Trading Smiles

Part 4 – The Morning After

The next morning, the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of cups as Vinish arranged two mugs on the kitchen counter. The sunlight was softer today, drifting in through the sheer curtains and warming the tiles beneath his bare feet. He glanced at the clock: 7:56 AM.

Right on cue, the doorbell rang.

Vinish opened the door with a little more care this time. He’d been fully dressed carefully, not wanting a repeat of earlier mishap. Today, he wore a loose grey cotton kurta over soft pajama pants, his hair tied loosely at the nape. He had taken extra time brushing it out that morning, it fell silkier when he used conditioner.

Arya stood there, tall and poised in her plain blue saree, a little sweat already gathering near her temples. Her pixie cut framed her face, damp with the heat. The edge of her blouse curled slightly at the shoulder, showing a strap of her company-issued bra too tight, too visible. She gave him a half-smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Vinish smiled back, stepping aside. “Just Vinish is fine.”

Arya paused for a second but nodded. “Okay… Vinish.”

There was a subtle tension in the way she said his name. Not discomfort just unfamiliarity, like slipping into shoes that didn’t yet fit.

She walked in, setting her small canvas bag near the shoe rack, and moved with practiced efficiency toward the kitchen.

“I made tea,” Vinish offered, holding up a mug. “Same as yesterday.”

Arya hesitated again, but the smell was too inviting. She accepted it wordlessly and sat at the kitchen table.

They sipped in silence for a while. The fan overhead ticked as it turned.

“I like your tea,” she said eventually, setting the mug down with a clink. “It reminds me of… something. Not sure what.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Vinish said, amused.

Arya gave a small shrug and moved toward the sink to begin the dishes. Her saree shifted around her with each movement, revealing how awkwardly it sat on her tall frame. Vinish watched from the doorway, noting how she used her whole body shoulders, back, even her knees to get the job done quickly. There was a kind of power in her grace. He admired it.

“Do they make you wear that?” he asked after a moment, gesturing to her uniform.

She glanced down, flicking a bit of suds off her wrist. “The saree? Yeah. And the blouse. Even the bra and panty. All issued. Scratchy, synthetic. Ugly.” She said it casually and openly, but there was a grimace on her face.

Vinish stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I wouldn’t have guessed. I mean, you carry it well i guess.” said with a blushed face.

Arya snorted softly. “You try walking around in polyester with underwire biting your ribs. Then we’ll talk.”

He chuckled, feeling strangely light. “Fair. I’ll pass.”

Arya glanced at him. “You have good hair, by the way. What do you use?”

Vinish blinked. “Oh. Um… just a regular conditioner. Almond oil sometimes. I’ve had it long since college.”

She tilted her head, observing him. “You ever think about tying it up higher? Like a bun?”

“Too girly,” he said instinctively, then paused. “I mean… I don’t know. I guess I just do what feels right.”

Arya nodded. “Nothing wrong with a little girly. If it’s you.”

Their eyes met for a second longer than usual. Then Arya turned back to the dishes, and Vinish looked down at his tea, suddenly aware of how soft the sleeves of his kurta felt against his arms.

The hours passed as Arya cleaned dusting, sweeping, organizing small things Vinish had left out. She seemed more relaxed today, humming quietly while wiping the windows. At one point, she paused to stretch her back, the blouse riding up slightly. Vinish caught a glimpse of the red marks the bra left behind.

“You know,” he said gently, “if you ever want to change here into something more comfortable before or after work…”

Arya looked at him sharply, then softened when she saw there was no judgment in his face. “Thanks. Maybe someday,” she said.

They shared lunch again, something simple Vinish had cooked. She complimented the balance of spices, and he smiled sheepishly, not used to praise for anything domestic.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” she said between bites.

“Neither do you,” he replied.

Arya leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fair enough. You go first.”

Vinish hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m an freelancer. Bought this place just a month ago. Trying to settle into a new life, I guess.”

“Family or friends staying nearby?”

“No friends and no contact with relatives” he said. “What about you?”

“My parents are gone,” Arya said flatly. “It’s just me and Meenu. She’s twelve. Goes to school. I do what I can.”

Vinish nodded slowly. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Arya didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “She says I walk like a man.”

“Maybe men walk like you,” Vinish said without thinking. Arya looked up, surprised. Then she laughed deep, genuine, warm.

At 2 PM, she washed her hands and slung her bag over one shoulder. “See you tomorrow… Vinish.”

He smiled. “See you, Arya.”

After she left, Vinish stood for a long time by the closed door. He walked slowly into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. The soft curve of his lips. The gentle line of his jaw. The way his kurta hung on his shoulders. He tried tying his hair into a small bun, just to see.

Something fluttered inside him.

Maybe, he thought, people were just stories waiting to be written properly.