Chapter 3

The following weeks, every day unfolded like a well-rehearsed routine. Meena arrived at six, and Raghu opened the door and proceeded to his morning exercise routine; his focus on fitness never faltered. Meena dusted and cleaned the rooms and changed the sheets.

By the time he was working out, Meena was ready with breakfast. While he ate, she did the laundry. She arrived in the afternoons and evenings to cook lunch and dinner. He didn’t have to give her any instructions. She regularly checked the garden, removing overgrown weeds.

Raghu watched Meena work from the porch. Every time their eyes met, she offered a quick smile. Then, she would look away, as if she felt guilty for being there. This habit came from years of being told she was worthless. Meena was a sweet and innocent girl who worked and talked less.

Raghu thought about Saurabh’s words about Meena. The man had a smug look as he bragged about his “firecracker” wife, all while complaining she didn’t do enough. Saurabh had used Meena’s need to feel supportive against her. He turned her loyalty into a free labor contract. Her kindness was like a doormat for him to wipe his feet on.

One Tuesday evening, Raghu sat on the veranda. He leaned back in his plastic chair, a book resting in his lap. There was a stillness unique to the countryside after the sun sank below the trees. Inside, Meena had finished preparing the dinner. Then, Meena stepped outside and approached him slowly, twisting the pallu of her sari.

A few feet away, she stopped in front of him. “The dinner is ready, Saab,” she said softly. “Everything is cleaned.” She paused, glancing at the book in his hand, then back to his face. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

Raghu didn’t respond right away. He let the silence stretch. Then, he finally looked up, closing the book. “There’s a bottle of whiskey on top kitchen cabinet,” he said. “Bring it out here. And get some ice from the fridge.”

Meena blinked. Her eyes widened. She had seen him drink before. Usually, he poured for himself, a solitary habit of a reserved man. But this time he was inviting her into his private moment. She nodded quickly and turned back toward the house.

Raghu’s eyes followed her as she walked away. The cotton sari over her was thin and worn. The faded sari clung to her, revealing her backside, sheer against her skin. He couldn’t look away. The way her hips swayed caught his attention. It was natural and confident—much more so than a few weeks ago.

Meena returned moments later, carrying a whiskey bottle, an empty glass, fried snacks, and a plastic tumbler filled with ice. She set them on the table with a soft clink. As she leaned forward to arrange everything, the neckline of her drape dipped. Raghu caught a clear glimpse of her curves.

Raghu didn’t look away. The light of the veranda showed the slope of her cleavage. Meena noticed him staring. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she watched him stare for a moment. A flicker of something bold lit up her eyes. A slow, knowing smile appeared on her lips.

Then, she reached up slowly, adjusting her sari to cover herself. But it felt more like a tease than a shield. Raghu noted the subtle tease but stayed calm. He smiled at Meena’s confidence. It made her even more captivating.

“Can you make me a drink, Meena?” Raghu asked. His voice was low, a soft rumble in the humid air.

Meena didn’t hesitate. She moved closer without asking for a measurement. She poured the generous measure of liquid in the glass. Then dropped a few cubes of ice into the liquid. She handed it to him, their fingers brushing for just a moment.

Raghu took a sip. The cold burn of the whiskey slid down his throat. Afterward, he didn’t thank her. He simply watched her. She didn’t move to leave. Her breathing was light, her chest rising and falling slowly.

“You’ve changed,” Raghu said. “You’re not hiding anymore. It suits you, Meena.”

Meena flushed. The color deepened her dusky skin. She looked away, but a small, triumphant smile lingered. For the first time, attention felt like a reward, not a threat.

Raghu swirled the liquid in his glass. “Do you drink?” he asked casually.

Meena hesitated slightly. “No, Saab. Not really. I ... tried it once or twice, years ago. Saurabh had some country liquor. It tasted like kerosene and made my head spin.”

Raghu burst into a booming laugh. “Haha! Country liquor is for animals and desperate men. This,” he said, swirling the liquid, “is a single malt. A far cry from the poison your husband drinks. If you’re curious, you could try a sip. It’s not some cheap stuff.”

Meena fidgeted with the edge of her sari, her fingers knotting the fabric. The offer felt dangerous. It was a step from the role of a servant to something more intimate. She glanced at the glass, then at Raghu’s steady, expectant gaze.

A surge of desire to be bold welled up in her. She wanted to take his offer, but the old habits of caution held her back. “Thank you, Saab, but no,” she whispered. “I should get going before it gets too dark.”

Raghu didn’t push her. He leaned back and took another slow sip, the ice clinking against the glass. “It’s fine,” he said, his tone calm. “You can leave,” he added with a smile.

Meena paused. Her foot hovered over the gravel path. The silence stretched between them; she almost felt regret for herself for rejecting his offer. Then, she turned to walk away, but Raghu’s eyes were on her. She felt his eyes feasting on her hips through her thin sari.

Just as she thought she was out of his sight, she turned around to see him. Raghu was looking away, staring into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Meena turned back; a chill went down her spine. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she felt something.

What was going through his mind?

That thought lingered, but she shook it off. She focused on her steps, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. Curiosity mixed with unease. What was it about that moment? She didn’t know. But she kept walking, leaving the questions behind.