Chapter 3: Sauni is in agreement
The steam clung like a second skin. Water pounded my back, almost scalding, trying to wash away the feeling of his hands – Vishal’s hands – that seemed imprinted not just on the foggy mirror, but on my bones. The cheap floral perfume Divya had sprayed earlier fought a losing battle with the damp, metallic tang of the pipes. Across the cramped space, perched on the closed toilet lid like some exotic bird on a grimy perch, Divya was counting bills. The rustle of notes was loud over the struggling fan’s wheeze.
"Sauni, yaar, stop trying to scrub your skin off," she said, not looking up. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but it cut through the water's roar. "He didn’t leave marks, just… fingerprints on the soul, maybe." A dry chuckle escaped her. "Consider it occupational hazard. With benefits."
I flinched, turning the water colder, letting the shock distract me. The chipped tiles felt slick under my feet. Occupational hazard. As if letting our lecherous boss paw you was just part of the filing duties.
"Benefits?" My voice sounded hoarse, raw like my skin. "The five thousand rupees you just counted?" I gestured weakly towards the cash. "That's blood money, Divya. Sweat money. Shame money."
"Arre, don't be so dramatic!" She finally looked up, her dark eyes gleaming in the flickering bulb-light. Shadows danced across her face, making her beauty sharp, almost predatory. "That," she flicked a bill dismissively, "is just the starter pack. Pocket change. Think big, Sauni Didi." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her thin nightdress clinging to her damp skin. "Proximity to the owner. That’s the real perk. You get Vishal Sir wrapped around your little finger, and voila! That promotion you’ve been grinding for? Yours. The raise that useless HR keeps blocking? Done. Financial security? Locked in."
She paused, letting it sink in. The fan groaned. My heart thudded against my ribs. She wasn’t wrong. The raise… recognition… escaping the gnawing fear of being alone, broke, invisible. It was everything I craved.
"And," she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a knowing smile playing on her lips, "it’s not just about the job, na? You get to... taste something. Satisfy that andaar ki aag." She tapped her chest. "That inner fire you keep buried under all those sensible cardigans. At our age…" She arched an eyebrow, "well, at your age especially, finding someone decent, someone who wants this," her gaze flickered deliberately over my body, lingering on my hips, my 'wide back' I tried so hard to hide, "it's a fucking Everest, darling. Vishal? He’s panting for it. He’s easy. Discreet." She shrugged, a careless, elegant movement. "Why not use him? Get what you need. What you deserve."
Our age. Your age. The words stung. Thirty-eight. Unmarried. Untouched. A virginity that felt less like purity and more like a millstone, a glaring sign of inadequacy. I hunched my shoulders, wrapping my arms around myself under the shower spray. The tiles felt cold now.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, unable to meet her eyes. "You have… Raj."
Divya snorted, a sharp, humorless sound. "Raj?" She leaned back again, a flash of derision on her face. "That lump? He eats, he snores, he complains about his job. Our nights? Formulaic. Like reheated daal." She waved a hand dismissively. "Vishal, though…" A different kind of smile, slow and satisfied, spread across her face, remembering. "He has… tez. Energy. Last week? In his office? After hours? He bent me over that ridiculous mahogany desk. Papers flying everywhere. Kasam se, Sauni, it was… mazedaar. Wild. Different. Like adding mirchi to stale roti." She chuckled darkly. "Raj hasn’t made me moan like that since… ever, probably. A little spark, just what the doctor ordered."
Her words painted vivid, shocking pictures in the humid air. My cheeks burned. I felt a confusing twist low in my belly – disgust? Curiosity? Shameful heat? The contrast between the mundane horror of her marriage and the illicit thrill she described was dizzying.
"See?" she pressed, seeing the conflict on my face. "It doesn't have to be love. It can be fun. Empowering. Taking control." She stood up suddenly, the wad of cash forgotten on the toilet lid. The thin cotton of her nightdress was translucent where the dampness clung to her curves. She stepped towards the shower cubicle, steam swirling around her.
"Stop hiding," she said, her voice dropping lower, softer, as she pulled the flimsy curtain aside. The warm, perfumed air rushed in. "Let me see you."
Panic flared. "Divya, no—"
"Shhh." She was inside the small space with me now, crowding me gently against the wet tiles. Water splashed onto her nightdress, darkening it instantly, plastering it to her body, revealing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. The cramped cubicle became unbearably intimate. The scent of her cheap perfume mixed with soap and steam, heady and suffocating. Her fingers, cool despite the humidity, touched my arm where I'd scrubbed it red.
"Look at you," she murmured, her gaze tracing over my collarbone, down to my full breasts, my stomach, my wide hips I hated. "So much garmi trapped inside. So much khubsurti you don't even see." Her hand slid up, cupping my breast. I gasped, rigid. Her thumb grazed my nipple. A jolt shot through me, sharp and unexpected. "Itna soft," she breathed. Her other hand trailed lower, skimming my hip, dipping towards the juncture of my thighs. "Aur yeh…" Her fingers brushed the coarse hair. "Yeh to bilkul jungli hai."
The Hindi words, crude and intimate, shattered my composure. "Divya, please—"
"Please what?" she whispered against my wet shoulder, her breath hot. "You think Vishal won't want this? Won't want to feel this narmi, this heat?" Her fingers pressed, exploring gently, finding the hidden nub beneath the curls. I cried out, jerking, but the tile wall was behind me, her body pressing lightly against mine. "He's a man, Sauni. A greedy man. He’ll eat you alive. And you," her fingers moved, a deliberate, circling pressure, "you will love it. Maza aayega. Promise."
Sensation overwhelmed me. Shock, yes, but also a terrifying, undeniable surge of pleasure. Years of repression, of fearing my own body, of feeling undesirable, cracked under her confident touch. The water streamed over us both. Her breasts pressed against my arm. I could smell the shampoo in her hair. Her fingers… uski ungliyan… they knew what they were doing. A moan escaped my lips, unbidden, ragged. My knees felt weak.
"See?" Divya murmured, her own breath quickening. She shifted, pressing me more firmly against the tile. The cold ceramic shocked my back. Her mouth found my neck, teeth grazing the skin. "Yehi to chahiye tha. This fire." Her hand between my legs became more insistent, the rhythm hypnotic. "Chhed," she whispered against my skin. "Gehrayi tak. Let go, Sauni Didi. Apne aap ko chhod do."
I couldn't fight it. The dam broke. Shudders racked me, violent and uncontrollable. I arched against her hand, against the tile, a wordless cry torn from my throat. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, obliterated thought. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was raw, consuming, a landslide after decades of drought. I clung to her wet nightdress, trembling, as the waves crashed over me, leaving me gasping, my legs barely holding me up.
Divya held me, her breathing also ragged. She pressed a damp kiss to my temple. "There," she said, her voice thick with satisfaction and something else. "See? You can feel it. You are desirable." She slowly withdrew her hand. My body felt hollowed out, trembling, utterly exposed. The water felt suddenly cold again.
She stepped back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes. Her gaze was triumphant. "Now," she said, wiping her wet hand on her nightdress, a casual, almost obscene gesture. "Vishal? Tonight? He wants you. He practically begged me to convince you. Threw in extra cash just for this." She nodded towards my naked, vulnerable body still pressed against the shower wall. "So? Kya kehti ho? Will you let him have it? Will you take what you deserve?"
The steam swirled. The fan whined. Vishal's phantom fingerprints on the mirror seemed to pulse. The pile of cash lay like a dirty promise on the toilet lid. The taste of the forbidden pleasure Divya had just forced upon me was still electric on my skin, warring with the deep, familiar ache of shame. That ache, the fear of being left behind, the desperate need for security… they coalesced into a cold knot in my stomach, overriding the fading tremors of pleasure. Divya watched me, beautiful, ruthless, a creature of appetites who saw my body as currency.
My voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, raw and stripped bare. "Haan," I breathed, the Hindi word tasting like ash and surrender. "Yes. Tell him… aaj raat." Tonight. The water kept falling, washing nothing clean.
The water kept falling, washing nothing clean. It plastered Divya's dark hair to her skull as she stepped fully out of the shower, dripping onto the worn bathmat. "Good girl," she murmured, her earlier intimacy replaced by brisk efficiency. She grabbed a thin towel, rubbing her hair roughly, her eyes already scanning the small room, planning the next move.
My own body felt alien, humming with the ghost of her touch, slick with water and shame. The cold tile bit into my shoulder blades where I still leaned, trembling. "He... he wants me?" The question rasped out, thin and disbelieving. "Specifically?" The image of Vishal’s leering face, his thick fingers tracing the edge of my blouse during last month’s appraisal, warred with the lingering echo of Divya’s fingers inside me.
Divya snorted, wrapping the towel around herself. "Obviously, Sauni. Don't look so shocked. He’s had his eye on that," she gestured vaguely towards my hips, "since you bent over the filing cabinet in that tight skirt. Men are predictable." She scooped the wad of cash from the toilet lid, tucking it carelessly into the waistband of her towel. The fan coughed, stirring the thick, perfumed air. "Besides, fresh meat is always exciting. Virgin territory?" She winked, crudely. "Ultimate trophy."
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me. Trophy. Like I was some dusty cup won at a company picnic. The steam felt suffocating now, not cleansing. I fumbled for the tap, silencing the relentless spray. The sudden quiet amplified the frantic thudding in my chest. "What... what do I do?" My voice sounded small, lost in the damp silence. I couldn't meet her eyes, focusing instead on the grout lines between the cracked tiles.
"Relax, Didi," Divya sighed, pulling her damp nightdress back on over her head. The cheap fabric clung instantly. "Just be there. His place. Ten o'clock." She smoothed the dress down over her hips. "Let him lead. Or don’t." A sly smile touched her lips. "After what I just felt? You might surprise him. Surprise yourself." She moved towards the door, her bare feet silent on the wet floor. "Wear something... accessible. Nothing complicated. He gets impatient."
Panic, cold and sharp, replaced the numbness. "Tonight? Divya, I can’t just—"
"Can’t?" She spun back, hand on the doorknob, eyes narrowing. Her earlier persuasive warmth was gone, replaced by a hard, transactional glint. "You just agreed. Haan bola tha. Cash is counted. Deal is done." She tapped the bulge of the money under her dress. "You want that promotion? The security? To finally feel something besides regret when you look in that mirror?" She jerked her chin towards the foggy glass where Vishal’s smudges were slowly fading. "This is the price. One night. Simple."
She pulled the door open. Cooler, dryer air from the hallway rushed in, a shock against my damp skin. "Ten o’clock. Text me the address, I’ll send it. Don’t be late, he hates that." She paused, her silhouette framed in the doorway. "And Sauni?" Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "Stop scrubbing. He likes a bit of... substance." Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving me alone with the dripping tap, the wheezing fan, and the terrifying echo of ten o’clock pounding in my skull. The damp towel on the floor felt like a shroud.
The damp towel on the floor felt like a shroud. Water dripped steadily from the faucet I’d failed to shut off completely. Plink. Plink. Plink. Each drop echoed the frantic thudding in my chest, syncing with the dying wheeze of the fan. Ten o’clock. Vishal. The words slammed into me again. My skin, still flushed and humming from Divya’s invasive touch, now crawled with cold dread. She’d unlocked something raw, terrifying, and undeniable, only to shove me towards the lion’s den.
“Accessible,” she’d said. Like I was packaging meat. I stared at my blurred reflection in the fogged mirror, Vishal’s lingering fingerprints almost faded. Wide back. Soft belly. Jungli hair. Everything I despised, everything Vishal supposedly craved. A trophy for his desk. Disgust warred with that treacherous andar ki aag, the ember Divya had stoked into a low flame deep in my belly. Financial security. Recognition. Freedom from the gnawing void of being thirty-eight and untouched. Was this the price? One night of… whatever Vishal demanded?
The pile of cash on the toilet lid gleamed under the flickering bulb, damp where Divya’s wet hand had touched it. Blood money. Sweat money. Shame money. Yet… five thousand rupees. Half a month’s rent. A decent dent in the loan. I took a shaky step forward, my bare foot squelching on the wet bathmat. The scent of cheap perfume and damp concrete filled my nose. Get what you deserve. Divya’s words hissed in my ear. Take control.
I snatched the wad of notes. The paper felt slick, slightly damp against my palm. Haan bola tha. I had said yes. To Vishal. To this. Panic surged, sharp and cold. Could I actually do it? Walk into his apartment? Let him…? My stomach clenched. The image of Divya bent over his desk, papers flying, flashed unwanted into my mind. Mazedaar. Wild. Different. A moan threatened to escape, half fear, half the ghost of the pleasure she’d ripped from me. Kasam se. That desperate sound I’d made under the water…
“Fuck,” I whispered, the word harsh in the humid silence. One hand braced against the chipped sink, gripping the cool porcelain until my knuckles turned white. The other clutched the damp cash against my naked stomach. What choice did I have? The sensible cardigans hadn’t worked. The grinding hard work hadn’t earned the raise. Raj was a lump; decent men didn't look twice at my wide back. Vishal was panting for it. Easy. Discreet. Use him. Divya’s ruthless logic was a cold comfort.
I forced myself to look directly into the mirror, forcing the steam-cleared patches to show my face. Fear stared back. Exhaustion. But also… a flicker of something harder. Resignation? Determination? Survival. This was survival. Get the raise. Secure the future. Experience something before it was too late, even if it was bought and paid for with my own reluctant body. A little spark. Maybe… maybe Divya was right. Maybe I could surprise him. Surprise myself. Apne aap ko chhod do. Let go.
Slowly, deliberately, I peeled the damp notes from my skin. I placed them back on the toilet lid, a deliberate act. Not forgotten. Accepted. Then I turned, water still beading on my skin, and reached for my own towel – thin, scratchy, but mine. I scrubbed roughly, not to cleanse, but to wake up. To feel solid. To prepare. Ten o’clock. His place. Wear something accessible. I knew just the flimsy blue nightdress, the one Raj had bought Divya that didn't fit her. She’d tossed it my way months ago. “Might suit your… figure,” she’d said, a casual barb. Tonight, it would be perfect. Armor and invitation, all in one cheap, clingy fabric.
Stepping out of the steamy tomb into the cooler hallway air felt like stepping onto a scaffold. The money lay there, dirty currency for a transaction about to unfold. I didn’t look back. The fan sputtered its last breath as I shut the light off, plunging the bathroom into echoing darkness, the relentless plink of the tap my only companion as I walked towards the bedroom, towards ten o’clock, towards giving Vishal what he’d paid Divya to secure. My virginity. My body. My desperate, trembling haan.