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Malini's glance, a hesitant gaze,
Where can she change, in this intimate space?
Abhi's reassurance, a gentle promise made,
"I'll not look back, you can change unafraid."
She agrees, with a mocking little smile,
Threatening to poke, if he turns awhile.
Abhi chuckles, as she changes with grace,
A tender moment, in a private space.
At the mirror, she applies oil with care,
Abhi steps closer, with a gentle air.
He takes her hair, to help her with ease,
But she whips around, with a shy, nervous breeze.
"How can you do this?" she asks with a flush,
"He's a man," she thinks, with a traditional hush.
Abhi's calm answer, a love so profound,
"I'm your man, your husband, forever bound."
In those words, a world of meaning lies,
A bond of love, that touches the skies.
Malini's heart, a mix of emotions so fine,
A new relationship, with a love so divine.
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15th April, 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
ABHISHEK'S POV~
My smirk grows wider, my lips barely grazing her ear.
I feel her shiver under my touch, and the realization that I've affected her this way only deepens the smoldering desire swirling between us.
Her body betrays her, and I can't help but relish in it.
"Get freshen up. Then we'll go out together," I say, my voice calm, yet there's a quiet authority in my words.
I slowly push her away from me, my hand brushing the soft curve of her shoulder as I stand up from the bed.
The cool air of the morning surrounds us, brushing against my bare chest, but it doesn't disturb the warmth that lingers in the room between us.
She sneaks a quick, almost imperceptible glare at me, her eyes narrowing as she turns away.
I watch her walk to the wooden trunk, the soft rustle of the fabric of her saree brushing against her legs.
The heavy scent of sandalwood from the trunk mingles with the faint perfume of jasmine in the air as she opens it.
She reaches inside, pulling out a red-colored cotton saree.
The rich, deep hue of it catches my attention, and for a brief moment, I wonder how it would look against her skin. She holds it in her hands like it's a precious treasure, the fabric soft, delicate.
"Where will I change?" she asks, her voice a little hesitant as she turns to face me.
I glance at her nonchalantly, my fingers lightly adjusting the sleeves of my kurta while wearing it.
"Here," I reply with indifference, though the slightest tug of a smile plays on my lips.
Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she gasps, clutching the saree tightly to her chest, her knuckles turning white. "What!? No! I'm not changing here in front of you!"
I raise an eyebrow, enjoying the flustered look on her face.
"You think I'll look at you?" I ask, my voice still even, but the words carry a teasing edge.
I watch her hesitance as she stands there, unsure, and I can't help but sigh softly.
Her reaction is a mixture of surprise and discomfort, but I know there's something more beneath it.
The air in the room grows a little thicker with the tension.
I turn my face away to give her the privacy she wants, but my words hang in the air.
"I'll not look at you until you yourself want me to look at you," I say, my tone softer now, though still filled with assurance.
Her voice is quick and sharp. "Why would I want you to see me?! I would never."
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I hear her words.
She's still so innocent, so unaware of the magnetic pull between us.
I remain silent, but in my mind, I'm already anticipating what's to come.
I hear the soft rustle of her movements as she removes her clothes, the quiet sound of fabric sliding off skin filling the air between us.
The stillness in the room is thick with tension, and the sound of her breath is the only thing that breaks it, calm yet tinged with a hint of nervousness.
"If you turn around, I'll poke my fingers in your eyes!" she says, her voice playful but firm.
I can't help the grin that spreads across my face.
Her little threat is so cute, so endearing, it makes my heart skip a beat.
"Oh! Really?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, tapping my foot gently against the terracotta floor, the rhythmic sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room.
"Yes! I'm very powerful and strong!" she declares with an exaggerated emphasis, and I bite my lip to suppress my laughter.
I can hear her rushing footsteps as she moves to the mirror, the sound of her feet brushing against the floor—quick and light, as if she's excited for a moment of independence.
"Okay, if you say so," I breathe, my words low, my eyes following her every move.
She steps toward the mirror, her body graceful, yet there's a slight hesitation in the way she combs her fingers through her hair, as if she's trying to focus on something else other than the presence of me in the room.
She untangles her braid, and slowly, the dark strands of her hair spill down her back, cascading like a waterfall until they brush against her knees.
The sight of her hair unfurling, smooth and shiny, captivates me in a way I can't describe.
I take a step closer, closing the space between us.
My heart beats a little faster as I stand a mere foot away from her, watching every subtle movement she makes.
She pours a generous amount of jasmine-scented coconut oil onto her palm.
The scent is sweet and calming, like the softest breeze on a summer day.
I inhale deeply, the fragrance filling the space around us, blending with the warmth of the room.
Parting her hair in delicate sections, she begins applying the oil, her hands moving with practiced ease.
The glistening strands of hair catch the light as they fall against her skin, now shiny and smooth with the oil's touch.
I bend over the desk in front of the mirror to grab the glass jar of coconut oil.
The cool glass feels smooth under my fingers as I twist off the lid. Pouring a small amount of the oil into my palm, I rub it between my hands to warm it, feeling the silky texture slip through my fingers.
As I raise my hand to take a section of her hair, her body whips around in shock.
The movement is sudden, her hair swaying like liquid silk around her shoulders, catching the light from the window.
For a moment, I'm mesmerized by the dark strands flowing freely, the smoothness of them reflecting the soft glow of the morning.
"What are you doing?!" she asks, her voice sharp, her eyebrows squinting in confusion.
The panic in her tone is almost comical, but I see something else—something in the way her chest rises and falls, a fluttering beneath the surface.
"Applying oil to your hair," I reply, tilting my head with a calm that I don't quite feel.
The hint of a smile pulls at the corners of my lips as I reach for her.
"I... why?" she whispers, stepping back slightly, as if trying to escape me. " I can do this by myself".
She fidgets with her hair, twisting it nervously, her fingers dancing over the smooth strands in agitation.
"I know, but I want to help," I say, my voice a little lower now.
I rub my palms together to warm the oil, careful not to let too much drip down my wrist.
The coolness of the coconut oil feels soothing against the heat of my skin, though my heart beats a little faster at the closeness of the moment.
"It'll be done faster if I help," I add, my tone soft but insistent.
"But... how can you?" she asks, her voice quivering with uncertainty.
She doesn't move, but I see the slight tremble in her hands as she tightens her grip on her hair.
"How can I not?" I ask, my steps slow but deliberate as I move closer.
She takes another step back, her breath quickening, and I can't help the amusement that stirs in me.
The space between us is narrowing, and yet, she still tries to retreat.
"Y... you're a man," she whispers, her gaze dropping to the floor, her voice softer now, almost unsure.
There's a vulnerability in her words, like she's not quite certain how to navigate this.
"Your man," I whisper back, my voice low, barely audible as I lean in closer, matching her height as I step into her space.
~Marriage is a companionship not just marriage.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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