Part 7
A whole week had flown by in a blur of hybrid work—two grueling days of navigating the Pune traffic on the Activa and three days of working from home in the blissful, bra-less comfort of her oversized night kurtis. But the real shift wasn’t the hybrid schedule; it was her phone.
Ever since that mall encounter, the notifications hadn't stopped. What started as Rani’s late-night flirting had snowballed into daily texting, which quickly turned into late-night calls. Rajani found herself trapped in a beautiful, terrifying paradox. On the phone, she could laugh at Rani’s jokes and listen to her vent about clients, feeling that old, familiar warmth. But every time Rani dropped a smooth, protective compliment or lower-toned, flirtatious remark, Rajani’s voice would crack, her new vocal cords betraying her sheer, girlish panic. She was a guy, talking to his lifelong crush, who was actively hitting on the female version of him. It was mental gymnastics at an Olympic level.
Saturday Again
Now, it was Saturday morning. Rajani was sitting on her sofa, hair tied in a messy, chaotic bun, wearing a faded night-maxi, halfway through a cup of black coffee. She was just planning her grocery list when it happened.
Ding-Dong.
The sudden, sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the quiet apartment.
Rajani froze, the coffee cup hovering inches from her lips. Her heart instantly kicked into overdrive, hammering violently against her ribs.
Panic. Absolute, cold panic.
Who could it be at 8:00 AM on a Saturday?
Was it Mangal-tai? No, she wasn't there for 2 weeks.
Was it Kulkarni Aunty coming to interrogate her about the Nashik groom situation again?
Or worse... was it Rani? Rani got to know where she lived from their recent conversations, and with her dominant, spontaneous nature, it wouldn't be beneath her to pull a surprise visit.
Rajani looked down at herself. She couldn't open the door like this. Pure laziness had kept her from putting on a bra this morning, and now she was paying the price. The thin, loose cotton night-maxi left her completely, dangerously unsupported, and her newly sensitive skin instantly prickled with goosebumps at the thought of facing anyone at the door like this.
Ding-Dong!
The second ring was longer, louder, and filled with weekend impatience.
"Coming!" Rajani called out, her voice pitching up in a nervous squeak.
She scrambled off the sofa, her mind racing. If she tried to wrestle into a bra right now, the person at the door would think she was constructing a new apartment inside.
*Think, Rajjo, think!*
Her eyes darted to the back of the dining chair. Hanging over it was a wide, crumpled cotton *dupatta* she had thrown it there a couple of days before..
She grabbed the long fabric, unfolding it in a frenzy. Without bothering with symmetry, she draped it broadly over her shoulders, crossing it tightly over her chest in a thick, defensive layer to camouflage her silhouette. She smoothed down the night-maxi, adjusted the *dupatta* one last time to make sure everything was completely covered, and took a deep, trembling breath.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she walked to the door. She unlocked the latch, turned the knob, and pulled it open just a few inches, peering through the gap.
Standing on the doormat was…
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