14-08-2026, 04:34 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:15 PM by Authorsunny. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 15.5 – Anniversary Preparations
22 November 2025 – Saturday (continued)
“First we clean that properly. Everything down, wipe the shelf, fresh cloth, then the idols back. After that the lights and the diyas. I don’t want to leave it for evening.”
Her voice was practical, motherly, completely steady. Nothing in it hinted at the woman who had leaned against the kitchen counter a few hours earlier and told a man she missed the way he held her. I nodded and pulled the folding table aside so we could reach the corner easily.
The temple shelf was small — a low wooden platform with three brass idols, a tiny diya stand, and a steel plate for flowers. We took everything down. She washed the idols with care, dried them with a soft cloth, and placed them back on a fresh piece of red fabric she had kept aside for celebration . I wiped the shelf and the wall behind it. Our hands moved around the same small space the way they had for years. Once or twice her shoulder brushed mine. She smelled of soap and the mild perfume she now used daily. The closeness was familiar and, after the previous night, strangely charged.
While we worked she spoke about ordinary things — whether the new fairy lights looked better on the grill or inside, how many boxes of sweets we should order, whether the neighbours would burst crackers late into the night. I answered when required. The larger part of my mind remained fixed on the words I had overheard. *I miss it also… the way you hold… five years is a long time to feel nothing… I will wear what you said.*
By noon the temple corner was clean and the idols sat polished in the soft morning light. She stood back, adjusted the red cloth one last time, and nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Now the rest of the house. You sweep, I will wet-mop. Then we can sit for lunch.”
We worked through the small flat without hurry. The 10-by-12 room, the eight-by-eight kitchen corner, the bathroom — everything received the festival attention it received every year. She opened the windows fully. The November air came in cool and slightly smoky from someone already burning old papers in the lane. When she bent to mop under the bed the salwar kameez pulled tight across her hips and the full round shape of her seat. I stared for a second and thenlooked away and kept sweeping.
Lunch was simple — rice, dal, and the dry potato sabzi she had made earlier. We ate at the folding table. She served me first, the way she always had. After a few minutes of quiet eating she spoke without lifting her eyes from her plate.
“In the evening I need to go out for some time.”
I kept my spoon still.
“Where?”
“Some work. I will not be long. Two hours, maybe two and a half. You can rest or watch something. The house is clean, there is nothing urgent left.”
She did not offer more detail. She did not need to. I already knew where the request had come from. The late-night call had arranged it. *If I come down, it cannot be for long… I will message when he is properly asleep…*
I nodded once. She glanced at me, checking my face, then went back to her food as if the matter was settled.
The afternoon passed slowly. She sat on the bed and checked her phone once or twice. I pretended to look at something on my laptop. At around four-thirty she stood up and opened the almirah. She took out the black kurti — the one she had worn on earlier evenings, the one he had asked for on the call. She also took out the jeans that fitted her closely. Without any comment she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I heard the soft sounds of cloth changing. When she came out she had left the salwar kameez on the bathroom hook. The black kurti sat neatly on her body. The neckline was lower than the morning’s clothes. The soft upper curve of her breasts was clearly visible against the fabric. She had left her hair open and had put on the thin gold chain and the silver bracelet. A light touch of the red lipstick was on her mouth. She looked at herself in the small mirror near the washbasin, turned sideways once, and adjusted the kurti at the waist.
She caught my reflection in the mirror and held it for a second.
“I won’t be late,” she said. “There is some rice and sabji in the fridge if you get hungry. Heat it properly.”
“Okay.”
She picked up her small handbag, checked that her phone and keys were inside, and then came and stood near the bed. For a moment it seemed she might say something more — an explanation, a softening, a reminder that she was still my mother. Instead she only reached out and touched the side of my head lightly, the same brief gesture she had used in the morning.
“Take some rest beta. Love you”
Then she left.
The door closed. The sound of her sandals moved down the stairs and faded. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the sudden full silence of the flat. The fairy lights along the grill were still off. The temple corner looked clean and ready. The black kurti she had chosen was the one he had specifically asked for. She had prepared herself the way a woman prepares when she knows she will be looked at with desire.
22 November 2025 – Saturday (continued)
“First we clean that properly. Everything down, wipe the shelf, fresh cloth, then the idols back. After that the lights and the diyas. I don’t want to leave it for evening.”
Her voice was practical, motherly, completely steady. Nothing in it hinted at the woman who had leaned against the kitchen counter a few hours earlier and told a man she missed the way he held her. I nodded and pulled the folding table aside so we could reach the corner easily.
The temple shelf was small — a low wooden platform with three brass idols, a tiny diya stand, and a steel plate for flowers. We took everything down. She washed the idols with care, dried them with a soft cloth, and placed them back on a fresh piece of red fabric she had kept aside for celebration . I wiped the shelf and the wall behind it. Our hands moved around the same small space the way they had for years. Once or twice her shoulder brushed mine. She smelled of soap and the mild perfume she now used daily. The closeness was familiar and, after the previous night, strangely charged.
While we worked she spoke about ordinary things — whether the new fairy lights looked better on the grill or inside, how many boxes of sweets we should order, whether the neighbours would burst crackers late into the night. I answered when required. The larger part of my mind remained fixed on the words I had overheard. *I miss it also… the way you hold… five years is a long time to feel nothing… I will wear what you said.*
By noon the temple corner was clean and the idols sat polished in the soft morning light. She stood back, adjusted the red cloth one last time, and nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Now the rest of the house. You sweep, I will wet-mop. Then we can sit for lunch.”
We worked through the small flat without hurry. The 10-by-12 room, the eight-by-eight kitchen corner, the bathroom — everything received the festival attention it received every year. She opened the windows fully. The November air came in cool and slightly smoky from someone already burning old papers in the lane. When she bent to mop under the bed the salwar kameez pulled tight across her hips and the full round shape of her seat. I stared for a second and thenlooked away and kept sweeping.
Lunch was simple — rice, dal, and the dry potato sabzi she had made earlier. We ate at the folding table. She served me first, the way she always had. After a few minutes of quiet eating she spoke without lifting her eyes from her plate.
“In the evening I need to go out for some time.”
I kept my spoon still.
“Where?”
“Some work. I will not be long. Two hours, maybe two and a half. You can rest or watch something. The house is clean, there is nothing urgent left.”
She did not offer more detail. She did not need to. I already knew where the request had come from. The late-night call had arranged it. *If I come down, it cannot be for long… I will message when he is properly asleep…*
I nodded once. She glanced at me, checking my face, then went back to her food as if the matter was settled.
The afternoon passed slowly. She sat on the bed and checked her phone once or twice. I pretended to look at something on my laptop. At around four-thirty she stood up and opened the almirah. She took out the black kurti — the one she had worn on earlier evenings, the one he had asked for on the call. She also took out the jeans that fitted her closely. Without any comment she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I heard the soft sounds of cloth changing. When she came out she had left the salwar kameez on the bathroom hook. The black kurti sat neatly on her body. The neckline was lower than the morning’s clothes. The soft upper curve of her breasts was clearly visible against the fabric. She had left her hair open and had put on the thin gold chain and the silver bracelet. A light touch of the red lipstick was on her mouth. She looked at herself in the small mirror near the washbasin, turned sideways once, and adjusted the kurti at the waist.
She caught my reflection in the mirror and held it for a second.
“I won’t be late,” she said. “There is some rice and sabji in the fridge if you get hungry. Heat it properly.”
“Okay.”
She picked up her small handbag, checked that her phone and keys were inside, and then came and stood near the bed. For a moment it seemed she might say something more — an explanation, a softening, a reminder that she was still my mother. Instead she only reached out and touched the side of my head lightly, the same brief gesture she had used in the morning.
“Take some rest beta. Love you”
Then she left.
The door closed. The sound of her sandals moved down the stairs and faded. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the sudden full silence of the flat. The fairy lights along the grill were still off. The temple corner looked clean and ready. The black kurti she had chosen was the one he had specifically asked for. She had prepared herself the way a woman prepares when she knows she will be looked at with desire.
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