Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
My saree is also red in color also with a golden border and a matching golden sequin sewn all over; I wave my hand at my waist to show him where I’ve tucked it in to hold it in place and his eyes go there, making my bare skin tingle.
Then I move on to the last part of the saree that’s draped over my torso and slung over one of my shoulders. “And this is the loose end of the saree called pallu, that goes over my shoulder.”
“And what does that do?” he asks.
I lift my eyes back to him and even though I knew where he’d be looking, it still makes me shudder. It still halts my breath to find his eyes on my chest. It still makes my breasts feel heavy, tingly.
Just like the night of the charity event.
“It’s…” I try to answer him. “It’s supposed to cover up…”
“Cover up what?” he asks, keeping his eyes glued to my heaving chest.
“I… It…” I try again. “Well, it goes over my shoulder as you can see and… What are you doing?”
I’m not sure why I asked because I know exactly what he’s doing.
Exactly what he’s done. He has leaned closer to me, and he has tucked his finger—long and graceful—under the edge of my pallu.
He has curled his finger under the fabric.
And before I can take another breath, he tugs at it and the pallu comes slithering down and away from my body. Where he catches it in his fist.
“Seeing,” he says, his eyes on my bared skin now.
My bared and shivering skin.
Of my midriff, my chest.
His eyes on my tits that bounce with every broken breath I take. On my nipples that were hard before, yes, but they’re so very, very hard now.
Painfully hard.
“W-what?” I stutter, my legs shaking.
“This is full circle, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So in order for it to be full circle, I need to see. Like I could in your white dress,” he explains before looking up and continuing, “And now I can.”
“But y-you’re not supposed to do that,” I blurt out.
“No?”
“No, you’re not supposed to…” I swallow, pressing my palm harder on the wall. “To pull at my pallu like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s… That’s the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“That’s the point of a pallu. It’s supposed to cover my body. It’s supposed to p-protect me. When a man pulls on a girl’s pallu, it’s… It means he has bad intentions.”
That’s what my biji told me once when we were watching this movie, where the guy pulls on the girl’s saree and exposes her. I mean, I could gather that from the scene, but she told me that a pallu is the symbol of respect and dignity. It’s a symbol of a woman’s modesty and in Indian culture if a guy pulls on it or tugs it away from her body, he’s not the kind of guy you want to associate with.
“Bad intentions,” he repeats on a murmur.
“Yes.”
Another little movement accompanies his response.
It’s accompanied by him leaning forward even more, to the point where I feel the tails of his suit jacket rustling against my saree-covered thighs. Then he puts his fisted hand—the hand that’s clutching my pallu—on the wall by my waist and looks down at me. “I remember someone having bad intentions that night too.”
I crane my neck up at him. “The guy in the c-car?”
“The dickhead in the car, yeah.”
“You told me not to go with him.”
“I did.”
“You protected me from him,” I remind him.
Something moves through his face.
Something too grave, too heavy for the comment I just made. It wasn’t exactly light, my reminder, but it wasn’t this laden with things either.
As laden as he appears in this moment.
So much so that his gaze turns thick as he looks down at me. His voice turns almost guttural as he says, “And I will do that.”
“What?”
“I will always protect you.”
I believe him.
I totally and absolutely believe him.
And I absolutely know how ridiculous it is because of the things he’s done. Yes, he took them back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did them in the first place. Not to mention, look what he’s doing now. He has me partially undressed. So my belief should be ridiculous.
But I still have it and it’s unshakeable.
I glance down at his hand, the one clutching the pallu of my saree, keeping me exposed to his molten eyes. Then, looking up, “I know.”
His grip tightens, tugging at my pallu as he comes even closer. “And you do need protection because we both know what happens next, don’t we?”
I do.
I absolutely do.
“Yes,” I whisper with wide eyes.
“Tell me.”
“I ask you to…” I hiccup. “But you can’t. You can’t kiss me and you definitely can’t touch my...”
Something akin to torment flashes through his eyes. I can’t fully read it, but whatever I can tells me it’s there.