THE COLOUR OF DESIRE

STORY 1: (Part 5&6)

Part 5: The Heat of the Night

The bolt on the door was our only protection, a thin piece of metal separating us from a scandal that would ruin her reputation and get me thrown out onto the Mumbai streets. But in the suffocating heat of the pantry, neither of us cared.

Sunita’s hands were everywhere—my chest, my hair, my face. She pulled me down until our lips met again, and this time, there was no holding back. I lifted her slightly, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist as I pressed her back against the sturdy wooden shelves. The jars of turmeric and chili powder rattled, a rhythmic clinking that sounded like thunder in the silent apartment.

"Shh," I whispered against her neck, my breath hitching as I felt the silkiness of her skin.

"I don't care," she gasped, her voice a ragged mess of desire and defiance. "She never listens anyway. She only hears what she wants to hear."

I buried my face in the crook of her neck, my hands sliding under the hem of her gown. The contact was electric. The humidity had made her skin slightly damp, making every slide of my palm feel intense and urgent. She threw her head back, her throat a long, pale line in the darkness, and let out a soft, stifled moan that she caught just in time by biting her lower lip.

Every movement was a gamble. Every muffled sound was a risk. I could feel the sweat dripping down my spine, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The small space made every touch feel magnified; the smell of her jasmine hair was so strong it was almost dizzying.

I moved my hand higher, tracing the curve of her hip, feeling the heat radiating from her body. She shivered, her grip on my shoulders tightening until her nails dug into my skin.

"Wait," she suddenly whispered, her body tiffening.

We both went dead silent.

From the hallway, we heard the distinct creak of a floorboard. Then, the sound of the bathroom door opening and the tap running. Mrs. Kulkarni was awake again.

Sunita’s eyes met mine in the dark, wide with a sudden flash of panic. She pressed her face into my shoulder, stifling her breathing. We stayed frozen—her wrapped around me, me holding her against the shelves—while the sound of water running continued for what felt like an eternity.

The tap shut off. The bathroom door opened. We heard her footsteps stop right outside the kitchen.

"Sunita?" the mother-in-law called out, her voice sounding groggy but suspicious. "Why is the kitchen door closed?"

Sunita’s heart was racing so hard against my chest I thought it would burst. She looked at me, her lips trembling. This was it. One wrong move, one sneeze, one more rattle of a jar, and the door would be pushed open.

Part 6: The Paper-Thin Line

The silence in the kitchen was terrifying. I was still holding Sunita against the shelves, her legs locked around my waist, her body pressed so firmly against mine that I could feel her every shiver. We were one entity, frozen in time, while the shadow of Mrs. Kulkarni loomed just inches away on the other side of the pantry door.

"Sunita! Are you in there?" the mother-in-law’s voice came again, sharper this time. We heard her hand reach for the kitchen door handle. Creak. She was inside the kitchen now.

Sunita’s eyes were wide, fixed on mine. She knew she had to speak, or the old woman would slide the pantry bolt from the outside or call out for help.

With a trembling hand, Sunita reached back and silently slid the internal bolt open. She signaled me with a frantic look to stay behind the tall sacks of rice in the corner of the pantry. I slid down, my back hitting the cold wall, heart thumping so loud I was sure it could be heard in the next room.

Sunita stepped out of the pantry, partially closing the door behind her but leaving just enough of a gap for me to see through the sliver of light. She was smoothing down her nightgown, her face flushed, her breathing still ragged.

"I'm here, Ma-ji," Sunita said, her voice remarkably steady despite the chaos in her chest.

"What are you doing in the dark pantry at this hour?" Mrs. Kulkarni asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her daughter-in-law. She took a step closer, sniffing the air. "And why do you look so... disheveled?"

"The ants, Ma-ji," Sunita lied quickly, reaching for a jar of sugar on the counter to justify her presence. "I heard them in the jars. I didn't want to wake you, so I didn't turn on the main light. I was just trying to move the sweets before they got into everything."

Mrs. Kulkarni moved closer to the pantry door—my heart stopped. I pressed myself into the shadows, praying the darkness would swallow me.

"Ants?" the old woman grumbled, leaning toward the pantry. "In this heat, everything rots. Move aside, let me see."

Sunita didn't move. She stepped directly into her mother-in-law’s path, blocking the door with her body. "No, Ma-ji, it’s fine. I’ve handled it. You should go back to sleep. Your blood pressure... you know what the doctor said about broken sleep."

The mother-in-law paused, her hand hovering near the pantry door. She looked Sunita up and down, her suspicious gaze lingering on the damp strands of hair sticking to Sunita’s neck. For a long, agonizing minute, no one moved.

"Fine," the old woman finally muttered. "But make sure the door is locked properly. I don't want any 'pests' getting in."

She turned and shuffled out of the kitchen. We waited. We listened to the sound of her bedroom door closing. We waited another five minutes until the apartment returned to its heavy, humid silence.

Sunita stepped back into the pantry and shut the door. She didn't lock it this time. She collapsed against me, her forehead resting on my shoulder as she let out a long, shaky breath.

"That was too close," I whispered, my hands finding her waist again.

She looked up at me, and to my surprise, she wasn't crying. She was smiling. A dangerous, playful glint had returned to her eyes. "The danger makes it better, doesn't it?" she whispered, her fingers trailing down to the buttons of my shirt again. "Now... where were we?"