17. Aarti
AARTI
I didn’t want to wake up the next morning. After spending two wonderful days with Sujit, I dreaded the loneliness that would greet me at the new condo. Even so, I had no option but to get off the warm bed and struggle into my robe.
“Morning,” I said to Sujit as I came out of the guest room. He was pouring coffee in two huge mugs.
“Morning. Hope you slept well,” he said and handed me a mug of the fragrant coffee with the precise amount of cream I preferred and no sugar, as he’d learned in the past two days.
“I wish we could go to Ms. Dina’s again this morning,” I said with a sigh. “I’m really craving those petulla.”
“We can,” he offered.
“I can’t. I’m moving into my new place today,” I explained.
His body, which had leaned against the counter, propelled upright. “Moving in? Is it ready?”
“Yes, there are a few minor things left, but I can get them done later. All the renovations are done. My contractors have fixed all appliances, and I received the furniture sooner as a special favor.”
“You don’t sound excited,” he observed.
“I’m relieved that I can move out of the hotel. It’s an excellent hotel, but I need a home now.”
“Can I help you move?”
I smiled. “There isn’t much to move. I have just the two bags.”
He cocked his head. “Can I help you make it a home, then?”
My insides trembled as I gazed into the dark eyes behind those glasses.
Would it be completely imprudent to flirt with the idea of making a home with him?
I wondered what it would feel like to come home to his warm body, his witty self, and generous spirit every evening.
How would his whispers feel near my ear?
How would his touch feel on my naked skin?
My eyes darted to his hands around the mug as I imagined his slender fingers gliding along my body.
I had a feeling he’d start at my feet, teasing me, trailing his fingers up my shin and along the insides of my thigh.
A gasp would escape my lips at the whisper of his touch on my hip, on my pelvis, but he wouldn’t pause there, not yet.
Traversing my waist, he’d torture me, avoiding my breasts and strumming his fingers along my arms, neck, and clavicle.
Then, when I’d writhe, begging for his touch on my breasts, he’d bring his mouth on them, and I’d lose all purpose.
I’d want him to keep his glasses on, peer at me over the rim as he gazed into my eyes with my breast in his mouth, my nipple clutched tight between his teeth, releasing his warm breath on my starving skin.
A plush warmth gathered below my belly and traveled swiftly to my chest. My eyes darted from his fingers to his mouth, just to catch his lips firm around the rim of the cup, his eyes peering at me over his glasses.
My rock-hard nipples strained painfully at the sight, my pelvic muscles clenched, and I quickly moved my eyes to the cup in my hand, silently thanking the thick robe for concealing my embarrassment.
“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, and I brought my eyes back to his face. Greeted with a sly smile, I prayed he didn’t see the flush under my dusky skin. “Do I get the honor of accompanying you to your new home?”
I gulped the last of my coffee and walked over to the sink to deposit my cup. “You really are persistent, aren’t you? If you’re so keen on wasting your Sunday, sure, I’d love the company. I do not, however, promise any housewarming treats. The kitchen is barren and cold.”
“That’s because it isn’t a home yet.” He smiled and put the cup in the sink beside mine. “But it will be by this evening, I promise.”
“Give me a half hour to get ready.”
“That’s enough time for me,” he said and moved toward his bedroom without another word.
When I emerged from the guest room carrying my weekender, he was ready in jeans and a relaxed short cotton shirt, reading on his tablet, which he promptly set on the side table when he saw me.
Giving no credence to my protests, he carried my bag down to the parking garage, where the car service awaited us.
Back at the hotel, he helped me pack my bags and got them bussed to the car. Before leaving, he went around the suite, making sure I’d not left anything behind.
“It’s the little things,” my mother had once said. “Grand gestures will take your breath away for a moment, but the little things will show you how loved you are.”
“Like what, Ma?” a young, inexperienced Aarti had asked.
“Like making sure your slippers are right by your bed every night because your feet will hurt all day if you step on the floor first thing in the morning. Like checking that you have water at your bedside every night.”
“Papa does that for you?” I had cried with wide eyes.
She’d nodded with a smile. “You know how often he says I love you?”
I’d snorted. “Never?” I loved my dad, but I knew him well. He held that showing emotion was a sign of weakness.
Mom had laughed. “No, silly girl. He used to whisper it to me when we got married, but as life got busier, as he got busier, he didn’t remember to say it as often.
But every night, there’s water at my bedside and my slippers are on the rug by my bed.
Even when we’ve had a fight, my slippers are there.
Even after we had a housekeeper, he’s the one who makes sure my slippers are by my bed every morning. That’s how I know I’m loved.”
“So, you’re saying don’t fall for chocolates and flowers?”
She’d laughed her beautiful laugh. “You can if it makes you happy. Gift them too, if it brings you happiness. But those won’t be the instances that will stay with you.”
“What’s the most touching instance you remember?”
Mom hadn’t even blinked. “When you were kids, we went to the Smoky Mountains. Do you remember?”
I nodded. We’d gone with three other families and had the best Thanksgiving break I remembered from my childhood.
“We had rented this lavish home. A grand cabin in the mountains. It came equipped with everything, the kitchen stocked with the staples. But guess what was missing? Sugar.”
“Huh?”
“Satish woke up early that morning to make tea and realized there was no sugar. You know he doesn’t mind having his tea without sugar, so he could’ve called the property managers later, and they would have dropped it off, but it would’ve taken a while.
Instead, before I woke up, he drove the long miles down the mountain into the city because he knew I’d never drink my chai without sugar. ”
“That’s not a small thing. It’s a grand gesture,” I’d objected.
“Yes, but there was no grandstanding about it. He was back before I woke up, and he’d made the tea for me. I didn’t even know about it until that evening when we gathered around the bonfire, and one of our friends complimented me on being such a lucky woman.”
The little things .
When I first joined Dad in his business, I studied him.
From him, I learned the art of emotional stoicism.
I learned how to keep myself guarded against hurt, pain, and manipulation.
Decisions with your head, not your heart, he’d ingrained in me.
It had taken me months to open up to Sameer, but we had never shared the joys of small things.
We exchanged expensive gifts and shared extravagant holidays.
We hobnobbed at exclusive parties, but when we were cuddled up in front of the television in his condo, the warmth from his arm around me never managed to reach my soul.
It was as if the distance between his heart and mine could never be bridged with the intermingling of our bodies.
In the end, he’d taken my heart and crushed it under the weight of his happiness with Tara.
My eyes traveled to Sujit as he scanned around the living area of the suite and asked, “You have the keys to the new place?”
“It has an electronic keypad.”
He nodded and said, “Anything we need to pick up on the way?”
“No.” I shook my head and followed him out.
The little things, it made perfect sense now.
When we arrived at the condo, he requested the driver to help carry some things from the trunk. I noticed an unfamiliar holdall in the luggage we carried up the elevators. He offered to hold my satchel while I unlocked the door.
“This is it!” I said with a trembling breath. “My first home, exclusively in my name.”
As I began to enter, his hand came swiftly around my wrist. “Wait,” came his hurried plea.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s silly, but my mother always makes me put the right foot across the threshold first.”
I smiled. I’d seen and heard this several times before, but I never thought I’d be the one to believe in the good luck that this innocuous step would garner. I pulled my right foot up dramatically, but before I crossed that threshold defined by the door, I pulled it back.
Looking into his face, I took his hand and interlaced my fingers with his. “Will you do me the honor of entering my house with me?”
A look of surprise flashed across his face, and he blinked. A sweet smile quickly appeared, putting two perfect dents in his clean-shaven face. “It would be an honor.”
We matched our timing and stepped inside the apartment together. After the ritualistic inaugural entry, we went back out and rolled in my suitcases.
“What’s in this one?” I asked, nodding at the extra holdall.
“Something that will help make this a home, I hope,” he said with a smile. “Where do you want your bags?”
“In the bedroom, please,” I said, rolling a bag toward it as he followed me with the second roller, and it was already starting to feel like home.
When I returned to the living room, having put away my bags, I spotted a large item placed on one of the consoles by the wall. It was surreptitiously covered with a large velvet cloth.
“Do I dare ask?” I said with wide eyes.
“Of course you can. It’s a surprise.”
My heart grappled with an unrecognizable emotion. Joy? Yes, but it seemed laced with a sorrow of some kind. The kind I couldn’t figure out.
“Let me show you the place first,” I offered, and he followed me.
After a quick tour of the apartment, during the entirety of which he complimented me on the choice of floor, paint, and furniture, we returned to the living room.
He took a seat on the couch and pulled the holdall onto his lap.
“Now,” he said before opening it, “this is something I’ve seen in my family, and you can absolutely say no.
We put rice and milk over the stove and let it overflow.
It’s said to bring happiness and prosperity,” he said and unzipped the holdall.
Out came a small container of raw rice, a tetra pack of milk, and a small saucepan.
An entire gamut of feelings ran through me. My wise mother was right. This was exactly the kind of innocuous thing that would stay with me through my life, lending hope in times of sadness.
“I would love that. Would you do it for me?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
I followed him into the kitchen, where he poured the milk into the pan, added a handful of rice, and turned on the stove. In a few minutes, the milk boiled and ran over the rim of the saucepan. He let it boil over for a few seconds, then turned off the stove.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean the stove for you later,” he teased as I kept staring at the milk on the stove.
I wasn’t worried about the condition of my kitchen counter. What worried me at that moment was the condition of my heart. How was I ever going to get over this man? Why did he have to be unattainable? What would it be like to break all rules and throw myself into his arms?
“You can pray if you want,” he said. “My mother does other things, but I don’t know any of them. This is the only thing I remember.”
Over the years I’d witnessed all kinds of rituals and traditions.
Preferences for south-facing homes, not south-facing homes, east-facing windows, no huge trees in certain parts of the yard.
From Vaastushastra and Feng Shui to carrying salt or water into the house, I knew most customs, but I never thought I’d be partaking in one with a man I was beginning to really like.
“Now,” he said and moved toward the living room again. “I have something for you. A little housewarming gift to make this house a home.”
He directed me to the large item on the console, and I pulled the velvet off, squinting with one eye as if it were a bomb that would go off.
He laughed wholeheartedly, throwing his head back, eyes closed, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. Peering over the rim of his glasses, which made my heart thud and clamber, he watched me as I stood speechless by his gift.
It was his cousin Padmaja’s sculpture, the one I’d admired at the gallery.
“Oh, Sujit, this is beautiful!” I quickly discarded the velvet in my hand and grazed my fingers along the artwork, admiring it for the prized jewel that it was.
“I’m glad you like it, or I would’ve felt like a fool buying it for you.”
“You bought it for me?” I turned to him.
“Yes, you said such beautiful words about it. It belongs with you, as Padmaja would’ve declared.”
Overwhelmed, I stepped closer to him and asked, “Is it alright if I give you a hug?”