Haldi 4

Haldi 4 

The moment I stepped into the corridor, the air felt different — like I’d been wrapped in a dream, and now I was blinking into sunlight. I had work to do — wedding decorations, caterers, last-minute relatives.

But even as I ran around the house pretending to be the diligent older brother… I felt her fingerprints on my cheeks… her scent on my shirt…
and her strong arms still ghosting around my waist.

And I knew one thing for sure:
I would go back to her.
That night.
And every time she called me.

It was late evening. The wedding preparations downstairs were finally falling into place. The haldi frenzy had settled, the guests were being served tea, and my sister had vanished into the crowd of women again, laughing, glowing.

But I wasn’t thinking about any of that.

My mind had been quietly counting down to this moment.

I stood in the dim corridor outside Puja Bhabhi’s flat again. My fingers trembled slightly as I raised my hand and knocked.

The door opened instantly, as if she had been waiting just behind it.
She was dressed in a deep maroon cotton night kurti — simple but elegant. Her long hair was loose, freshly brushed, falling over her shoulders. The soft amber lighting inside cast a golden hue on her dusky skin.

And her eyes… they were no longer teasing.

They were warm. Intense.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered, stepping aside to let me in.

I walked in slowly, barefoot, now wearing a fresh shirt and jeans. She gently closed the door behind me.

 For a few seconds, we didn’t speak. The silence hung tenderly between us.

Then she turned to me and smiled — softer than before, no mischief now, just something deeper.

“Come,” she said, taking my hand.

 “Tonight, I don’t want to carry a little boy.”

She led me to the couch, sat down first, and gently pulled me down to sit between her legs, my back resting against her chest. Her strong arms came around my waist and held me from behind, tight and warm.

“You’re my man tonight, Sumit,” she whispered into my ear. “Not my baby. Not my doll. My… lover.”

My breath caught in my throat.

She kissed my temple slowly. “You know what it felt like earlier… when you clung to me in surrender? When you buried your face in me like you belonged there?”

I closed my eyes. “Yes, Bhabhi…”

She chuckled, wrapping her arms tighter around me. “Then let’s not pretend anymore. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Just not… out there. Not in front of the world.”

She slid her palms slowly over my chest, resting them there, feeling my heartbeat.

“You’re not a boy to me, Sumit. Not tonight. Tonight you’re my man — the only one who’s ever made me feel wanted since…”

She paused.

“Since I lost my husband.”

Her voice cracked slightly at that, but she didn’t let it linger. Instead, she turned me around to face her. Her hands cradled my face, thumbs stroking gently across my cheeks.
“You’re so small… yet you make me feel so full,” she whispered.

Then she leaned down and kissed me — softly at first, just a brush of her lips. Then again, deeper this time, as if tasting something forbidden and beautiful.

I kissed her back.

When we broke the kiss, she cupped the back of my head, pressing my forehead to hers.

“We’ll keep this between us,” she said. “No one will know. But when you’re in my arms like this… you’re not my neighbour, not my younger friend… You’re mine. Entirely.”

I nodded.

Then she stood up and pulled me to my feet too. “Come. Let me hold my young man properly.”

Before I could say anything, she placed her hands on my waist, leaned down slightly, and lifted me again — not playfully this time, not like a mother lifting her child.

This was slow. Intimate. Reverent.
My legs wrapped instinctively around her hips again. My arms went around her neck.

She carried me to the mirror once more.

We stood in front of it — me held tightly to her chest, our faces close, my feet around her firm waist, her hands gripping me firmly.

“This is not a little girl in her mother’s arms tonight,” she murmured. “This is a young man… being held by the woman who loves him.”

I shivered, resting my forehead against hers. Her breath fanned across my lips.

She rocked me slowly, not to tease this time, but to soothe. The sway of her hips, the quiet of the room, the strength of her arms — it felt like the safest place in the world.

“Do you know what I want to do now?” she whispered.

I looked into her eyes.

“I want to lie down… with you on top of me. Like my equal. My man.”

She carried me to the bed, still holding me. Then she lay down slowly, pulling me over her body, my face resting against her chest.

I lay there silently, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath me.

Her fingers ran through my hair.

 “This is how I want you to sleep every time you come. On my body. In my arms. Not like a child… but like the man who belongs to me.”

I pressed my face deeper into her neck, arms holding her tightly.

“I belong to you, Bhabhi…” I whispered.

“I know, my jaan,” she replied, wrapping her arms around me. “And you are mine. Every time I call… you’ll come back to me. Won’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered again. “Always.”

Her hand slowly stroked my back. Her breathing grew softer. I felt her heartbeat slow. Mine followed. My limbs relaxed.

Wrapped around her, lying across her body like I was born to be there, I drifted into the quietest, most peaceful sleep I had known in years.

I woke up slowly, still lying across her — head resting just above her breasts, arms loosely wrapped around her midriff. She was awake already, her fingers running gently through my hair. She hadn’t moved all night.

“Good morning,” she whispered.
I murmured, still half-asleep, “Good morning Bhabhi.”

“Sumit…” Her tone turned playful. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I blinked up at her, confused. She smiled and tapped my nose lightly.

“Call me by my name.”

I hesitated.

“Come on. I told you last night. When we’re alone, I’m not ‘Bhabhi’ to you anymore.” Her fingers caressed the back of my neck. “Say it.”

I swallowed softly, my face flushed from shyness. Then I looked up and whispered, “Puja…”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Mmm. That’s better. Again.”

“Puja…” I said, a little firmer this time.

She cupped my cheek with one hand and smiled. “Good boy.”

She kissed my forehead and said, “Now get up, my young man. Let’s get you cleaned up. You have a wedding to run today.”

Later that evening, the house was buzzing with guests, staff, photographers, relatives and chaos.

 I was running around managing everything — or trying to.

Then she walked in.

Puja.

She had changed into a beautiful deep emerald green saree, minimal jewelry, her hair in a neat bun.

 Graceful. Tall. Confident.

The moment I spotted her across the courtyard, something eased in me. She smiled when our eyes met and walked over without a word.

 She didn’t greet me with anything loud. She simply fell into step beside me, as if she’d always been there.

“Need help?” she asked softly, brushing her hand along my back so lightly that no one noticed.

“Yes,” I muttered. “Stay close.”
She did.

Wherever I went, Puja was just behind or beside me — like a gentle shadow. I could feel her presence even when I wasn’t looking. Her tall frame, her calm strength — she made everything easier.

And then, of course, the teasing started.

We were in the banquet hall, checking the dining setup when two of my cousin sisters came up giggling.

“Sumit bhaiya,” one of them said dramatically, “we’re still recovering from the Haldi Battle of the Century!”

The other added, “Or should we say... Sumit vs Puja Bhabhi: The Total Takedown!”

Everyone around them laughed. I flushed.

Before I could say anything, one of my aunts joined in. “He looked so helpless, flailing around in her arms like a baby! Puja practically carried him off like her prize!”

I glanced nervously at Puja.
But she didn’t mock. She didn’t join in.

She simply stood tall beside me, calm and quiet, her expression unreadable — only a faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

She placed one steady hand lightly on my shoulder — reassuring, grounding.

“She just smiled and carried you off like a queen,” another cousin laughed.

Puja finally spoke, her tone soft but certain. “I was just helping.”

Her eyes briefly met mine — full of quiet heat, tenderness, and unspoken secrets.

That evening, no one knew the truth:
 That the woman they were teasing about…
 Had rocked me to sleep in her arms the night before.
 That when I whispered “Puja” in her ear, it made her close her eyes.
 That she had held me as hers — not just playfully, but fully, deeply, like a lover.

But standing there beside her, as she towered over me, her posture protective and queenly, I didn’t feel embarrassed.

I felt safe.
I felt proud.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt… owned.
____________________________

It was a quiet Saturday.

The wedding chaos was now a memory, the last of the guests had left, and for the first time in weeks, the apartment complex had returned to its still, lazy weekend rhythm.

Around two in the afternoon, my phone buzzed.

Puja:
"Come up, jaan. I made cold coffee. And I miss you."

That was all I needed.

I freshened up quickly, wore a light cotton tee-shirt and loose bermudas, and padded up the stairs. Her door was already slightly ajar.

She was waiting — standing in the hallway, dressed in a pale pink house saree, her hair tied back casually. No makeup. Just her warm, open smile.

Without a word, she reached out and pulled me into her arms, lifting me to her chest — her tall frame engulfing mine instantly. My head rested against her shoulder. She held me there, rocking gently, letting the world slip away.

“I missed this,” I whispered.

She kissed the side of my forehead. “I did too.”

Then, without letting me go, she carried me across the living room, sat on the divan near the window, and shifted me onto her lap — sideways, one of her arms around my back, the other supporting under my knees.

I leaned against her chest, breathing in her scent. Everything felt soft. Safe.

After a while, she spoke, her voice lower than usual. “Sumit… Can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone in years?”

I nodded silently, curling closer into her.

She looked out the window for a long moment, her fingers idly tracing circles on my arm.

“I was married once,” she began softly. “Only for four months.”
I looked up, startled. She smiled faintly.
“I was twenty-six. I met him at a friend’s birthday party. He was charming… tall… kind. He had this smile that made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and her arms tightened protectively around me, as if grounding herself in the present by holding me close.

“We fell in love quickly. He asked me to marry him within weeks. But our families…” she sighed, “they were very conservative. Different castes. You know how that goes.”
I nodded against her.

“His parents said they’d disown him. Mine stopped speaking to me altogether. But we didn’t care. We eloped. Registered the marriage. Moved to Mumbai. Started a small life — just the two of us.”

She paused.

I reached up and held her hand that rested on my chest.

“Puja…” I whispered, gently.

She swallowed and went on, “We were happy, Sumit. So stupidly, crazily happy. He used to carry me around the flat like I weighed nothing. Just like how I lift you now,” she added with a sad smile.

 “He’d call me his ‘giant princess’.”

Her breath trembled now. “But four months later, he met with an accident on the expressway while coming home from work. A truck hit his scooter.”

There was silence.
I felt her body tense slightly, then release with a shuddered breath.
“I couldn’t believe it. I just… couldn’t. I kept thinking he’d come back. That they’d called the wrong person.”

She looked down at me, brushing my hair off my forehead.

“No one came for me. Not from his family. Not mine. I went through the cremation alone.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was too tight. I simply reached up and cupped her cheek.

“And then… I stayed,” she said. “I couldn’t go back to my parents. I didn’t want pity. I got a job teaching in a girls’ school. Took this small flat. I’ve been alone since then.”
Her voice had turned quiet again. Steady, but distant.

“Sixteen years,” she said softly. “Sixteen years of silence, of birthdays with no phone calls, of festivals spent alone, pretending it didn’t matter.”

I sat up slowly, turning to face her, straddling her lap now, my legs on either side of her wide hips. My small frame was still dwarfed by hers, but in that moment, I wanted her to feel held too.

I hugged her tightly.
She wrapped her arms around me at once, and I felt her bury her face into the crook of my neck.

“I never thought I’d feel anything again,” she whispered, “until that day I picked you up at the Haldi function. You were squirming and protesting like a little boy, and yet… something shifted inside me. And then when you clung to me… hid your face in my neck…”

Her voice trailed off.

I kissed her hair softly. “You made me feel safe, Puja. No one’s ever held me like that. No one ever looked at me the way you do.”

She looked up, her eyes moist, lips trembling.

“I don’t know what this is, Sumit. I don’t know what we’re becoming. But I do know one thing — when I hold you like this…” she lifted me slightly in her arms, “I don’t feel alone anymore.”

Tears welled up in my eyes now.
“I’m with you, Puja,” I whispered. “I’m yours. Not just because you’re strong… not just because you carry me. But because you see me… and you let me see you.”

We stayed that way — arms wrapped around each other, hearts bare and bodies close.
In her arms, I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t embarrassed.
I was simply… hers.


It was a cloudy Sunday morning. The kind of day that feels like it's meant for hiding from the world.

But Puja had other plans.
She messaged me early:
“Wear something light and comfy. We’re going out. Just the two of us. I want a day that belongs only to us.”

By 10:30 a.m., we were walking out of our apartment gate. She wore a crisp off-white kurta and denim jacket with black leggings. Her dark hair was tied in a thick braid down her back. She looked tall, radiant and powerful.

I, in contrast, wore a simple grey tee and jeans. Even with my best posture, I barely reached her shoulders. Every time we passed someone, I could feel the stares. Men looked at her. Women looked at us — at the height gap, the quiet closeness between us, the strange balance of our age.

Some even whispered. One aunty gave a long, amused glance and muttered, “Wife toh lagti nahi… kuch toh hai.”

Another pair of college girls giggled as we passed. “She’s so big — he looks like her nephew!”

But Puja? She didn’t flinch. She just walked beside me with quiet confidence, occasionally placing a hand on my back to guide me, as if I were precious cargo she was keeping close.

We went to a small heritage site just outside the city — an old stepwell surrounded by lush green trees and quiet stone corridors. Not crowded. Private enough.
It was the perfect place.

We walked the shaded corridors slowly. When we reached a quiet corner by the ancient stone ledge overlooking the water, she suddenly turned to me and smiled.
“No one’s watching.”

Before I could ask, her arms were already around me — one behind my back, the other under my knees.
With practiced ease, she lifted me.

My breath caught, as always.
“Puja—!”

“Sshh,” she smiled, her face inches from mine. “This is our time. I can carry my man if I want to.”

I looped my arms around her neck as she slowly walked with me cradled in her arms, the stone floor echoing softly under her footsteps.

“This is crazy,” I whispered, but my head was already resting against her shoulder.

“No,” she murmured, kissing my temple. “This is peace.”

She sat down on a cool stone bench, keeping me on her lap. I shifted slightly, straddling one thigh as her arms encircled my waist from behind. I rested back into her, letting her rock me ever so gently.

“You know what I love?” she whispered, her lips brushing my ear. “That you let me hold you like this. That you trust me to keep you safe, even when the world would laugh at us.”

“I don’t care what they say,” I replied quietly. “You’re mine. And I… I think I’m yours.”

She smiled against my cheek.
“You’ve always been mine, Sumit. Since the first time I picked you up at that Haldi.”

She cradled me tighter.

We had lunch at a tucked-away café nearby. She insisted on sitting in a corner booth — where she could keep her hand on my thigh, gently rubbing circles, or steal quick brushes of her lips on my cheek when no one was looking.

At one point, I leaned into her, and whispered, “People are still staring. You're too tall. Too... strong.”

She raised an eyebrow.
“Too strong?” she teased, then leaned close and whispered, “If we were alone, I’d lift you right now and take you on my lap.”

My cheeks flushed red.

She chuckled.

Later, as we walked back toward the car, we found another secluded trail behind the stepwell ruins. Narrow, hidden by trees.

Suddenly she turned, and without a word, hoisted me up again — this time straddling me against her stomach, her hands gripping under my bottom. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her shoulders and my legs around her waist.

“This,” she whispered, “is my favourite way to hold you.”

I nodded, burying my face into her neck. “I know.”

She stood there like that, just rocking me, as birds chirped above and the breeze rustled through the trees.

“You know something?” she said softly.

“What?”

“If anyone ever tries to take you away from me… I’ll just pick you up like this — in front of everyone — and carry you away. I don’t care anymore.”

My heart thudded. I looked into her eyes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she said, smiling. “But until then… let’s keep this magic hidden.”

She leaned forward and kissed me, slow and deep.

And for the first time that day, I didn’t care who we were, or what the world thought.
I was hers.
And she was mine.

(To be continued…)