Fiction: Home…

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It’s nearly 11. We’ve had a long, interesting conversation over dinner. I clear away the table and take them to the sink. The kids, now all grown up and full of teen angst, help grudgingly. They know he expects them to. I tell them I’ll take care of it. They smile, say good night, and go to their rooms, kissing their father good night on the way. He smiles and settles in his armchair with a book in hand. I clear up the kitchen, turn off the lights and join him. He looks happy. My heart fills up. I settle down on the couch across the room from him.

He gets up from his armchair, turns off the lights, leaving the gentle, soothing glow of the pedestal lamp. He pulls the ottoman out and settles down on it, directly in front of where I sit. I raise my eyebrows in question. He smiles, bends down and takes my feet in his hands. I sigh and make myself comfortable. His hands work magic on my feet. I feel myself relaxing. Outside, the night sky has a reddish hue, signalling an impending storm. Thunder rolls. I feel the coolness of the breeze through the balcony door. The coolness signals the start of the rains.

Oh! How I love the rains. They make me insanely happy. He knows my special relationship with rain. His hands continue to massage and caress my feet. I sigh with pleasure. It’s as if he instinctively senses my need and mood. The scent of fresh earth wafts in with the breeze. The first pre-monsoon showers have arrived. It begins to rain.

He gently sets my feet down and gets up. He puts his hand out. I put my hands in his and get up. I look into his eyes, searching for love, for desire and for passion. I find all of them at once. His hand feels warm on my hip. He takes my hand in his other hand and starts moving slowly, as if dancing to a melody we cannot hear. My body responds to his every move. After about ten minutes, he pauses. He puts his fingers under my chin and gently lifts my face to him. What if the kids see? “Let them know too how much I love you,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. I smile. He places a gentle, tentative kiss on my lips. I kiss him back, wishing this moment would last forever. The kiss deepens as his hands caress my back. I melt into him, surrendering my will like I’ve done so many times before.

I hear the room door open and I know one of the kids has stepped out. He knows it too but makes no attempt to stop or step away. Instead, he gently breaks the kiss and pulls me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head and hugs me tight. I let myself go, feeling his every inch against my body. I hear the room door close again, much more quietly this time, and I know they’re fine. I smile against his chest, knowing that I’m now home. He is home. And I’m there. Finally.

Fiction: Endings…or new beginnings…

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Is it the end? I look up at him, eyes brimming with tears. He looks away, unable to bear the intensity of my gaze. And then, as if composing himself, he takes a deep breath and meets my eyes again. “No. There can never be an end to us. This is a storm we have to endure. Alone.” I know he is right. I can feel his pain in his eyes. I draw myself close to him and kiss his deeply. He returns my kiss with an intensity that’s hard to define. As if he knows the next twelve months are going to be difficult, at times almost impossible to survive. With a deep sigh, I turn on my heels and walk out of the room.

Time flies, whether you’re having fun or not. It’s almost eight months later that I recall his words, as I see his name flash on my phone screen. I realise with a jolt that these months have been tough but not impossible to survive. I wonder if I should answer. And then it hits me. This is love. Whether we’re in touch or not, whether we talk to each other or not, that emotion will never change. I pick up. “Can we meet? This evening?”

Later that evening, we sit next to each other at the coffee shop. He reaches over and draws me closer to him. I let him. My body instinctively snuggles against him as if it’s never forgotten what it feels like to be with him. “The storm is over”. His words are like balm to a bruised heart. I turn to face him. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me again. After eight months. This time it’s different. The kiss is reassuring. It’s deeply affectionate. And it’s full of promise. Promise of a better future. Of happiness. Of love.

Fiction: Mornings…

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I turn over, stretching lazily. I feel his hands warm and heavy over my stomach and his nose buried in my neck. I feel a rush of affection. I reach over and touch his hair. Rough, curly. He stirs. I turn towards him and pull him into my arms, as memories of last night come flooding back, filling me with desire and warmth all at once. His arms tighten around my body and his legs come around my waist, as if to pull me into his embrace even more closely. I snuggle up. I breathe in deeply, the fragrance of his skin filling me deeply.

He stiffens. I sense instinctively that he needs me. I kiss him gently, seeking his lips and caressing his skin. There’s something beautiful about this man. The gentleness of his touch, contrasting with the demands of his body. It’s like he knows what I want. And how. He’s now fully awake. He props himself on his elbow and looks into my eyes, silently seeking consent. I press my body against him. And he makes love to me. A slow, sensuous act made better by the knowledge that his love for me is far deeper than he cares to admit. His lips seek every curve, every crevice, as if to memorise every wrinkle on my body. He seeks out my breasts and caresses them. He buries his face in my chest as he brings me close. And I relinquish control willingly. I surrender to his needs, knowing that my own needs will be fulfilled many times over much before that.

He fills me up, with an ardour I’ve never felt before in our years together. The intensity of his desire surprises me. Every single time. As he makes love as only he can, I feel a joy that’s inexplicable. He turns me on my stomach and continues his lovemaking, an act that frustrates and excites at the same time. An hour later, we lie spent. The weight of his body on mine feels fulfilling in ways I cannot explain. He finally brings me on top of him and hugs me close. He kisses me deeply and says, “Good morning babe. Coffee?” And I fall in love all over again. For the zillionth time.

Fiction: First date

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It’s a warm and breezy summer evening. I sit at the edge of the shore taking in the salty air and revel in the silence that seems to envelope me. I’m so lost in thought that I’m jolted out of my reverie when the phone rings. I find it and fish it out of my bag. It’s him. “Where are you?” He asks.

Fifteen minutes later, he sits alongside me on the shore, arms around my hips. I’m surprised he’s here. I hadn’t told him I was going to the beach. He somehow found his way to me. “What time do you need to be back?” I’m ok. I tell him. I can take my time. He promises to drop me home. Half an hour later, he gets up, dusts the sand off himself and puts out his hand to help me up. I find myself in the car and on my way out of the city.

We arrive at a tiny beachside cafe I didn’t know existed. It’s beautiful. Picturesque. Thatched roof, candles, the deep blue sea and the sound of the waves. He orders dinner. Actually, he just tells them to bring it. They seem to know what to bring. The food is delicious. The company, intoxicating. He is attentive, intelligent and engaging. He hands me a glass of wine and asks if we can walk on the shore. I nod. We talk. Of atoms and the universe. Of philosophy and literature. Of us. Of love. It’s almost midnight when he pauses.

I look into his eyes with the anticipation of what is to come. He seems to take the hint. He reaches out and cups my face with his hands. My heart races. He comes closer. I shut my eyes. And then he kisses me. Gently. Tentatively. As if asking for permission. I kiss him back. A deep, passionate, beautiful kiss. Now I know. I know where this is going. I just don’t know how. Yet.

Summer night…

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I step out and take a deep breath. The summer breeze is humid but pleasant. It smells of the sea. Of salt. Of love and happiness. My clip comes loose and my hair falls loose over my shoulders. I feel at peace. With myself and the world. I nurse my drink and stare out of the balcony grill into the city lights. I remember why I’ll always call this city home.

I’m jolted out of my reverie by a click. The sound of the door opening and the blast of the air conditioned air chilling my back. I turn and see him step out. May I join you? Of course! I tell him and step aside to make space for him. He shuts the door behind him and joins me. I continue my silent reverie. He lets me be. A few minutes later, I feel his hand on mine. I look up startled. He smiles and tightens his grip. I sigh. He raises his brow, silently asking if I’m ok. I shake my head and turn away. He picks up my hand and raises it to his lips. May I? I nod, unable to deny. He kisses my fingers. One by one. “Will you go out with me?” His question is music to my ears. Yes, I tell him. And I sense the beginning of something very beautiful. Only time will tell.