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In the meantime, she unwrapped the towel and tied it around her waist. She slipped on the blouse that did not allow for a bra to be worn under it with the back open. She opened the door, clenching the wrapped towel to her, and took the inner skirt for the saree from Jai before quickly closing the door again. “I’ll be out in a second.”
“Take your time.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic. If she were in his place, no way that would not be a snarky remark.
After taking a few quick breaths, she opened the bathroom door, blouse halfway on, towel across her torso, and the underskirt tied tightly so it didn’t fall off, it was digging into her skin.
“Ready?” he asked without looking up from his phone, where he seemed to be watching a saree draping tutorial.
“Um… yes. Would you please fasten the hooks on this blouse?” She couldn’t make eye contact with him and quickly turned away.
“Sure,” he said. She held her breath as the air she breathed was filled with the toasty smell of his cologne. Her mind reeled as her senses went on high alert. She felt the gentle tug on her chest before she felt his knuckles on her bare skin.
She stood still, hyperaware of how close he was to her as he clipped on what seemed to be an endless number of hooks. She felt a small bead of moisture roll down her spine, and it was a torturous moment. The heat from her body was so high that she was worried he would feel it.
Sanjana let out a low sigh of relief when he stepped away from her. She slowly turned to face him, her cheeks flushed red. Thankfully, he was still looking at his phone like he was memorizing the steps to follow for the drape.
Those few moments gave her time to somewhat settle her raging heart. She looked up at him when he put his phone away. “I think it’s pretty simple. Here, look.”
Sanjana stared at the video, looking through the steps. She finally nodded. “Okay, that’s not too bad.” She reached for the saree, encouraged by the simplified steps, and started wrapping the saree around. “Hold this chunk of the saree.” She handed the bunched fabric that was to be used for the pleats, finished draping the upper part, and pinned it securely. She looked at the fabric he held bunched in his hand and said, “I don’t know what to do with the pleats.”
He looked at her for a long moment and then at the fabric in his hands. “Can I pleat it like how a Dhoti is worn?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You know how to do that?”
“Why are you so surprised?” He scoffed. “I may not have done it, but I watched my mom pleat my outfit for traditional events.”
If only she had paid attention when her sister and mother were helping her dress up in the past. “Just do something. We need to go.”
He let the fabric drop to the floor, and to her amazement, in a few swift moves, he had the saree somewhat organized. Before she knew it, he was tucking the fabric into the waistband of the inner skirt. Her body jolted with the energy from his touch as the back of his hand grazed over her belly.
She let out a gasp, and her mind went into overdrive as her body trembled with his touch. She sucked in a breath as she felt every inch of her turn raw. Her inner folds throbbed while her nipples hardened under her blouse. She was grateful for the loose material that draped her body hiding her reactions.
“I guess that’s it.” He let out a victorious laugh and picked up his phone like he wanted to confirm his steps. For him, it may have been a task to help her, but for her, it was sensory overload as her body still reeled from his touch.
“Yes,” her voice came out a hiss. “I think I can manage from here. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Thank you.”
“Sure. Glad to be of help. I’ll see you outside.”
The moment the door closed, she let out a breath, held on to the footboard of the canopy bed, and slowly sat down. Her heart was still banging away in her chest, and her knees had turned to jelly. He had not realized what he had done, but he had set her body on fire with that single graze over her soft skin, and it only craved for more of him.
No. You can’t have him. You’re in a contract. It’s not a real marriage.
*****
Later that evening, Sanjana walked through the outdoor kitchen area that was being set up to start cooking meals for the folks coming to the event the following day. She had gone to meet one of her friends she had spent summers with when she visited her grandparents’ village.
Her friend was a teacher at the local school and one of the few people who was content with her life in the village and didn’t crave for the comforts of urban living. Sanjana approached the main entrance of the house, only to find a few folks busy polishing the main door and was asked to use the side door. She walked around the house, wondering what everyone was doing, especially her husband. She saw him a few hours ago when they sat down for a meal, and since then, she hadn’t bothered checking in on him.
Why do you have to check on him? He is not a child, one voice demanded. Another one tsked. He is new to the village and doesn’t really know anyone. He must be stuck in the room, bored out of his mind since there is no good internet coverage in the village.
Even as she walked around the house, lost in thought, she did not hear the commotion coming from the open space on the side of the house. She turned the corner and stopped short at the sight in front of her. A group of boys ranging in their teens were all spread out playing cricket, and right at the center of the commotion, holding the bat, was her husband.
Just as she watched, he hit the ball toward the boundary, and the kids broke into a loud clamor. “Yay! Jai, we won,” one of the boys cheered.
“Not fair, you have Jai on your team. He plays well,” another one argued.
Sanjana was not paying attention to the commotion or the argument, her eyes trained on the well-built man who looked sexy as hell in a plain white t-shirt and basketball shorts, playing cricket in the dirt.
