Chapter 32 - Day 7

Sunday dawn arrived quiet and still over the Malwa countryside, a pale blue haze hanging low over the dew-dusted guava orchards. Crisp morning air drifted through the open balcony doors of the master suite, stirring the silk curtains and sweeping away the lingering warmth of the night. Far across the village rooftops, the first soothing recitations of Gurbani floated over the trees from the Pind Gurdwara, blending with the steady, distant hum of early morning tube-wells starting up across the fields.

His hazel eyes opened smoothly to the dim light. Stretching his long, muscular frame across the vast teak bed, a deep, satisfied sigh escaped his chest, his joints feeling loose and completely restored after the long hours of rest.

Bare soles pressed against the cool marble floor as he stood up. Moving through the quiet bedroom, hands gathered a pair of dark athletic shorts and a fitted grey compression t-shirt, pulling the garments over his corded limbs. Standing before the mirror, calloused fingers combed through his long dark hair, tying a neat joora over his crown before binding a black cotton parna tight across his brow.

The grand marble staircase lay dark as his footsteps descended to the ground floor.

Inside the spacious kitchen, the early morning silence was broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Scoops of protein powder hit the bottom of the glass blender jug, followed by thick buffalo milk, almond paste, and a dollop of fresh honey. Whirring the blades into a rich mixture, he drank the cold shake in long, steady gulps, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand.

His fingers closed around his motorcycle keys and smartphone on the marble island. Walking out into the cool air of the front portico, the black Royal Enfield Bullet 500 sat waiting under the shade of the portico. Swinging a long leg over the leather saddle, his boot drove the kick-starter down with practiced force. The heavy engine fired instantly, a deep, rhythmic thrum vibrating through the frame as he guided the motorcycle through the high iron gates onto the paved Pind lane.

The short ride to the village exercise hall took less than five minutes, the cool wind brushing past his face as the motorcycle coasted smoothly down the quiet street.

Parking the Bullet 500 under the neem tree outside the building, he stepped onto the concrete porch. Pulling his glass smartphone from his pocket, his thumb tapped open his text thread with Simran. Checking his phone display, he noted the hour in Punjab was barely half past five, meaning it was barely two in the night over in Monaco.

Calloused thumbs moved over the touchscreen as he typed a quick, considerate text.

“Greetings, my love. I reached for exercise. In Monaco right now it’s two at night, so I won’t wake you from sleep. After finishing exercise and after you wake up I will call. Good morning, life.” (Sat Sri Akaal, meri sahiban. Main kasrat laye pohoch gaya aa. Monaco ch haale raat de do baje ne, islayi tainu neend ton nahi uthaawanga. Kasrat khatam karke te tere uthn ton baad call karanga. Good morning, jaan.)

Sending the message, he slid the phone back into his pocket, stepping inside to complete his scheduled lifting session.

An hour later, the grueling lifts were complete. Sweat glistened over his chest and shoulders as he stepped into the tiled washroom. The shower fixture released a strong, steaming cascade of fresh groundwater, washing away the salt, chalk, and exertion from his muscles.

Drying his skin thoroughly with a clean towel, he dressed into a fresh, pristine white cotton kurta-pyjama that he had brought along in his kit bag. Hands smoothed his long hair, tying a dark navy dastaar layer by layer over his forehead, adjusting the front folds sharp over his brow. Slipping his feet into comfortable leather juttis, he slung his kit bag over his wide shoulder.

The motorcycle engine roared back into life under his boot, carrying him back toward the ancestral Haveli under the bright, rising morning sun.

Roaring through the iron gates of the Haveli, he brought the motorcycle to a halt beneath the shaded portico, killing the ignition.

Stepping into the grand foyer, the refreshing chill of the interior air conditioning replaced the growing warmth of the morning.

Rukhsar passed through the central archway holding a large silver tray stacked with fresh porcelain plates, her orange kameez shifting snug over her hips. Her dark eyes lit up bold and energetic as she spotted him, her lips curving into a saucy, welcoming grin.