Trading Smiles

Part 5 — A Week of Small Things

It had been a week since Arya first walked into Vinish’s apartment.

Seven mornings of opening his door to her tired but determined face. Seven afternoons of quiet, interrupted only by the clink of dishes, the sweep of the broom, and the occasional, cautious conversation over tea.

In that time, something unspoken had started to settle between them, not quite friendship yet, but no longer just the routine exchange between employer and maid.

They hadn’t addressed it directly, but Arya no longer called him sir. That had slipped away sometime.

She’d been scrubbing the kitchen tiles, sweat gathering at her temples, when she asked, without looking up, “Vinish, do you have a spare bucket?”

The moment passed without correction. He’d simply nodded, and from then on, that was his name.

The Week went by with them socializing and opening up their personal lives to one another.

✦ One Small Gift

On the Fourteenth day, Arya had come in a little quieter than usual. Her hair, cropped short in its usual pixie cut, was damp from a quick wash. She hadn’t tied it back, and it clung to her forehead as she set down her cleaning bag.

Vinish noticed, but said nothing.

Later that morning, while Arya was scrubbing the bathroom tiles, he placed a small paper bag on the counter, next to her water bottle. Inside: a new box of colored pencils, a geometry set, and two bars of chocolate ,one dark, one milk.

A handwritten note peeked from the side:
“For Meenu. I hope she likes bright things.”

Arya didn’t mention it until she was leaving. Then, almost offhand, she said, “Meenu drew a pink horse with blue stars and named it after you.”

Vinish blinked. “A horse?”

“She said it’s gentle but doesn’t like crowds,” Arya said, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “Suits you.”

He chuckled, not knowing what to say, and Arya just gave a small nod and walked out the door.

It was Day Twenty.

The fan whirred lazily overhead as Arya mopped the floor in slow, practiced strokes. Vinish sat at the dining table, typing something on his laptop, but mostly watching her. He’d noticed the way she always lifted her saree above her knees when she worked, tying it into a loose knot so it wouldn’t get wet. Her legs bore faint marks, red lines that seemed to echo tight elastic.

He hesitated, then spoke. “Those look painful.”

Arya paused, followed his gaze. “They’re from the company panties. The elastic cuts in when I sweat too much.”

Vinish looked up, surprised by her bluntness.

She shrugged. “We’re required to wear them. Blouse, saree, bra, panties ,all issued. Cheap and scratchy. They check sometimes, randomly. It’s humiliating.”

He said nothing at first, unsure what he was allowed to say.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“They do.” She moved to the sink, twisting her back slightly. “The bra’s the worst part. Wires that jab, straps that itch. You spend six hours trying not to notice it’s choking you.”

Vinish imagined that — the silent endurance. He’d never worn anything close to that, but for the first time, he was curious. Not out of spectacle, but empathy. What did it feel like to wear something that made your own body feel like a cage?

“Is it like that every day?”

Arya turned, wiping sweat from her brow. “Yeah. Every day. I get home and strip it off like it’s on fire.”

He smiled faintly, but didn’t laugh. “That sounds... awful.”

Arya glanced at him. “You ever worn something uncomfortable?”

Vinish thought for a moment. “Once, to a wedding. A stiff sherwani with gold thread. Looked good in pictures. Felt like I was being embalmed.”

Arya laughed ,genuinely. “Exactly.”

She stood, stretching her arms above her head, revealing more of the fading marks along her ribs.

“You ever thought of switching jobs?” he asked gently.

Arya lowered her arms. “What else is there? I didn’t finish school. Meenu’s still in it. She’s smart. But someone’s got to keep the lights on.”

He nodded. There was nothing romantic in her words, no drama. Just fact.

“I’ve been thinking about trying to cook,” he said suddenly, glancing at the kitchen. “Something proper. instant foods. Will you tell me if I burn the rice?”

Arya grinned. “I’ll try not to be too harsh.”

✦ Later That Day

When Arya was done, she rinsed her hands and took the tea Vinish had poured strong, fragrant, a touch of lemongrass. He always made it just right.

They sat at the table again. Not quite side by side. Not quite across either.

Arya looked at the bookshelf. “You read a lot?”

“Used to,” he said. “Haven’t in a while. Been busy.”

“Doing what?”

He hesitated. “Figuring things out.”

Arya didn’t press. Instead, she offered something of her own. “When I was little, I thought I'd grow up to be a Politician No idea why. Just liked how they had the Power .”

Vinish smiled. “Maybe that’s what you need. I find that life boring, i need a life where I'm constantly reminded that i am alive.”

“Or maybe you just need better tea,” she said, sipping it with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned. “Are you insulting my tea?”

“No,” Arya said. “It’s the best part of my day.”

✦ A Subtle Shift

That evening, Vinish sat alone after Arya left, watching the empty space she’d occupied just an hour ago.

He looked down at the table, then at his reflection in the window.

Something was shifting. Not suddenly. Not dramatically.

But he’d started to notice the world differently.

He looked at his hands slender fingers, neatly kept nails. He remembered Arya’s voice, the way she spoke of her discomfort like it was nothing new. Like it was just part of breathing.

He went to his wardrobe and took out the white saree and just placed it on his shoulders and looked at himself in the mirror.

And for the first time in a long while, Vinish wondered what it might feel like to walk in someone else’s shoes ,not metaphorically, but actually. What it would feel like to wear something that changed how the world looked at you. Or how you looked at yourself.

He didn’t know yet.

But he wanted to.