70: Maria Opens the Door

That night at Maria’s house the air was heavy with silence. The low hum of Atlanta traffic beyond the window felt muted, like it too mourned something lost. In the small bedroom where Marisol and Mia had once whispered secrets and shared dreams, the air was now thick with grief and tension, with the echo of hospital hallways still clinging to their skin.

Maria had finally fallen asleep, sedated, after hours of restrained weeping, confused apologies, and hollow prayers. The house had mostly been silent, save for the pleas to Dios and the occasional soft sniffle. Mia had held her mother’s hand all day. Marisol had stared out the window while she hugged her mother like her soul was somewhere far away.

Now, back in Mia’s bedroom, the door shut behind them with a soft thud. Marisol sat at the edge of the bed, naked, her skin blotched from earlier tears, her dark curls still damp from the hospital sink where she’d tried to wash away the night. Mia, just as bare, knelt behind her, gently combing her fingers through her sister’s hair.

“You haven’t stopped shaking,” Mia whispered.

Marisol exhaled through her nose. “I feel like a piece of me is missing. Like I can’t breathe properly.”

She didn’t need to say his name.

Mia rested her forehead against Marisol’s shoulder. “Now you know how I feel every night when I have to leave his bed. When I come home and lie here alone and my body’s still humming with him, still craving him, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Marisol turned slowly, her eyes glassy. “How do you survive it? I can’t stand being away from him even for one day. I need him so much!”

“I don’t,” Mia said simply. “I just ... wait for the next time. He is my Ayodhya, remember the Diwali story?”

They looked at each other - sisters, lovers, mirrors. Their eyes were different shapes but filled with the same hollowness.

Marisol reached out, tracing the line of Mia’s jaw with the back of her knuckle. “Will you lie with me?”

Mia nodded. They hugged each other, as if trying to coax comfort from each other. But it wasn’t working. It was just not right. There was no heat between them without Bharath’s fire. No gravity to hold them together.

“I feel like I’m floating away. I’m sorry, hermana. I love you with all my heart, but I cannot survive without him now. Laying with someone else without him just feels wrong ... even if it’s you,” Marisol said hoarsely, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Mia pulled away and lay beside her, breath shaking. “I understand. After being with him, I know what you mean. Without him, it just doesn’t feel right, does it?”

“But it doesn’t.”

They lay there, tangled and empty.

Marisol curled into Mia’s chest. “I miss his scent.”

“I miss his voice when he tells me I’m his good girl or his chellam.”

“I miss his mouth. His fingers. His hands. The way he looks at us when we are around him.”

Mia nodded. “The way he calls us his apsaras.”

They were both crying now, not out of sorrow for Maria, but because the center of their world wasn’t here - the one who tied their bodies to meaning, who made every caress sacred, who whispered worship into their skin.

Mia sniffled. “I was jealous of you, you know. That you got him every night.”

“Yeah. I know. That must have been hard to come back here after being with him. I can’t imagine doing that now.”

Mia rested her hand on her sister’s chest, where her heart fluttered too fast. “He would be so sad to see us like this. Crying. Hurting.”

“We’re not enough,” Marisol whispered.

“No,” Mia agreed. “Not without him.”

They held each other in the dark.

“He would say we’re being dramatic,” Mia murmured.

Marisol chuckled through tears. “And then he’d make us forget we were ever sad.”

They laced fingers together and held tight.

“I love you,” Mia said.

“I love you more,” Marisol whispered. “But not as much as I love him. Do you mind if I say that?”

“I feel the same way.”

They pressed their foreheads together and listened to the night sounds.

“Do you think he’s dreaming of us?” Mia asked sleepily.

“I think he feels us. Wherever he is.”

“I hope his body misses us like ours miss his.”

“Baby,” Marisol said, stroking her cheek. “His body aches for us. Just like this. I promise.”

The silence was different now-less suffocating, more ... charged. Her body buzzed faintly, as though her nerves were listening for something. Her skin still smelled faintly of Mia. But under it all, like a scent clinging to the inside of her lungs, was him.

Bharath.

She turned slightly. Mia had curled into a crescent beside her, one leg tossed over Marisol’s thigh, one hand cradled beneath her cheek. Her lips were parted in sleep.

And then-just like that-the ache was back. But this time, it didn’t hurt. It burned. Marisol exhaled slowly and reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Mia’s forehead. As if pulled by unseen threads, Mia stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, catching the dim light from the hallway. Her gaze found Marisol’s-and lingered.

“You feel it too,” she whispered.

Marisol nodded. “He’s here.”

Mia rolled onto her back, letting her arms fall open above her head. She stretched like a cat, her large breasts rising and falling as she sighed. “Do you remember what Zara and Ayesha said when they were alone before they joined us?”

Marisol sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. “About the first time they touched each other?”

Mia nodded. “They couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he commands. His voice. His hunger.”

“And it made them wild,” Marisol murmured, remembering.

“I want to hear him,” Mia whispered. “I want to feel like he’s here. Like he’s watching us.”

Marisol’s breath caught. Her nipples had already hardened. “Then let’s give him something worth watching.”

Mia’s lips parted in a slow, sultry smile. I can hear him. He’s asking us to kiss each other for him.

Marisol drew Mia into her arms as they kissed. It was as though Bharath had whispered in their ears, “Begin.”

Marisol was the first to speak in his voice. “Mia. Look at your sister. Touch her the way I would.”

Mia shuddered, her breath quickening. “Si mi amor,” she whispered, eyes locked with Marisol’s.

Marisol straddled her, hips brushing just above Mia’s pubic bone, their bodies aligned like magnets. She cupped Mia’s face with both hands. “You’re going to show me how much you need to serve me. Serve him.”

Mia arched up, moaning softly. “Bharath ... Por favor”

Marisol dragged her nails gently down Mia’s chest, over her nipples, down to her navel. “He wants me to spread your legs for me.”

Mia obeyed instantly, opening her legs in a slow, sensual arc. The vulnerability of it made Marisol’s mouth water. She could already feel Bharath in the room-towering over them, arms crossed, watching with that amused, hungry smirk.

“He’s watching,” Marisol said, dipping down to kiss Mia’s stomach. “And he’s so proud of us.”

Mia gasped as Marisol’s tongue dipped lower. She grabbed at the sheets, grinding her hips upward. “Tell me what he’s doing. Tell me where he is.”

Marisol smiled wickedly. “He’s behind you. Watching you squirm while he destroys Sarah’s mouth. She’s on her knees, choking on him, tears running down her face, and he doesn’t stop. Because he wants to see us go wild.”

Mia cried out, her back arching. “Oh god ... yes!”

“And Zara,” Marisol continued, her breath hot against Mia’s folds, “he has her bent over, taking her like an animal, while Ayesha rides his face. And you ... his sweet little princess ... he wants you dripping for him to take after.”

Mia’s thighs began to tremble. “I can hear him,” she whimpered. “He’s telling me to obey. To show you everything.”

Marisol slid her tongue along Mia’s folds slowly, deliberately. Mia let out a high, keening moan.

“Mas fuerte hermana,” Marisol growled, her voice tinged with Bharath’s imagined dominance. “Let him hear how much you love this.”

Mia screamed into her pillow.

Marisol smiled against her, licking deeper, faster. She imagined Bharath’s hand in her hair, pushing her harder, praising her.

“That’s it, my chellam. Make her ready for me.”

And Marisol did. Mia was shaking, fists balled against the pillows, chanting his name in broken syllables.

But before she could fall over the edge, Marisol pulled away.

Mia whimpered. “No ... please ... Bharath ... I can’t take any more.”

“You’re not done,” Marisol said, her voice hoarse with desire. “Get on your knees.”

Mia obeyed, trembling.

They met in the middle of the bed, both kneeling, legs wide, breasts heaving, their slickness visible in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

“We’re going to do it for him,” Marisol said. “Trib. Like he told us.”

Mia nodded breathlessly.

They shifted until their thighs overlapped, their cores aligned. At first, the motion was clumsy - unsure. But then Marisol imagined Bharath standing beside them, watching with fire in his eyes, stroking himself slowly.

“Faster,” she gasped.