Part 10
The screen flashed with the faces of her parents, sitting in their cozy living room in Kolhapur. Rajani swallowed the lump in her throat, swiped the screen to accept the video call, and tried to force a smile.
"Rajjo! Are Deva!!! What happened to your eyes?" her mother exclaimed instantly, leaning so close to the camera that her forehead was cut off. "They are completely red! Have you been crying?"
The maternal radar was terrifyingly accurate. Rajani’s heart did a nervous flip. She looked at Rani, who gave her hand a reassuring, gentle squeeze before stepping slightly out of the camera's frame.
"No, Aai... it’s nothing," Rajani lied, her voice cracking slightly as a stray, leftover tear escaped her eye. She quickly wiped it away, trying to channel her best corporate-stress excuse. "Just... a little overwhelmed. The project pressure this week was too much, and I went out in the dust. My allergies flared up, and the emotions just spilled over. I’m fine, really."
Before her mother could launch into a lecture about leaving the city and moving back home, Rani stepped boldly into the frame, her bright smile lighting up the screen.
"Namaskar, Kaku! Namaskar, Kaka!" Rani called out cheerfully, waving at the screen.
On the other end of the line, her mother’s worried expression instantly vanished, replaced by pure, ecstatic disbelief. "Aga! Rani?! Oh my god, Aho! Look who it is! It’s our neighbor’s Ranubai!"
Her father leaned into the frame, his eyes widening behind his reading glasses. "Ranubai! Where did you come from? You girls met after so many years?"
What followed was a relentless, twenty-minute conversation that Rajani could barely keep up with. Her mother walked down memory lane, loudly recalling how inseparable "Rajanish" and Rani used to be—except, in her mother's rewritten memories, it was "Rajjo and Rani" who used to steal mangoes, study for exams, and cry when they were separated.
"Kaku, your Rajjo has become so beautiful, but she’s still the same crybaby," Rani teased, casting a wicked, sidelong glance at Rajani. She leaned closer to the phone camera, her voice dropping into that familiar, playful purr. "Don't worry, Kaku. I am here now. I am looking after her so well that she won’t even think about any boy. I might just keep her for myself."
Rajani’s mother let out a loud, amused laugh, completely missing the romantic undercurrent. "Keep her, beta, keep her! At least she will eat properly if you're around!"
On The Edge
By the time they finished a late dinner of ordering in, the clock had ticked past 10:00 PM. The weekend traffic outside was winding down, and a heavy fatigue settled over the flat.
Rani stood by the door, adjusting her purse. "Alright, Rajjo. I should probably head back to my place before it gets too late."
Rajani looked at the dark, lonely corridor outside, then back at Rani. The memory of the street harassment from earlier in the day was still fresh, and a protective instinct flared up inside her.
"Rani, wait," Rajani said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. "It's really late, and the roads toward your area aren't great at night. Just... stay here tonight. You can leave tomorrow, whenever you wish."
Rani paused, her eyes searching Rajani’s face. A soft, genuine smile replaced her usual teasing smirk. "Okay. If my Rajjo insists."
That night, the 1BHK bedroom felt incredibly small. They lay under the whirring ceiling fan, sharing the single queen-sized bed. Out of sheer, mounting nervousness, Rajani clung tightly to the absolute left edge of the bed, practically hovering over the floor, her long hair pinned beneath her shoulder. On the absolute right edge lay Rani, staring at the ceiling.
The silence between them was heavy, charged with the echoes of the day. In the darkness, Rajani’s chest throbbed with a dizzying mix of emotions. She remembered the soft, electric touch of Rani’s lips in the trial room, the fierce way Rani had stood up for her on the street, and the warmth of their embrace. Beside her, Rani turned onto her side, her eyes gleaming in the dark as she looked at Rajani's silhouette, a quiet, happy sigh escaping her lips. Neither spoke a word, but the unspoken gravity of their shifting bond hung beautifully in the air until sleep finally took them.
A Sunday Well Spent
The next morning broke the tension with the familiar, comforting aroma of hot tea.
There was no rush, no corporate deadlines, no Jira tickets. Rani woke up with her usual infectious energy, dragging a lazy, bra-less Rajani into the kitchen. Together, they prepped a massive Sunday breakfast of *kanda poha* and ginger chai.
The entire afternoon became a long, sprawling talking session. Sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, they talked about everything—Rani’s intense freelance design hustle, the crushing weight of their respective family responsibilities, and stories from their childhood that now seamlessly featured two girls instead of a boy and a girl. Seeing Rani talk about her hardships with a resilient, beautiful smile made Rajani feel a profound sense of peace. The internal friction of her identity was slowly melting into a quiet acceptance of the present.
By 1:30 PM, they were listening to old Marathi songs while chopping potatoes and rolling dough for a proper, comforting Sunday lunch. Rani would occasionally bump her hip against Rajani's while passing by, or playfully wipe a stray speck of flour off Rajani’s nose, keeping the gentle, magnetic flirtation alive. Rajani still blushed furiously, her heart racing like a teenage boy's, but she no longer pulled away.
It was past 6:00 PM on Sunday evening when Rani finally stood at the door, her matte-black helmet strapped securely over her face wrap.
She pulled down the stole, leaning in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on Rajani’s cheek. "Thank you for the magical weekend, Rajjo," Rani whispered, her eyes bright. "Text me the second you miss me."
As the door clicked shut and Rani’s scooter rumbled away into the twilight, Rajani leaned against the wood, a slow, genuine smile spreading across her lips. She walked over to the small kitchen shrine, folding her hands before Ganpati Bappa. The corporate tension hadn't vanished, and her reality was still completely flipped, but for the first time since the reboot, she didn't feel running on empty anymore.
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