| |
At 3:30 p.m. the next day, Sheetal arrived at Stonewall and passed a crowd of parents and families who had gathered at the main entrance and along the raised portico. Overnight, more parents had arrived to take students home and were waiting for the afternoon bell to ring. However, Sheetal’s interest lay in the cottages on the far side of the campus. She made her way to the gate, hooked her fingers in the wrought iron loops, and pressed her forehead to the metal.
“Hey, Mum!” Yash called from behind.
Sheetal looked over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Waiting for you.”
“But the classrooms are back there.”
“I forgot. Silly me.” Sheetal turned and walked toward him. “Where would you like to go today?”
“Mall Road.”
Half an hour later, Sheetal and Yash walked hand-in-hand along Mall Road’s sidewalk as vendors hawked their wares and asked tourists to name their price. A gust of wind tore across the mountainside, ripped cloth walls off wooden poles, and shook the scaffolding of make-shift stores.
“Hurry!” a vendor yelled. “Storm!”
“Pack up, quickly!” A woman loaded her items into a metal trunk as others filled boxes. “Put all the show pieces here.”
“Arrey, not there, boy!” a man bellowed. “Here. In this box.” Bangs, clatters, and snaps filled the air as gray clouds thickened and another gust of icy wind whipped from behind. Snowflakes spun past as Sheetal pulled Yash to her side.
“It’s freezing, Mum. We need to find shelter.”
Vendors hastily rolled sheets and dumped them into boxes, dismantled support frames, and stacked their belongings along the edges of sidewalks. Cries of “Jaldi karo,” “Quickly,” and “Wind! Strong wind!” urged people to hurry to escape the approaching storm. Surprise storms, common in Mansali, had clearly trained the locals to survive in the mountains controlled by mammoth gods.
Sheetal tightened her grip on Yash’s hand and ran toward numerous brick shops ahead. Another gust of wind whirled a wall of snow, obstructing her view. Sheetal bent her head and veered right, searching for a coffee shop or restaurant where they could take cover. The first door she tried was locked. They trudged ahead, shielding their faces from the wind. She tried the next door. This one gave way. Sheetal pulled Yash in and leaned against the wind-shoved door to close it. Door chimes tinkled furiously and several people looked up from colorful, plastic-tablecloth covered tables.
“Arrey Bhai!” a thickly accented voice called out and the taxi driver emerged from the kitchen. “Welcome! Welcoming again to my humble Spiceality.”
His name? The aromas of cumin, hot oil, and garlic filled her lungs.
The taxi driver wiped his hands on a green towel that draped his shoulder and rushed toward them. “Oh ho ho! Who is coming today? Welcome welcome!” He ruffled Yash’s hair.
Yash giggled.
“Chotta Baba”—he referred to Yash as “Little Boy”—"is in good mood, I am seeing.”
Why couldn’t he speak Hindi like he did when he chatted with everyone else? Sheetal dusted snow off her jacket and gloves and helped Yash do the same. “And you, Madame. Last time coming and then going so quickly-quickly. No time for eating anything.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“No problem, Madame. No problem. Please sit on any seat you are liking.” He led them to an empty table and pulled out two chairs. “Aloo matar, chole garam, rajma rasiya, paneer do pyaza....” he continued to recite names of vegetables, meats. lentil soups, and breads, followed by rice dishes from the southern region of India.
The pungent smell of turmeric and spices caused Sheetal to hold her breath as she struggled to focus on the recital. “Do you have a menu?” she asked in Hindi.
“Sorry, Madame,” he pressed on in English. “I am reciting menu every day to all customers. Cannot fix here because items changing depending on what vegetable and meats is being available in market.”
“We’re really not that hungry. We just came in to get away from the storm.”
“No worrying, Madame. Most welcome to staying long as you like.” He wiped his masala-stained fingers on the green hand towel again and then scratched his beard. “My home, your home. One and same thing.”
Sheetal looked past his shoulder to a row of windows and the storm intensifying outside. She sat down. “I’ll just have a coffee. And Yash—” The door chimes tinkled and Sheetal looked up.
The blustery wind raged in through the open door and a gentleman dressed in black slammed the door shut. He dusted himself, pulled off a woolen hat, and shook it free of white flakes.
Arvind! Her heart skipped a beat.
“Chopra Sir!”
“Hey, Yash! Sheetal.” Arvind nodded. “Good to meet again. So, what brings you here?”
“The storm,” Sheetal replied. “I didn’t expect the weather to change without warning.”
“That’s normal here. We just run and take cover. And make new friends along the way.” Arvind’s attention shifted. “Jattu Bhai!”
Jatinder Singh. That was his name.
Arvind shook Jatinder’s hand and sat at a nearby table. “How about your soup of the day?”
“Tomato shorba. And you, Chotta Baba.” Jatinder turned to Yash. “What you having?”
“A masala dosa,” Yash asked for a crispy, white rice-and-lentil crepe with a spicy filling of potatoes and onions.
“Yes, yes! Good choice. My wife making fresh dosas, hot and crisp with her own hands.” He held out his hands. Cracks ran along the palms, and yellow-and-red stains of Indian masalas dotted his fingers.
Sheetal pulled out a packet of wet tissues and wiped Yash’s hands. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “How about you have that dosa later and take a hot chocolate instead?” “I’ll take you someplace better, more hygienic, for dinner.”
“I want a dosa now.” Yash frowned.
“Aah! Chotta Baba knowing what is good here.” Jatinder nodded as two waiters carried tray loads of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. A customer signaled and Jatinder acknowledged the call with a wave of his hand. “Please, Madame. Other customer needing me. I am coming, one minute.” Then he wove through a maze of tables.
“You shouldn’t eat in such places,” Sheetal whispered to Yash.
“Why?”
“You could end up with a stomach infection and then—”
“Why don’t you two join me here?” Arvind peeled off a leather jacket and rolled up the blue-and-white-checkered sleeves of his shirt.
Sheetal peered above the rim of Yash’s head. “We’re not really here to eat, just to get away from the storm.”
“That storm isn’t going anywhere anytime soon so you’re stuck for a while. Where are you staying?”
“Holiday Inn.”
“So, friend”—Arvind addressed Yash—“what did you order?”
Yash walked to Arvind’s table and whispered in his ear even though anyone within a meter’s radius could hear, “A masala dosa.”
“Why are you whispering?” Arvind asked as Sheetal pulled a chair beside an electric heater perched on a low stool.
“Because Mum says not to eat in such places.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her attention flew to the window behind Arvind and the curtain of white outside.
“Really, yaar?” Arvind grinned.
Her heart melted. She hadn’t heard a casual, easy-going, affectionate tone like that in years.
“Mum said it’s not clean and I could catch a stomachache and fall sick and—”
“That’s enough, Yash.” Sheetal gripped the table’s edge.
“But that’s what you said,” he argued.
“And you don’t have to tell everyone.”
“Chopra Sir is not everyone.”
“Whoa!” Arvind said. “I think I’m in the middle of a mother-son debate.”
“I’m going to the comics.” Yash ran to the kiosk.
“Yash!” Sheetal called after him.
“Just one look, Mum.”
“Come back, Yash.”
“Aww!” he whined. “Once.”
“Let him be,” Arvind suggested.
“I know when to let him be,” Sheetal firmed her voice. “I’m his mother.”
Arvind raised both hands. “My mistake. Happens when you spend months with other people’s children and forget you’re just a custodian.”
Sheetal wiped her hands clean with a wet tissue then used it to brush a few crumbs off the table.
“Beautiful ring, by the way. Expensive?” He gestured to the princess-cut diamond.
Dhanraj blood rushed to Sheetal’s head and she straightened her posture. “Ten carats.”
“I’m not surprised. A beautiful woman like you deserves beautiful things.”
Sheetal sucked in her lip, regretting her tone. Did it really matter if the ring was ten, twelve, or fifteen carats? Arvind had simply shown appreciation, and in typical Dhanraj manner, she’d patronized him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that. How’s your family?”
“My parents died a few years after I left Raigun. They took a bus up from Lower Mansali to meet me here, but their bus swerved to avoid collision with an oncoming lorry, overturned, and went off a cliff.”
Sheetal sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry. How did you cope?”
“The same way everyone else does, I guess.”
Sheetal swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mama told me you visited my family after I married.”
“To let her know she need not sorry. That I was out of your life forever and leaving Raigun.” He shook his head. “What was I thinking when I came for you that day? How on Earth did I think I could barge in and whisk you away? I was such a fool.”
“You’re not.”
“You didn’t come with me.”
“You know I—”
“Of course, you couldn’t. I understand now, but not then.”
“I asked Kavita to give you a letter before I married but found out she didn’t.”
“A letter for what? Another goodbye?” his tone mocked.
“To wait for me. I needed time to prove my marriage to Rakesh wasn’t working. I planned to divorce Rakesh and then I’d be free to marry you. But you’d already left.”
“What else did you expect? I risked my life climbing your balcony but you were hell bent on managing Mr. Millionaire.”
Why couldn’t he leave Rakesh alone? “So, what about your PhD?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“I’m assuming you must have taken a transfer and completed your degree.”
“Delhi University.”
“And your family? How many children do you have?” A knot fisted her throat.
“Sixteen.”
Sheetal reached for the mangalsutra around her neck and rolled the sacred gold and black beads that validated her marital status.
“Boys. All sixteen, by the way.”
He hadn’t lost his sense of humor.
“Oh, come on, Sheetal. It’s a joke, for God’s sake. Every single boy in my care is like my own. Lighten up.”
“What about your wife?”
“What about her?”
“Where does she live? Here?”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
Her forehead throbbed. “So, where is she?”
“Who?”
“Your wife.”
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why do you want to know about my wife? What difference does it make where she lives, how she lives, and what she does?”
“What difference does the size or cost of this ring make? You asked, I answered, and now it’s your turn.”
“In ten years, did you think of me?”
“I’m married, Arvind. I have a child and family.” Why was he using that rigid tone of voice?
“I was nothing but a joke in your life.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You didn’t have the guts.”
Anger seethed. “I was going to end my marriage to be with you. I just told you.”
“Did you?” He crossed his arms.
“How could I when you left and vanished? What was I supposed to do?”
“Did you have the guts to end your marriage first and then come find me?”
“How? Where?”
“Did you ask around for me? I told a bunch of our friends where I was heading—Kavita and Gaurav included.”
“She said she didn’t know where you were.”
“Forget it, Sheetal.” Arvind lowered his arms. “Some things are not meant to be. Besides, I’m over it.”
Guilt clawed at her heart. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”
“Why are you so serious and uptight? Where’s your sense of humor?”
“I don’t see anything funny in what we’ve discussed, and I don’t see either of us laughing.”
“You used to. Seems like you don’t anymore.”
She looked past him to several waiters serving customers as the storm raged. She used to be so much more and do so much more.
“Do you know I was supposed to pick up my parents from Lower Mansali but they said not to bother, they’d manage on their own, it was just a three-hour uphill ride? They died, but I’m still here. How do you think that makes me feel?”
What if he had died? The breath caught in her throat. How would she have ever known?
A beeping disturbed the silence between them. Arvind flicked open his mobile. “Hello? Arvind speaking. Yes, I know. I’m stuck at Jatinder Bhai’s because of the storm.”
The wind howled, and Sheetal reached out to warm her hands near the heater.
He switched off the phone and placed it on the table. “I was naïve and foolish to choose you above everything. But that’s how much I loved you. I gave up everything, and you left me for everything.”
The blood rushed to her head. What had he given up? He’d had nothing to lose. How could she have left him when Mama and Papa never intended for her to go with him in the first place? He had turned up on the balcony on her wedding day expecting her to elope.
“So, how is that husband of yours?”
That husband? “His name is Rakesh.”
“All these high-flying marriages make headlines, you know. Sometimes, ordinary people like us happen to read them. Rakesh has been in the papers quite a bit. Just wondering, that’s all.”
The company, no doubt. “We’re happily married.”
“Acchha hai.” He nodded. “Even though I didn’t ask. Still, good to know you’re both still together.”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“You read about so many break-ups and divorces nowadays.”
“We’re very happy.”
“Good. At least one of us is.”
“What do you mean?”
“One tomato shorba. Very, very hot. And one hot coffee,” Jatinder bellowed as he hurried over with a tray of food. “I bringing myself.” He placed the bowl of soup and cup of coffee on the table and wiped his hands on the green towel. “Chotta Baba, dosa. I know. I remember and come back again. Bringing, Madame.”
“Arrey, yaar. Jattu Bhai!” Arvind’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he addressed Jatinder with the camaraderie reserved for close friends. “Be cool. What’s with all the formality? Join us and have some....”
“Many customers waiting. I must go attend first.” Jatinder Bhai left.
Arvind poured milk into the coffee. “Sugar?” he asked.
In ten years, Rakesh had never asked her how much sugar she wanted.
“Two, please.”
“That’s a lot.” He added two teaspoons of sugar and swirled the liquid. “Not good for you.” He tapped the spoon lightly against the cup’s rim and laid it to rest on the saucer. “Be careful. It’s hot.” He wrapped one hand around the cup and passed it.
“Still giving free advice?”
“It’s for your own good. Besides, bad habits are hard to break.”
Sheetal absently wrapped her fingers around the cup to soak up its warmth, her attention on the blizzard outside. If the storm continued to rage into the night, would they be stuck here together? She ran a thumb along the porcelain’s rim.
“Sheetal?” Arvind said. “Sheetal, my hand.”
She looked down and pulled back from Arvind’s fingers, which were still wrapped around the cup. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s okay. I guess bad habits are hard to break.” He pinched the cup’s handle, centered the cup on his free hand, and offered her the drink. “Just the way you like it. Hot and sweet.”
Sheetal held out her flattened palm, but he didn’t relinquish the cup. Clearly, he wanted her to make the first move. She placed one hand beneath his, pinched the cup by the handle, then lowered and centered the cup on the saucer.
He pressed her hand, trapping her fingers between the warmth of his hand and the heat of the coffee.
The liquid sloshed gently, past and present lapping the porcelain’s edge. One cup. One moment to keep.
“Your soup is cooling.”
He said nothing.
“Arvind, let go.”
“I did, ten years ago.”
“The cup. The coffee, I mean.”
He slid his fingers away ever so gently and Sheetal curled the fingers of her free hand around his.
“Sheetal, let go.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
He pulled away. Drops of coffee spilled over the cup’s edge and dribbled down Sheetal’s fingers.
“Hot, hot dosa coming!” Jatinder returned with a tray of food.
“Looks good,” Arvind said.
The paper-thin, white and golden rice crepe, rolled into a tube, oozed a spicy yellow potato filling. The top fold hung over the crepe like a tongue and pointed at two bowls, one filled with a spicy brown lentil soup, and the other with light green coconut chutney.
“Hot off tava!” Jatinder referred to a large iron griddle. “And Arvind, yaar....”
Sheetal gestured for Yash to return.
Yash shook his head and held up a comic.
“Your dosa is here,” Sheetal lip-synched. “It will get cold.”
“Not now,” he lip-synched back. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“You two knowing each other?” Jatinder asked.
“From college,” Arvind replied.
“Good. Very good.”
“We’re just old acquaintances,” Arvind said.
“You telling me ‘acquaintancing,’” Jatinder teased in Hindi, “but I am seeing more in your eyes.”
Heat steaming from the dosa rose up Sheetal’s neck and spread along her shoulders. She turned away in embarrassment.
“Don’t mind him,” Arvind said. “Jatinder’s like an older brother, always watching out for me but saying more than he should.”
“An old friend, Madame, who is knowing more, but not understanding why Arvind Bhai still not marrying. Why waiting when some woman he loving many years ago is long-time married?”
“Jattu Bhai,” Arvind’s tone tensed. “I’ll have a coffee, as well.”
“First you say soup, then coffee.” Jatinder shook his head. “Drinking two-two at same time not good for digestion. It not taking troubles away. Chotta Baba busy, so I am changing this dosa and getting another hot, crispy one.” He left with the dish.
“So, who are you waiting for?” Sheetal asked.
“No one.” Arvind looked away.
“Jatinder said you never married.”
“So?”
“You’re alone.” She was married and still alone.
“It means nothing.”
“But you’re not sharing your life with anyone.”
“You share a life when you have someone to live for. To live with.”
“Then find that someone.”
“I did. She left me.”
“I’m here,” Sheetal whispered.
“You’re not the Sheetal I knew. What does all this mean anyway? You, here, in front of me one minute and gone the next.”
“You can marry and start a new life.”
“I’m not like you. There’s a difference.”
“What’s happened, happened. We should forget it and move on.” By not marrying and settling down, Arvind only worsened his pain. She sipped the coffee and almost burned her tongue.
Arvind stirred the shorba and raised the spoon to his lips.
This chance meeting reminded her of afternoons spent seated across from him at the on-campus Barista. He’d describe hilarious cricket games played with friends on a vacant lot bordered by a wire fence and a crumbling brick wall. When the ball sailed off field, Arvind forced his way through gaps cut in the fence by vandals, then victoriously returned to the field with the ball and new tears in his shirt. His “game trophies,” he called the bloody scratches from the fence.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
Sheetal lowered the cup to the saucer and hunched over the steam.
Arvind did the same and their foreheads almost met.
“Turning you down that day. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She ran a thumb over the cup’s rim.
“What happened, happened. We should forget it and, like you said, move on with our lives. ”
The warmth of his breath washed over each exhale. “I want you to know I haven’t forgotten our time together. I’ve never forgiven myself since.”
“Neither have I,” he murmured.
“For turning you away, the way I did.”
“For loving you the way I did.”
“It’s different,” she said.
“What is?”
Sheetal dipped the spoon in her coffee and swirled the milky brown liquid. “What I did to you was wrong and I live with the guilt every day.”
“Every day?” He stirred his soup.
“Every day.”
“Every hour?”
“Every hour.”
“Every minute?”
“Every minute.”
“Every—”
“Second,” she stole the word out of his mouth.
“Then it was worth it because, at least, you thought of me and didn’t forget.”
This conversation only stirred up the past and filled her cup with more regrets. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”
“Then, tell me, for my peace of mind. If things had been different, would you have chosen me instead?”
She leaned against the chair’s backrest and looked at the wall of snow outside the window. “Does it matter? It’s over. We can’t change—”
“Anything. I know. But for my peace of mind, so that I can believe you really did love me.”
“I gave Kavita that letter.” She clinked her spoon against the cup’s rim and laid it on the table. “Isn’t that proof? I can’t help or change that she didn’t give you the letter and didn’t tell me of your whereabouts. I wish I had an answer, but this is all I can offer for now.”
“So do I.” He laid his spoon to rest. “I still wish you’d run away with me that day.”
Her attention flicked from his soup to her coffee and back. Two different liquids in two different vessels and ten years later they were stirring up the past at one table.
“Friend?” He held out a hand in an offer of truce.
She reached for his hand. “Friend.” She slid her fingers along his warm brown skin. He tightened his grip and her breath stilled.
He coughed.
She withdrew her hand, fished her wallet from her handbag, and pressed it atop the table. “I’m paying.”
“No arguments. I’ve been paying all my life.” He winked. “Now, no more of the past. How about a new beginning and a new introduction? Hi. I’m Arvind Chopra.”
“Sheetal Dhanraj.”
“Arrey! Garam garam dosa!” Jatinder Bhai strode toward them carrying another tray. “Crisp. Crunchy! Hot. Very hot.” He delivered the dish along with Arvind’ coffee, excused himself, and left.
Sheetal glanced at the steaming dosa and then back at Arvind. Desire rose with the steam, whirling up her soul in a vortex of hunger.
Yes. This one was hot.
Oh, so extremely hot.
***
The taxi pulled up outside the Holiday Inn and Sheetal fished in her handbag for her wallet. Her fingers scraped the interior of the pocket and she bit her lower lip. She unzipped another section and another, in vain.
The valet opened the passenger door, but Sheetal didn’t step out. “I seem to have misplaced my wallet.” She looked at the driver in the rearview mirror.
The driver raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Waah, Madame! You are forgetting your wallet somewhere, but I still have to feed my family tonight.”
“Oh no. I’ll make sure you get paid. Please wait here.” She exited the Fiat, walked up the granite steps, through the sliding, double-glass doors and headed for the reception counter.
A young man in a suit and tie looked up from his monitor. “Good evening, Mrs. Dhanraj. How can I help you?”
“I left my wallet somewhere and I need to pay the taxi driver five-hundred-and-fifty rupees. He’s waiting outside.”
“Not a problem, Ma’am. We can pay him for you. In cash?”
“Yes, please. And charge the amount on my card.”
“Will do. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Sheetal entered her room, flipped open the lid of her suitcase, and ran her fingers along the inner pockets and checked between extra salwar suits and jumpers she hadn’t unpacked. She ran her hand between the narrow slits of the sofa cushions, searched under the duvet, and lifted the floral bed skirt. Nothing. She pulled open drawers in the bureau and sifted through an array of lipsticks, cases of compact powder, blush, and lip pencils, then slammed the drawers shut. How could she be so absentminded? She’d planned to pack her suitcase early in the evening for tomorrow’s journey home, have dinner on time, then spend the evening watching a little TV to settle her edgy nerves so, from tomorrow on, she could forget Arvind and return to life as a Dhanraj.
She mentally retraced her steps that afternoon and evening. She’d paid for the meal at Jatinder’s restaurant, dropped Yash off at Stonewall after the storm passed, then took the same taxi back to the Holiday Inn. Which meant she had left her wallet at Jatinder’s restaurant.
The room’s telephone rang. She stared at the bedside table, where the phone sat beside a digital clock and lamp. Who was calling at eight o’clock? Laundry? Room service? She hadn’t ordered anything. She reached for the receiver and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Dhanraj?” a male voice asked.
“Yes?”
“There’s a gentleman here to see you.”
“Who?”
“He says he has your wallet.”
Jatinder Singh! Sheetal exhaled in relief. “I’m coming.” She replaced the handset in the cradle, took the elevator down to the lobby, and rushed toward the young man behind the reception desk. “Excuse me. I got a call just now about someone here to return my wallet?”
The receptionist pointed over her shoulder.
Sheetal turned and the breath caught in her throat. “Arvind.”
“You left this.” He handed the wallet over. “I figured you couldn’t leave without it.”
Sheetal took the leather wallet, pressed it between her palms, and slumped against a sofa’s headrest for support. “Thank you. I turned my suitcase, clothes, and the whole room upside down looking for it.”
“I’m not surprised. And since I was on my way here, I thought I’d give you something I picked up the other day.” He held out a cardboard box that fit in the palms of both hands.
Sheetal accepted the box, pulled open the top flap, and gasped at the glass jewelry box the toothless old woman had tried to sell her. “It’s beautiful!”
“The lady told me you liked it. It’s nothing much, but something, perhaps, to remember your trip here.”
Feeling the press of the receptionist’s stare, Sheetal led Arvind to a corner seating arrangement on the far left of the lobby, held the jewelry box up to the crystal chandelier, and marveled at the pink, green, and orange triangles of light that formed on the white wall behind Arvind.
“Arrey, can you believe she charged me twenty-five? I told her I was buying it for the ‘gori gori memsahib.’ She had quoted twenty rupees, but the old croon refused to back down. Anyway, it’s worth every rupee as long as you like it.”
“I love it.”
“Well, I guess I should get going. You leave tomorrow, right?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. Have a safe trip, and take care.” He started to turn away.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
She melted in the liquid brown of his eyes, desperate for him to stay. “Yash.”
“What about Yash?”
“Tell him I’ll be there after school to pick him up tomorrow.”
“Fine.” He nodded. “Any other message for a messenger at your service?”
She pressed the wallet to her chest and stroked her thumb over the leather, releasing some of the musk fragrance that clung to it. “No.”
Sheetal returned to her room, changed into a lace-frilled, white satin nighty, switched off the lights, and pressed the wallet between both palms as she lay in bed. Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, visualizing Arvind’s hair—how the strands still cascaded in black waves. She thought of the warm glow of his coppery skin in the lobby light, the silk of his palm against her hand, and closed her eyes.
A knock sounded and Sheetal sat up. Another knock came. “Who is it?” she called.
“Arvind.”
Her heart raced. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
She glanced at the clock. Ten. What could Arvind possibly want to discuss at this hour? “I—”
“I understand it’s late but—”
“How did you know my room number?”
“Yash told me.”
Sheetal swung her feet over the mattress edge and switched on the table lamp. “I can’t let you in.”
“We need to talk, Sheetal.”
She padded down the five feet long, narrow passageway, slid the chain latch in place, cracked open the door, and peered through the inch-wide slit. Their eyes locked and she ran a hand down her hip. Seven thin diamond bangles tinkled along her wrist. “Just give me a minute.” She closed the door, donned a matching silk gown, and tied the ribbon around her waist. She would talk to him outside in the corridor, certainly not in the privacy of the room. She unlocked the door, swung it open, and stepped onto the velvety maroon carpet just as a lift door on the far right of the hall glided open.
Sheetal grabbed Arvind’s jacket sleeve, pulled him into the room, and locked the door.
The scent of musk filled the narrow space. She released him.
“This isn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t be here.” He turned around to leave.
Sheetal grabbed his arm. “You’re obviously here for something important.”
“I...I had to see you one last time.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Musk. Musk everywhere. “And here you are with me.”
He leaned close and the soft hairs of his French beard brushed her cheek. “And you with me.” His soft, mocha lips pressed her cheek.
She raised her head, glided her lips across his jaw, and the fuzz of his beard pricked her ever so gently. She took a deep breath, forced herself away, and looked into his eyes.
He slid an arm around her waist and she pressed closer, ran her fingers up the blue-and-white-checkered shirt, forced the jacket off his shoulders, and let the garment strike the floor with a thud as bangles tinkled down her wrists.
“Sheetal—”
“Shhhh.” She slid seven white buttons out of their checkered holes, parted the ocean of cotton fabric, and rolled the shirt off his shoulders. His taut copper contours gleamed in the soft yellow light, and he tilted his head down to meet her lips. Sheetal joined both hands behind his neck, pulled him closer, and the scent of mocha rushed through her veins.
“We shouldn’t.”
His manhood pulsed through the thin film of her nighty and a wetness surged between the vee of her legs. She ran her fingers along the gentle swell of his chest, so firm and comforting.
“Sheetal.”
“Shhh.” She raised a finger to his lips. Hot. She shivered. She brushed her lips across his.
He stiffened and pressed his hands by his side.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you—? Don’t you...?” She let a finger trail down his chest.
“I can’t.”
“I belong to you. I always did.” She kissed him long and hard, swallowed, and a whirlpool of sadness spiraled into the empty karva of her soul.
He swelled, throbbed, pulsed as he hardened against her. His lips coaxed hers apart with gentle licks, then ever so slowly, his finger trailed down to her waist and the satin belt unraveled. He pulled away. “We don’t have to do this.”
She caught his hand and returned it to her waist.
He ran his fingers through her hair, down her neck, and gently brushed aside the spaghetti straps of her nighty. The satin slipped off her shoulders and the nighty pooled around her feet. He trailed a finger along the curve of her breast and her nipples hardened. Then he removed his belt, trousers, and underwear, scooped her into his arms, and laid her on the bed.
He eased on top and pressed kisses on her eyes, cheeks, and lips.
She rubbed against him and a vortex of heat spiraled. Oh, how she yearned to be loved by this man. She pulled him closer, tighter, harder.
Arvind pulled away, his attention fixed on a center point between her eyebrows.
She touched her forehead and peeled off the bindi.
“You’re married, Sheetal. This is so wrong.”
Why did “wrong” feel so much better than “right”?
His earthy musk filled her with a euphoria she had never known. She kissed his chest while he stroked her thighs. “Take me.”
He kissed her long and hard, then entered and filled her.
She dug her fingers into his arms with a determination never to let go.
Sheetal ran a hand along the mattress and willed her eyes open. On her right, the jewelry box crowned an empty pillow. She rolled and something struck the mattress. She curled her fingers around the wallet, pressed it to her cheek, and inhaled the scent of musk.
Here one minute and gone the next, like a dream.