Next, they went to a nearby tailor shop, a small, open-front stall with a sewing machine, measuring tape hanging from a nail, and racks of half-finished blouses and petticoats.
In villages and small towns, when a woman wanted her new saree stitched (blouse and petticoat), the tailor often needed precise measurements.
Many women brought extra clothes for modesty or had their husbands help hold the tape and note the numbers, especially for the more intimate areas like bust, under-bust, and shoulders.
Geetanjali had forgotten, or perhaps deliberately not brought, any extra blouse or dupatta for covering during measurements. She realized it only when the tailor asked her to stand straight and remove her pallu slightly for accurate readings.
The tailor, an older man, looked expectantly. "For measurements, your husband can help hold the tape if needed, bust, waist, shoulders."
Geetanjali's cheeks flushed. Her husband was thousands of miles away. While the old man thinks of Arahan as her husband. But she didn't correct him.
She turned slowly to Arahan, eyes meeting him with a mix of shyness and something bolder underneath.
"Arahan... could you... help? Just hold the tape and tell the numbers to the tailor?"
Arahan paused, reading the plea in her expression. He nodded quietly, stepping forward.
"Of course, Bhabhi. Whatever you need."
Hearing this, the tailor realized Arahan was not husband, and felt ashamed for his own assumption.
He handed him the measuring tape. Geetanjali stood in the semi-private corner of the shop, away from the main road view. She loosened her pallu just enough to expose her blouse-covered upper body, arms slightly raised.
Arahan stood close behind her, first for the shoulder measurement, his breath warm near her ear as he stretched the tape across her back. Then the waist: he wrapped the tape around her midriff, fingers brushing her bare skin where the saree sat low. His touch was careful, professional on the surface, but the proximity sent heat racing through both of them.
For the bust measurement, the most intimate place, Geetanjali turned to face him slightly. Arahan passed the tape around her, under her arms, across the fullest part of her breasts.
His knuckles grazed the soft swell through her blouse as he adjusted the tape. She inhaled sharply, nipples hardening under the thin fabric from the contact and the thrill of it being him.
Arahan's hands trembled just a fraction; he noted the number in a low voice for the tailor, eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary.
"Thirty-four... under-bust thirty," he said steadily, but his voice had gone rougher.
Geetanjali's breath came quicker. She felt exposed, desired, alive in a way she hadn't in months. The tailor jotted it down, promising the blouse would be ready in two days.
As they left the shop, bags in hand, the air between them crackled. Geetanjali walked closer to Arahan than before, her arm brushing his.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything today."
Arahan looked down at her, and nodded, "Anytime, Bhabhi."
Shopping done, the bags of ration and the new saree fabric tied securely to the rear carrier, Geetanjali and Arahan walked back to the bike. The afternoon sun had softened, but the air still carried the warmth of the day.
Geetanjali swung her leg over the seat and settled astride behind him, even closer than on the way there. She slid forward until her thighs hugged his hips tightly, her full breasts pressed firmly against his broad back, bare midriff brushing the small of his back through his shirt.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands resting low on his stomach, fingers splayed in a way that felt natural now, almost possessive.
As Arahan started the bike and pulled onto the road, every bump and curve became part of her private fantasy.
Each jolt pushed her body harder against his, her nipples hardening from the friction against his back, her thighs clenching around him, the heat building between her legs with every accidental (or not-so-accidental) press.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself imagine it was more than a ride: his hands reaching back to grip her thighs, pulling her even tighter, turning the bike off somewhere quiet and taking her right there on the roadside.
The thought made her breath hitch against his neck, her fingers flexing against his stomach.
The village came into view too soon. She wished the road would stretch forever, that the house would stay miles away, giving her more time to savor the solid feel of him, the way his muscles shifted under her touch.
Arahan slowed to a stop in front of her gate. She lingered for a second before sliding off, reluctant to break the contact.
"Thank you so much, Arahan," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "For today… everything. Come inside for a bit? I'll make tea."
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, Bhabhi. Just for a little while."
She led him through the veranda into the main room. Her mother-in-law was napping in the inner room, so the house was quiet. Geetanjali gestured for him to sit on the charpoy, then disappeared into the small kitchen to prepare tea.
It took time, boiling water, adding milk, cardamom, sugar, straining it into two steel glasses. While the tea simmered, she called out lightly, "Arahan, it'll be ready soon. Wait a minute."
But Arahan didn't stay seated. Curiosity drew him to follow her quietly to the kitchen doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching her move around the small space: stirring the pot, reaching for cups, the sway of her hips under the saree.
She turned and saw him there. Instead of surprise, she smiled shyly.
"You didn't have to come in here," she said, but her tone was welcoming.
"I thought you might need help," he replied, stepping closer. "Or just… company."
They talked while the tea finished brewing. Simple things at first, the festival preparations, the village gossip, but the conversation turned personal.
"I feel so lonely sometimes," Geetanjali admitted quietly, stirring the tea one last time. "Amma is here, but… it's not the same. The house feels empty. Days go by, and no one really talks to me like… like today."
Arahan nodded, voice gentle. "I understand, Bhabhi. It must be hard, with him so far away."
She looked down at the pot, then back at him, "Yes. Very hard."
The tea was ready. She poured it into two glasses, added a few biscuits on a plate, and carried it out to the main room. They sat side by side on the charpoy, and drank in comfortable silence for a minute.
Arahan finished his tea and set the glass down.
"If you ever feel lonely again," he said, looking straight at her, "just call me. Or message. Anytime. I'm not far."
Geetanjali met his gaze, her heart fluttering. She nodded slowly.
"I will. Thank you, Arahan."
He stood up after a moment, brushing his hands on his jeans.
"I should go now. It's getting late."
She walked him to the gate, watching as he started the bike. Before he left, she spoke again.
"Really… Thank you. For today. For listening."
He gave her a warm look. "Anytime, Bhabhi."
The bike rumbled away down the lane, leaving her standing there, cheeks warm, body still humming from the ride and the closeness in the kitchen.
---
That night, Geetanjali lay in bed after the house had gone quiet. The ceiling fan spun slowly above her, stirring the warm air but doing little to cool the restlessness inside.
The day replayed in her mind: the press of her body against Arahan's on the bike, his hands on her during the measurements at the tailor, the easy way they talked in the kitchen, his quiet offer to be there whenever she felt lonely.
Her phone sat on the small wooden stool beside the bed, screen dark. She picked it up, stared at the contact she had saved as "Arahan," thumb hovering over the message icon.
Should she? It was late — almost 11 p.m. What if he thought she was being too forward?
What if he was asleep? What if he replied… and the conversation turned into something she wasn't ready for?
She set the phone down, rolled onto her side, pulled the sheet up. But sleep wouldn't come. The loneliness felt heavier tonight, sharper after tasting what it was like to have someone nearby who actually listened, who made her laugh, who made her feel seen.
After twenty minutes of tossing, she grabbed the phone again.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed the first message, it was simple and innocent.
Geetanjali: Hi Arahan, hope you reached home safely. Thank you again for today. Everything went so smoothly because of you.
She hit send before she could overthink it, heart thudding.
The reply came within a minute.
Arahan: Reached safely, Bhabhi. No need to thank me, it was nice spending the day with you. Did you like the saree choice?
She smiled in the dark, relief washing over her. The conversation started with light, common things about the village.
Geetanjali: Yes, very much. The color is perfect for Diwali. Today the village felt so peaceful on the way back.
Arahan: It was. Remember that old uncle near the temple who was arguing with the cow over the road? He kept saying "Move, behen!" like the cow was his sister 😂
Geetanjali laughed softly into her pillow, covering her mouth even though no one could hear.
Geetanjali: I saw that! And then the cow just stared at him like "You move first." I almost dropped the bag laughing.
Arahan: Haha, exactly. And in the market, that boy selling balloons, he tied one to his little brother's hand so he wouldn't run away. The kid looked so serious, like he was guarding a treasure.
They went back and forth like that, small, funny memories from the day, shared observations about village life, the way the market smelled of jalebi and incense, how crowded the bus stop was with people carrying festival shopping.
Minutes turned into an hour, then two. Geetanjali didn't notice the time slipping away. She lay on her stomach now, phone propped on the pillow, smiling at every new message.
The loneliness that had pressed on her chest earlier was gone, replaced by a gentle warmth, a quiet excitement every time the screen lit up with his name.
Around 1:30 a.m., Arahan sent one last message.
Arahan: Getting late, Bhabhi. You should sleep. Good night. Talk tomorrow if you want.
Geetanjali: Good night, Arahan. Thank you for chatting. Sweet dreams.
She set the phone down, cheeks still warm, body relaxed for the first time in weeks. She drifted off smiling, the day's closeness and tonight's simple conversation wrapping around her like a soft blanket.