She did not go to the dresser at all after shower and came directly to him. He had changed into comfortable night dress and was already waiting for her on the bed. He lent her a hand as she climbed on the bed and welcomed her with a kiss on her forehead. She looked down and waited in anxiety as well as excitement for his next move. It took forever! He spoke.

“You look gorgeous in red,” his voice was hoarse. Seeing her in red saree that morning had stunned him. That’s why he had chosen red for the night-dress too. He hadn’t erred.

Her throat went dry and she gulped hard. His hands slipped down her shoulders, caressing her arms ever so lightly, finally reaching down to her palms, which he held in his. He coughed before willing himself to speak in a normal voice, “If you are not ready, or feel uncomfortable, you can stop me. Right now. Or at any point of time. Okay?”

Even with her inexperience, she could feel desire oozing out of his body. How could he still be so careful… so caring… so much in control. “Men need what they need,” Chachiji was definitely not talking about men like him. Were there men like him? Or was he the only one.

“You must do that, Anatara. Tell me that you understand,” he spoke again when she did not answer his earlier question.

She wasn’t looking at him. But she could feel his intense gaze on herself. She nodded slowly. There was no way words were coming out of her throat in such an overwhelming situation. He pulled away for a moment as he reached out and switched off the light. The next moment she was in his arms, in a bone-crushing hug. After breaking the hug, he didn’t give her even a moment’s respite. He flung open the gown of her nightdress. Inside it was a knee-length dress with noodle strap. He didn’t bother about it. It didn’t offer him much resistance. He laid her down on the bed. She got unsettled when he kissed her feet. She sat up with a start. “Mrinal ji… No… Don’t…”

He cupped her face and replied, “Even saints have worshipped beauty, Antara. I am a mere mortal and there is such beauty before me today… Don’t stop me. Relax and enjoy. Please.”

He was gentle, but he knew what he wanted. And in a way that could not be described in words, he was demanding it from her. She wouldn’t deny him anything he wanted. He kissed her on the lips and made her lie down again.  He covered every inch of her body with kisses. Despite his arousal he keenly observed when she enjoyed and when she flinched, adjusting his position accordingly. She was writhing under him, her own desire shooting through the roof with the foreplay, when he finally straddled her. But hers was virgin body. When he entered her, despite his precaution, it hurt. It came unexpectedly to her, and she let out a cry. He stopped immediately, pulling away.

“Antara!”

When she realized what had happened, she grew tongue-tied. Hadn’t all those Internet articles and columns in women’s magazines warned her? Why wasn’t she prepared? She should have anticipated and not cried out!

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he didn’t sense her mortification and was more worried about her pain. He helped her sit up. Before he could do or say something more coherent, however, he needed to calm himself down. “Give me a minute,” he said, grabbed his clothes and went to the bathroom.

She was sobbing by the time he came back.

“What… what happened, Antara. Talk to me. Are you hurt? Please…”

“Don’t be so nice to me,” came the listless reply through her sobs. Then the obvious realization dawned on him. It wasn’t the pain. She was embarrassed.

“Rest assured,” his tone suddenly become playful, “I’m not going to be nice at all. You have no idea how many sleepless nights lie in wait for you. You have tortured me since the first time I saw you.”

Her sobs subsided. How did he manage to switch gears like that, she wondered.

“But Antara,” he was more somber now, “It’s doesn’t happen like in romance novels. What happened was natural. It takes time getting used to it, getting used to each other. We have an entire lifetime before us. We have time to get comfortable. And we should use that. Ideally I shouldn’t have pushed you so early on…. But I got carried away…. You do that to me!” He smiled and kissed her hands.

“How do I thank you…”

“What do you want to thank me for?”

“It has barely been two days with you,” she spoke in a low voice. The lights were still switched off, and in the dim floor-light it was difficult to make out expressions on her face. “And in these two days I have been asked about what I want, or how I am feeling, or whether I am comfortable more number of times than in last fifteen years of my life. I am almost afraid that I will get used to it.”

“Antara!” she had revealed probably one of the deepest emotions to him. Despite not being used to pryaing, he prayed that he would never break her trust. “You weren’t happy at your Uncle’s place?” he asked wanting to hear her talk.

“No. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t starved or abused… In fact, you see all these suitcases… You had stumped everyone with your insistence on no dowry. They did their best to make up for it with lavishness of wedding, all these clothes, jewelry, expensive gifts and what not.”

“Most of which you are not interested in taking with you.”

“None of it is for me, Mrinal ji. I always had expensive things and luxuries. But not because I would be comfortable in them; rather because they can’t be seen as grudging the responsibility of their unfortunate, orphaned niece.”

Mrinal sighed. Her parents hadn’t died poor. As the elder brother, her father had more to do with the family business than her uncle and he inherited the fruits of his brother’s labour. Still, because she was a girl child, she was a burden. If they took care of her, it was a favour. Nobody thought that all that money was hers too.

“It’s all over, Antara. You can leave all of this behind you. You must,” he said as he pulled her closer in his embrace.

—

“How did you pack your paintings?”

“Paintings?”

“Your paintings.”

“I… That’s nothing serious. I didn’t bring them at all.”

“Arr… Why not? Can somebody fetch them?”

“Who told you I paint?”

“I have seen your paintings.”

“When? Where?”

Mrinal sighed and then broke in to a smile, “Just trust me. I have seen them and they are damn serious. How do we get them? Do you want to make a quick trip home…”

“I don’t know if they would even be there. Chachiji was planning to remodel my room…”

“She couldn’t have just thrown them away…. Anyway, let’s at least try.”

“I will ask Pikku to check.”

“Call right away. He might already be on his way here.”

“Why?”

“I asked him to come.”

“For what?”

“How possessive you are being! Can’t I talk to him?”

“Of course, you can…” she turned away feeling confused and foolish. Mrinal grinned behind her.

—

Parikshit handed her a cylindrical box. “Here. All your paintings. I packed them when Mummy started cleaning the room.”

Mrs. Gupta had indeed started on her plans to reclaim Antara’s room already!

“Thank you. Where did you get this box from?” Antara felt overwhelmed and asked to distract herself.

“It came with one of the posters I had ordered. Should keep them safe in the journey.”

“Thank you, Parikshit,” Mrinal interposed and handed him a gift-wrapped box, “This is for you.”

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Parikshit eagerly opened the box and gave a cry of joy when he saw the sealed box of a mobile phone. It was the same model Mrinal had bought for Antara earlier.

“Wow! Thank you so much, Mrinal Bhai…. Rather Jijaji,” he grinned happily, “How did you know I wanted this phone?”

“It was no rocket science. You were so interested and excited when I had given you Antara’s phone.”

“It wasn’t needed,” Antara told Mrinal after Parikshit had left, “He has already been spoiled during the wedding. He might have extracted more gifts for himself than were bought for me.” She was smiling fondly thinking about her brother.

“It wasn’t needed. It was just to acknowledge that he matters to you; hence to me too.”

Antara looked grateful, “Yes. He matters to me. I have practically brought him up.”

“Yeah?”

“When my parents died he was barely one- year old. And Chachiji was frantic about having been saddled with the responsibility of another seven-year old child, that too a girl. I was so scared and insecure. I felt the need to prove my worth. That’s why I started looking after him. To prove to her that I would not be a burden. But afterwards… I was thankful I did that. He has been my solace. Probably this is what being a mother feels like. And after growing up, he has been a great support and companion.”

“But he doesn’t stay at home.”

“He went off only last year.”

“And you have been lonely?”

“Very.”

“Well. Not any longer.”

She smiled shyly.

—

To be continued