Everything felt normal again,

As my mother's hands worked in my hair, with a familiar clink of bangles that soothed something in me-after a long journey.

I inhaled a sharp breath.

The aroma of coconut oil hit my nostrils, with each soft press of her fingers on my head.

Memories flashed in front of my eyes.

Four-years-old-Shriya fussing over the smell of oil.

The stickiness of it.

The way maa used to tug my hair, mumbling complaints under her breath.

Despite my resistance.

I leaned slightly as her fingers worked like magic, with the kind of pressure only she had in her hands.

My lips curled just slightly.

I leaned a little more-as I felt the tug.

I was her little girl again.

The comfort from hours ago still lingered on my taste buds.

The same old smell of freshly, rolled, crisp warm chapatis.

Just like the scent of an old book.

The ink fading away with time.

But still carrying the remnants of same old stories,

Yet carrying the imprints of newness.

My eyes snapped open.

She pushed me aside, almost annoyed.

"Haan ghus ja ek dam godi mein, khud ke bal pe toh baithna hi nahi aata hai."

My smile widened.

I never liked the smell of coconut, neither the heaviness of it, nor her taunts.

But today, it felt right.

Maybe it was never about the thing.

It was about the person and the familiarity of it.

I shifted slightly.

Giving her space.

But still she continued with her lectures.

"Jhaadu jaise baal kar liye ekdam, khud ki care karni bhi aati hai."

She pushed my head down lightly.

Ready to dump half a bottle of oil.

My eyes widened.

I craned my neck to look at her.

"Nahi maa, sona hai, takiya mein lag jaayega."

I held her hand.

The clink of my chooda echoed through the walls along with the chime of her bangles.

She glared at me, pushing my hair aside.

Within seconds I was sitting back leaning against the back of the bed.

I held my breath as she dumped the bottle on my head.

Her hands worked meticulously to braid my hair.

"Bahut fashion sawaar hai inko, esliye srif do baal bache hain."

I crossed my legs.

The floor felt cold, yet comfortable with the smell of old paint and sandalwood.

She raised her brows.

I shook my head, suddenly she questioned.

"Acha pehli rasoi mein kya banaya?"

My smile dimmed slowly.

I traced my toe-rings with my fingers.

The red, bright, alta adorned my feet.

I had painted it recently-again.

I squinted my eyes at it.

I replied to her skimming the corners of the room.

Same chipped off white-wash.

"Wahi, jo aap ne bataya tha."

Everything felt different.

Maybe it was the bedsheet,

That we often used for guests.

Or maybe it was the sofa cover in the living room-or the new table cloth.

Or maybe it was the way my mother did the aarti when I arrived with him.

I gulped down the saliva.

"Kuch kaha tumahari saas ne?"

My eyes snapped to her briefly.

Before I looked down.

Why now?

After the marriage.

Twenty-five years of my life.

They were not very open about me having friends or colleagues.

Even at the workplace.

Suddenly they made me walk into the unfamiliar environment.

Not only that,

I was sharing a room with a person.

I barely knew.

The thought almost sounds absurd.

I gulped.

My voice was nearly lost in the voices from the living room.

I was able to hear his faint voice.

My fingers gripped the toe-ring.

"Haan acha laga tha sabko, bas thoda namak zyada tha shayad."

She opened her mouth to say something.

But I interrupted.

"Par mujhe sahi laga tha, aur inko bhi sahi laga tha."

I tried to defend.

She looked at me for a moment.

"Humne pehle hi bola tha puch ke banana,"

I looked down-fumbling with my fingers.

She continued.

"Khair bata kya mila shagun mein?"

A smile graced on my lips.

I remembered about Shagun.

Just the thought of him was enough to bring a smile to my face.

I was able to feel the heat on my face.

I traced the chooda on my wrist.

I got back from the dreamland,

My mother's sharp voice resonated through the room.

"Sun rahi hai kya?"

My brows furrowed.

Caught off guard.

But before I could reply.

My brother's voice came from behind.

"Nahi, behri hai. Kaha sunti hai."

His hands worked to adjust the mattress on the floor calmly as though he wasn't teasing me.

I was about to retort.

But my eyes flicked to the door.

He passed from there giving a glance.

I got up as I replied.

"Behre hoge tum, esliye toh achi bhali bolti hui ladki ki awaaz nahi sunaai di."

With that I ran outside-before Shreyash could catch me.

I was able to hear my mother's voice as she complained to my father.

But I walked to my room.

Still in thoughts of the morning conversation.

Until I clicked the door of my room.

The latch echoed through the corridor.

I stopped humming-as I heard his voice.

"Aap left side par soengi ya right par?"

🌷

My brows dipped as I looked at her.

She moved through the side of the bed-giving me a brief glance.

My fingers drummed across the bed impatiently.

My eyes skimmed the walls.

It felt like we were back again.

The first meeting.

I remembered every detail about this room.

A tiny corner in the right, adorned with the planter.

The white board on the wall.

With the half stuck notes on it. Something random scribbled on it.

Her laptop was still on the table-untouched,

as though no one used it.

After her.

And offcourse.

A photo frame.

Her toothy grin, directed towards the camera.

A rose in her hand-as she threw it on her brother.

Barely five-yet still carrying that effortless charm-to draw attention in rooms by simply existing.

A mirror exactly on the left wall-just in front of her work space.

It was simple.

I had memorised all of that.

Though I never intended to.

But If I had looked into her eyes that day.

I would have never been able to talk to her.

I blinked as she waved her hands,

In front of my eyes.

I looked at her.

She walked to the mirror.

Her hands worked to apply the lotion on her hand.

The clink echoed with the hum of the ceiling fan.

She looked different today-happy.

A kind of peace that comes after witnessing the sunrise.

Her face glowed under the faint light of the room.

As though fresh morning air brushed her face.

After almost years.

She raised her brows.

I shook my head.

My face mirrored her,

until I looked into the mirror.

I looked away scratching my eyebrows.

I felt contended.

"Hum right par hi soenge jaise ghar pe sote hain,

Yaha kya special hai?"

She shrugged as she walked to the right side.

"You mean to say on my side?"

She dug her nails into her palm.

She mumbled something under her breath.

Not enough for me to catch.

I bit my cheeks trying to resist the chuckle.

But before she could embarrass herself further.

I walked into the washroom.

🌷

Me and my habit of rolling on to the other side of bed will be the death of me one day.

I dug my nails into the palm.

An old habit.

An anchor in an awkward situation.

I was able to feel his teasing glance.

Yet I didn't dare to look at him.

He knew,

Yet he didn't say anything about it.

Thank God he didn't mention it earlier.

I would have died of embarrassment.

My eyes shifted to his direction,

As I heard the door click shut behind me.

My eyes skimmed the space.

Only to realise he was in the washroom.

I released a breath-unconsciously

Keeping a hand on my chest.

"Suniye."

His voice came muffled from the washroom.

My hands almost stopped mid-motion.

My brows furrowed as I looked at the closed door.

"Shriya ji?" His voice came a little louder.

I almost jumped out of the bed,

as I fumbled with the slipper and walked towards the washroom.

"Haan...aayi" I stuttered.

I pushed the door lightly.

It was open.

My eyes were stuck on the floor.

I didn't dare to look up as I fumbled with the finger.

The space suddenly felt small.

The smell of the soap felt heavy.

Or maybe it was his presence.

"How does this works?"

My eyes flicked between him and the hand shower in his hand.

His shirt was stained with a blue dye.

The stains clearly visible on his white shirt.

I bit my lips as I looked around, only to find out the bottle of dye was half open.

He cleared his throat as he tried to explain.

"I was going to use the soap."

He paused as though trying to find the right words as he looked at his shirt.

"But I accidentally stained my shirt..."

I couldn't help but admire his helplessness.

I walked to him.

The stain-it will fade away.

But watching him like this.

With the hand shower and the soaked shirt.

Like a kid, completely clueless.

It was amusing yet endearing.

He was trained to use weapons and tactics at its best.

A giggle escaped from my lips, despite my resistance.

I walked to him still giggling as I gently took the hand shower from him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again-as though shocked.

"What a memory it is Anish ji,"

I kept the hand shower back at its place.

He frowned.

"Visiting your in-laws for the first time-and ended up dyeing the shirt."

I almost burst into laughter.

"Sab sochenge kapde dhone gaye the."

My eyes flicked to him in-between the laughter.

Only to notice the serious look on his face.

"That wasn't funny."

My laughter slowly faded away.

"Sorry"

🌷

I only heard.

Anish ji

It sounded different.

No one called me like that-until now except her.

But it somehow felt wrong.

Yet still right in many ways.

She stood in front of me.

So close that I was able to feel her warmth.

Yet I wasn't able to hear her voice.

I only witnessed her carefree laugh.

I don't have words to describe how beautiful she looked.

Beautiful, is that what it is?

No.

Sundar.

Is the right word here.

She carried that smile,

Behind her strength and glare.

Rarely witnessed by any one.

Yet I stood here lost in it.

Just like staring at the stars in the sky at night.

Yet, I would still want to witness it every night-throughout my lifetime.

My pulse radiated beneath my skin.

The steel felt cold in my hand,

until she snatched it and kept it back.

My brows furrowed only to realise her smile dimmed,

and with that the smile on my face was gone.

She tried to shift closer, ready to wash off the stain as an apology.

"I was talking about the 'ji' not your smile."

Her eyebrows softened as she realized what I intended by not being funny.

But suddenly her eyes widened.

She clutched my shirt, moving closer.

Her fingers tightened around the fabric,

I tried to shift but there was hardly any space.

"Wait."

She paused, eyeing me.

I stiffened.

"Did you use my body-wash?"

I scratched the back of my neck,

avoiding the eye-contact, unintentionally.

"Yes, by mistake."

The moment I said that.

She stepped back-glaring at me.

"By mistake...."

She paused, showing me her fingers and eyeing it.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight....

Pure 'aath sau tees' rupaye ka tha."

With that she walked inside the room,

still mumbling something under her breath.

"Maine salary se khareeda tha."

I followed her silently.

The shirt was still stained in the blue dye.

She stopped as she shoved the shirt in my hand.

"Khade kya hai change kar lijiye, nuksaan kara diya."

She asserted firmly,

I tried to say something.

But before I could she was already on the bed.

Pretending to sleep.

I shook my head as I walked to the washroom.

Not knowing what to do.

🌷

It was not about body-washing.

It was about.

How easily he carried my essence,

without my presence.

I tried to shift to his side.

Tossed and turned around, yet nothing worked.

The way he looks at me,

as though it was completely normal for him.

I pressed my palms to the mattress.

It was hardly three days.

Yet it felt like,

I have known him for years.

My stomach twisted-

I stared at the ceiling as emotions swirled inside me.

With every glance I remembered.

Unblinking.

I felt something weird for the first time.

Butterflies? No.

But with him I feel like myself.

I don't know why?

I turned to the other side.

But the sleep refused to come with all the thoughts swirling in my mind.

To be continued...

Unedited.