, Memsaab?” she asked softly. Her hand was still resting lightly on Ritu’s calf, the touch now feeling far too intimate.
Ritu pulled her leg back as much as the pain would allow, creating distance between them. Her mind was spinning. This was Sarla — her maid. The woman who cleaned her house, who made tea for her, who had bruises on her arm from her own husband. And yet, in this moment, Sarla suddenly felt like someone else entirely. Someone dangerous. Someone who had crossed a line Ritu hadn’t even known existed.
“You should go,” Ritu said, the words tumbling out sharper than she intended. She avoided Sarla’s eyes, fixing her gaze instead on the muted phone lying on the coffee table. “Please. I… I have work. The meeting. I need to—”
“Memsaab,” Sarla interrupted gently, her voice still calm, almost soothing. She made no move to stand.
Ritu’s chest tightened. The shock was slowly giving way to something hotter — embarrassment, confusion, and a flicker of anger at herself for letting the moment happen. How had she not seen this coming? How had she allowed the distance between them to shrink so dangerously?
“I said you should leave,” Ritu repeated, her tone firmer this time, though her voice still trembled slightly. She reached for her phone with shaking fingers, pretending to check the time. “This… this was a mistake. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You should go home early today.”
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Sarla sat still for a long moment, studying Ritu’s face. Then she gave a small, slow nod. She rose from the sofa with quiet dignity, smoothing down the front of her salwar. But even as she stepped back, her presence still seemed to fill the room.
“As you wish, Memsaab,” she said softly. There was no resentment in her voice, only that same unnerving calmness. She picked up her cloth bag from the corner and slipped her sandals back on near the door.
At the threshold, Sarla paused and glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes met Ritu’s one last time.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I only wanted to show you what I felt. Nothing more.”
Then she was gone.
The door clicked shut behind her with a quiet finality.
Ritu let out a shaky breath and slumped back against the sofa, pressing both hands to her face. Her lips still tingled. Her ankle throbbed. And in the heavy silence of the empty apartment, a storm of emotions crashed over her — shock, guilt, disbelief, and something far more disturbing underneath it all.
Something that felt dangerously like curiosity.
She closed her eyes tightly, trying to push the memory of that soft, tentative kiss out of her mind. But it refused to leave.