༄°.🍂.ೃ

The sun was up on the head, the terrace was hot to warm the skin.

Piyali sat cross-legged on the edge of the terrace, back against the railing.

Her cotton kurti was slightly wet at the back clinging to her body as she bite into a slice of kacha aam into her mouth. The tangyness hit her tongue first then the heat from the chilli.

Kritika was beside her, her hands playing with her kurtis dori as she talked non-stop.

"Arey I swear Piu, the new guy in our class? His name is Yash..uff, maa kasam, kya dekhta hain! Wear those tight shirts, jaise Salman Khan ka fan ho. And his smile..." she dramatically sighed

"ekdam hero jaisi."

(Arey I swear Piu, the new guy in our class? His name is Yash... uff, I swear on my mother, the way he looks! Wears those tight shirts like he's some Salman Khan fan And his smile...Just like a movie hero's.)

Piyali let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You and your crushes."

Kritika grinned.

"Kya karun, bhaiya toh kabhi kisi ko pasand nahi karte, toh main hi balance bana rahi hoon ghar mein."

(What can I do? Bhaiya never likes anyone, so I am just maintaining balance in this house.)

Piyali smiled again, popping another mango slice. The salt and chilli left redness on her fingers.

The sound of a deep voice comes.

"Kittu"

It was Samarjeet, from downstairs.

Both girls turned their heads, glancing down. Piyali's eyes automatically went to him.

He stood in the courtyard, wiping sweat off his face with a gamcha hung around his neck. His banyan was clinging to his muscular body, the slightly grown hairs were showing.

Loose grey sweatpants on his waist, the cloth was dusty from the fields.

He must have just returned from the khet, she thought. There was always this raw, earthy look of him when he came back after working outside.

His skin tanned under the harsh sun, lips slightly dry, hair messy falling all over his forehead but his eyes, it was the real view.

"Kittu, lala aaya tha kya?" he asked, his eyes squinting up at the sun.

(Kittu, did Lala come by?)

Kritika yelled back "Nahi Bhaiya, ab tak toh nahi aaye"

(No Bhaiya, not yet.)

He nodded slightly and turned to go back inside his room but stopped, looking up again this time his gaze landed on Piyali.

Piyali, who was lost admiring his green eyes.

She froze for a second, her fingers still holding half a mango slice to her lips. Their eyes met.

She gave a small smile, a soft one. Not the bright type she gave Kittu, but something shy.

He didn't smile back but instead gave a small nod, like always he does. His eyes stayed on her just a moment longer than necessary.

"Chhat pe dhup zyada hai abhi, neeche aa jao. Dono" he said adjusting the gamcha.

(It's too sunny on the terrace, come downstairs, both of you.)

Kritika rolled her eyes. "Haan haan jaise hum toh pighal jaayenge."

(Yeah yeah, like we will melt or something.)

But she stood up anyway, brushing her kurti and dusting her leggings covered in little dust.

Piyali stayed a little longer, finishing her mango slice.

She glanced down once more but Samar was already gone inside.

As they walk downstairs, Kritika continues yapping about how amazing Yash is again. But Piyali's mind wasn't on her talks.

It was on the grey sweatpants he wore, the banyan sticking to his body.

It was still stuck on the way he looked at her, the way his jaw clenched whenever he was thinking, his beard always hiding his soft features making him look serious all the time.

She didn't know what it was. Or maybe she did But every time Samar looked at her like that it made her heart beat a little louder than usual.

✿

The afternoon sun had set and the scent of steaming rice was coming through the windows of the rasoi, sneaking into the open verandah.

From the kitchen door, a familiar voice came.

"Kittu! Samar! Piyali bitiya! Sab log haath-muh dho ke neeche aa jao, khaana lagaat hain ab."

(Kittu! Samar! Piyali dear! Everyone wash up and come down, lunch is ready now.)

"Aayi maa!" Kritika yelled back as she walked down the stairs faster.

(Coming, Maa.)

Piyali followed quietly behind her, pushing her braided hair back as she fixed her duppata.

She loved this part of the day, The meal time. Where everyone was gathered in the angan, sitting on the mat placed on the ground.

As Ma began arranging steel thalis on the floor, Piyali came beside her.

"Let me help, Mausi" she said reaching for the rice pot.

"Arey na na bitiya, tu baith ja... mehmaan hai," Ma said with a smile, wiping her hands on her pallu.

(No dear, you sit... you're our guest.)

"Main mehmaan nahi hoon" Piyali said softly

"Aaise nahi boliye.."

(I'm not a guest.. please don't say that.)

Ma looked at her for a moment, her expression softening as she gave her cheeks a light swish then gave a nod.

"Aare mera bacha....Thik hai... bas sabzi aur roti tu le aa, tab tak main bhaat laga deti hoon."

(Oh My dear...Alright then... just bring the sabzi and rotis, I will serve the rice meanwhile.)

By the time the men had gathered, the plates were being filled with fried okra, masoor dal, baingan bharta and fresh mango chutney.

The air was filled with the scent of ghee and tadka.

Babuji took his usual seat by the wall, the old ceiling fan gently pushing the smell of food across the room.

Dadi settled next to him, muttering something about how she hated okras.

Samar entered last, wiping his hands on a towel.

His hair was still slightly wet from the quick bath he had taken. He sat down next to Kritika, cross-legged, silently looking at his half filled plate.

Piyali followed Ma around, serving everyone. She placed a spoon of sabzi on Samar's plate, careful not to straight up glare at his eyes, which she loved doing, but silently.

"Thoda aur dal doon?" she asked, her voice low.

(Should I put a bit more?)

Samar glanced up at her, just enough to meet her eyes, staring a little longer the necessary.

"Umhm" he denied.

He has always maintained his distance. Sometimes conversing through kittu if needed or not at all.

But sometimes, in between he talked to her making her feel weird inside. He himself didn't know what else to do with the feeling.

She nodded, moving on to Kritika's plate.

Piyali finally sat down near Ma, slightly apart from the rest, picking at her food as she took a bite.

She always didn't have meals here but today her maa baba went to some relatives house, the house couldn't be left empty so she stayed.

Across the floor, Samar's eyes shifted once. Just a glance.

He saw her tucking her dupatta behind her, pressing a piece of roti into the sabzi then pausing before taking the bite as if her mind was somewhere else.

"Aam thoda kam khaya Kar kittu" he said out of nowhere, not lifting his eyes from the plate even once.

(Eat a little less mangoes, Kittu.)

Kritika looked up, surprised as she mumbled to herself.

"Lekin maine toh khayi hi nahi."

(But I didn't even eat any. )

She took a quick glance at Piyali from the corner of her eye then looked at her brother and continued eating with a soft chuckle.

Piyali glanced around before quickly lowering her eyes to her plate.

Oh, so he won't talk to me, but he will scold me to stop me from sitting in the heat and eating too many mangoes?

She thought to herself, a faint smile playing on her lips as she continued eating.

Soon after finishing everything, she left for her home.

Ma and especially Kittu, insisted that she stay the night but she politely declined saying "Ma and Baba must be on their way home."

✿

Next day

It was one of those thakaan bhare dopahar where everyone was working.

Piyali was sitting cross-legged beside Kritika in the Sharma angan.

Both of them were pulling wool from old sweaters, separating threads to re-knit into small hairbands.

A small radio was in the background, playing ""Tera Mujhse Hai Pehle Ka Naata Koi"..." softly.

Kritika had a toothpick in her mouth, chewing one end for fun, while lazily pulling out wool loops with her nails.

"Piu... mein toh ghar ke kamo se abhi se thak gayi hoon yaar. Abhi toh shaadi bhi nahi hui, roz kapde bhi main, bartan bhi main, sab kuch bhi main..." she signed dramatically.

(Piu... I am already tired of all the household chores yaar. I am not even married yet and still it's me doing the laundry, me washing the dishes. Everything, it's just me.)

Piyali giggled, rolling a thread between her fingers.

"Toh main kya Rajkumari hoon?"

(Then am I some princess?)

Just then, Ma's voice came from the back kitchen door

"Kittu! Tiffin leke jaa re... Bhaiya khet mein kam kar raha hain itni Dhoop mein, zara jaldi le ja."

(Kittu! Take the tiffin, Bhaiya is working in the fields in this harsh sun and go a bit quickly.)

Kritika immediately groaned, tossing back her head like she had been attacked.

"Arre Ma! Humse na hoga. Hamein toh ye bhi karna hai na... aur waise bhi garmi bahut hai"

(Ma, I can't. I have to do this work too... and anyway, it's too hot!)

Ma didn't respond.

Piyali looked up, brushing her dupatta back, and said gently

"Tu ye karle kittu, Main le jaati hoon."

(You finish this, Kittu. I will take it.)

Ma peeped out and gave her a soft, grateful smile.

"Bhagwan jaisi bitiya hai tu."

(You are like a daughter from God.)

Piyali stood up, adjusted her braid, and took the steel tiffin box from the hook beside the doorway.

Just as she stepped out into the courtyard, Kritika suddenly jumped up.

"Arre ruk re! Achanak yaad aaya... Bhaiya se kuch poochhna tha mujhe." she said loudly, making sure the voice reached her ma's ear.

(Wait! I suddenly remembered, I had to ask Bhaiya something.)

Piyali raised an eyebrow.

Kritika whispers "Chup chap chal."

(Just walk quickly.)

✿

The narrow mud path through the mustard fields, all yellow and glowing in the sun.

The flowers were moving lazily with the wind and a few butterflies flew by.

"Kitna badhiya Mausam hai piyu" Kritika whispered, spreading her arms.

(The weather is so good piyu.)

Piyali smiled softly, holding the tiffin in both hands, walking carefully over an uneven path.

Suddenly,

"Piu dekh! Munni ki bakri" Kritika yelled, spotting a tiny black goat darting across the field. Safe to say, Kritika is obsessed with small animals.

(Piu look! A goat.)

Without warning, she ran towards it.

"Tu chal, main abhi aayi"

(You go ahead, I will be right behind!)

"Arey sun toh...Kittu!"

(Hey listen...kittu!)

But she was already halfway across the field.

Piyali sighed, hugging the tiffin tighter and she kept walking toward the inner side of the field.

where she could see a group of three men bent over crops, including Samarjeet who was shirtless under the sun, only a white banyan around his neck, stuck there like a scarf.

He stood upright, wiping sweat off his face with his thumb, hands covered in mitti, back glistening in the harsh sun.

One of the workers looked up and called out

"Bhaiya! Tiffin aaya hai."

(Brother! Tiffin is here.)

Samar turned, his face calm as always, eyes squinting in the sun.

Piyali stepped forward, a little awkwardly holding out the tiffin.

"Ma ne bheja... kha lijiye."

(Ma sent this... please eat")

He nodded before glancing back at the two men standing, looking at them. Or you could say mostly her.

He took the tiffin which was sent for the workers, his fingers brushing against hers for half a second.

She looked down quickly, brushing the edge of her dupatta against her fingers.

Samar turned to the workers, handling their tiffins as they sat by the tree to have their meal.

"Haath dho kar khana kha lijiye aap log."

(Please wash your hands and have your meal.)

Samar glanced at her, still standing there with his tiffin in hand who was turning to walk toward the other side of the tree shade.

He said quietly "Wahan chalo."

(Let's go there )

His voice was calm, his face turned away as he kept walking ahead.

Piyali looked at him for a moment, then silently followed.

She walked behind him toward the small shelter where they usually kept some farming tools, just enough space there for them to sit and eat.

She started opening the lids, rice, aloo ki sabzi, thick rotis folded warm in a cloth.

Samar sat there quietly, legs crossed, watching her patiently as she served him.

After a moment, he asked softly

"Tum kyun aayi?"

(Why did you come?)

Piyali didn't look up. Her voice was barely audible as she mumbled

"Kittu aayi thi hamare saath, phir-"

(Kittu came with me, then-)

"Hm..Samajh gaya" he said gently, cutting her off.

(Hm..got it. )

He already knew how kittu was.

she simply handed him his portion, not looking directly at him.

He sat on a mat kept there and began eating slowly.

As she turned to leave, he spoke without lifting his eyes.

"Agli baar jab aao to Kittu ko saath leke aana... aise akeli mat aaya karo."

(Next time when you come, bring Kittu along... don't come alone like this.)

She paused, nodded without a word, looking at him. Piu knew exactly what he meant. Her eyes glanced toward the men sitting under the tree.

A quiet "Ji..." slipped from her lips as she turned and walked away.

Okay.

Behind her, Samarjeet kept eating, quietly watching her figure disappear.

✿

Late afternoon

The aroma of bubbling milk and rice was filled in the small kitchen.

Steam rose from the large brass vessel placed over the stove as Piyali's mother stirred it slowly with a wooden ladle.

Piyali walked in, wiping her damp hands on her kurta.

"Ki banachho, maa?" she asked, already smiling feeling the familiar scent.

(What are you making, Maa?)

Her mother didn't look up. "Payosh banachhi. Toke jani na, kotodin dhore khaini."

(Making payesh. I know, it's been a while since you had some.)

Piyali smiled softly and moved to stand beside her, watching the thickened milk with the melted rice grains. Her mother scooped a bit onto the spoon and tasted.

"Cheeni thik ache. Ar ekbar phutlei ready."

(Sugar is fine. Just one more boil and it will be done.)

As she continued stirring, her husband yelled from the hall, she wiped sweat off her temple and mumbled to herself.

"Tor baba abar dakche... kichu kaaj aachhe mone hoy."

(Your father's calling again... probably some work.)

She turned to Piyali and handed her the ladle.

"Dekh re, oraay diye jaabi na. Niche dhoray jaabe."

(Watch it, don't let it stick to the bottom.)

Piyali took the ladle, standing there quietly, her eyes falling into the payosh (kheer) as she stirred it.

For a moment, she was just lost in it.

Then something struck her.

She remembered. Samar.

The way he would quietly pick the dry fruit bits from the kheer his mother served him, chewing slowly, savoring them.

She bit her lip. Looked around.

The payesh still simmered gently, plain milk and rice just how she liked it.

But he didn't.

She reached above the shelf, carefully pulling out the old tin box. It creaked open, revealing smaller boxes inside having almonds, pistachios, raisins.

She took a small knife and began slicing the dry fruits into tiny pieces.

One by one, she dropped them into the pot, giving it one soft stir, smiling to herself.

Right then, her mother returned.

"Ki re... ei sob ki dilish?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

(What's this now... you added all this?)

Piyali froze slightly. Then without turning fully, said "Ichhe korlo. Khaite bhalo lage aemon."

(Just felt like it. I like it this way too.)

Her mother looked at her for a second, then waved it off with a shrug.

"Bhalo...Boro hoyechhis, ekhon shob khete hobe."

(Good...You're growing up, now you will have to eat everything.)

She chuckled, filling a steel tiffin with a good amount of the kheer.

"Eta nie oder barite de. Kittu toh asha kore ache aaj."

(Take this to their house. Kittu must be expecting it today.)

Piyali held the warm tiffin against her chest, fingers tightening around it, her cheeks slightly pink, though she didn't know why.

She just nodded quietly.

"Jai."

(Going.)

✿

Piyali stepped into the Sharma angan just as the evening breeze came, the ends of her dupatta flying.

Uncle was laid on the khaat, arms folded under his head, staring up at the neem tree's leaves.

Aama sat beside him, her small steel cup of kada pressed to her lips as she sipped it quietly.

Maa was near Kittu, gently parting her hair and braiding it.

Piyali stood near the door, her voice small but polite.

"Namaste."

Aama smiled first.

"Arey Piu bitiya, aa jaa... kaise ho?"

(Come in, child... how are you?)

"Aachi hoon aunty ji."

(I am fine aunty.)

She held up the tiffin a little.

"Maa ne... payosh bheja hain."

(Maa sent some kheer.)

Kittu nearly jumped to her feet, snatching the container before anyone could stop her.

"Bas! Ab Mera hai yeh" she announced dramatically.

(That's it! Now it's mine.)

Maa gave her a playful pat on the arm.

"Zyada mat kha, sabke liye hai."

(Don't eat too much, it's for everyone.)

Kittu sulked but plopped right down, spooning big mouthfuls of spoon into her mouth. The rest of them each tasted a bit, smiling and praising her mother's cooking.

But Piyali's eyes kept moving, to the room across the aangan.

It was open but no trace of him.

She tried not to let it show on her face.

She laughed softly at something Kittu said, but her gaze fell back again and again.

After a few minutes, Aama set down her cup.

"Piu sun... jaa zara, yeh Samar ko de aa." She took the tiffin and passed it back to her.

(Piu Listen... take this to Samar.)

Piyali stared at her. "H-Hum?"

(M-Me?)

Aama looked confused.

"Tu hi layi haina..Aur kaun jaayega? Jaa na... khush ho jaayega."

(You brought it na..Who else will go? Go on... he will be happy.)

Her cheeks felt hot. She nodded quickly, pressing her lips together.

She took the tiffin in both hands and walked toward the back of the house, the path dim as he preferred the room in the deeper side of the house.

When she reached his door, she saw it was open just slightly.

She raised her hand to knock but No sound.

Slowly, she pushed the door a little wider.

The bathroom light was on. She could hear water dripping.

Piyali stepped in, only to set the tiffin down on the low table and leave but before she could, she heard the soft click of the door latch.

She turned, almost in slow motion.

Samar came out, towel pressed to his face. His hair is damp, falling over his forehead. Barefoot, wearing just a fresh tshirt over his grey sweatpants, he looked up mid-step and stopped.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Her hands clenched tighter on the tiffin, and she shifted her weight, feeling the heat come up her neck.

He lowered the towel slowly. His brow lifted a little.

"Piyali?"

She nodded, swallowing.

"Maa... maa ne, bheja hain. Payosh..matlab kheer."

(Maa... Maa sent this. Payesh... I mean... kheer.)

He watched her a bit longer, and nodded, just a small curve of his mouth was lifted, nothing more.

"Acha"

(Ohh.)

She moved to set it down, but he stepped closer and held out his hand.

"Do."

(Give.)

Her breath caught a little. She passed it to him carefully, fingers brushing his for the barest second.

She backed up, looking anywhere but his face.

"Hum... hum jaae?"

(Should I go?)

But instead of answering, he opened the lid, sitting on the bed just in front of her and picked up the spoon tucked inside and scooped up a bit of the kheer.

He ate it without looking away.

A soft silent stretched between them something neither of them dared breaking.

She stood by the small table beside his bed, twisting her dupatta between her fingers, waiting for him to say something.

He finally wiped the spoon on the side of the tiffin and set it down.

"Achhi bani hai." His voice was quiet, his gaze on her now.

(It's good.)

Piyali grinned hearing his reply. She nodded in excitement, suddenly blurring out before she realised.

"Apke liye hi...matlab... Sabke liye banayi." she stuttered

(For you... I mean... for everyone.)

His gaze didn't shift,slightly chewing as he stared into her soul.

"Hm?.. sabke liye?"

(Yeah?... for everyone?)

Piyali's ears turned red. She looked down, putting her hair falling on her face behind her ears.

But Samar wasn't blind.

He almost laughed in his head, the kheer was drowning in dry fruits, it was too obvious. The only person who loved dry fruits in this house was him.

He noticed. All of it.

The way she stared particularly at his eyes until he looked back.

How she always happened to bring something he liked from her house.

How she served him just a little more food, quietly without asking.

How she laughed and joked with everyone else but would fall silent the moment he entered the room.

The way she would rush to tell his mother, "aagye" whenever she heard his footsteps outside just so someone would make him tea, never taking his name.

All these little things, small, innocent, but present. Enough to make him aware but never bold enough to confront.

And he stayed quiet Because... she was too young. And back then, it felt wrong to give meaning to what could have been just a teenage crush.

But now? Now, she wasn't that little girl anymore. She knew what she was doing.

She waved a hand in front of his face as he just stared at her without speaking.

"Kya soch rahe hain?" she asked, nervousness making her voice slightly crack.

(What are you thinking about?)

It wasn't often they spoke like this, not unless it was about some housework or important things.

Samar stood up slowly. His tall frame immediately cast a shadow over her.

She instinctively took a step back. But he moved forward.

Closer.

And closer until her back touched the wall behind.

His hands came up and rested on either side of her head, trapping her there.

Piyali froze. Her breath stopped.

This was the closest he had ever come to her.

"Ki korchen apni...?" she blurted out in panic, her Bengali slipping out.

(What are you doing...?)

Her eyes glanced toward the half-open door. What if someone came?

But Samar didn't move. His eyes were fixed on hers. His voice low.

"Pehle mujhe yeh batao... tum kya karna chahti ho?"

(First tell me...what is it that you want?)

Piyali blinked. "Main? Maine kya kiya?" she asked, pointing at herself, lips pouting slightly in confusion.

(Me? What did I do?)

Samar's eyes briefly fell to her hand resting just over her chest and then back to her eyes.

Something about the innocence in her expression... and the calmness in his patience he was showing for years was slipping.

Just then, a voice called out from outside cheerful and unaware.

"Samar! Piyali! Aajao, Kittu nashta leke aayi hai"

(Samar! Piyali! Come out, Kittu brought snacks.)

"Kya kar rahe hain aap... chaliye warna koi aa jayega" she whispered, her voice a mix of panic and pleading.

But Samar didn't move. Unbothered. As if her words held no weight against whatever storm was building quietly inside him.

He finally spoke, his voice turned darker quieter. Opposite of his usual self.

"Ya toh khud door ho jao... warna main door hona bhool jaunga. Phir chaahogi bhi, toh bhi ja nahi paugi..samjhi?"

(Either step away yourself... or I will forget how to And then, even if you want me to leave... I won't..got it? )

Piyali just stared at him, froze, her lips slightly parted. She didn't answer, Too shocked to say anything.

Samar tilted his head slightly, a quiet intensity in his eyes, one brow raised in question.

"Samjhi?" The word came slower this time - deeper, firmer, impossible for her to ignore.

(Understood?)

Piyali quickly nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ji..Samajh gayi..."

(Yes..I understood...)

With that, he stepped away. His footsteps calm as he walked out the door, not looking back.

Piyali stood frozen, her eyes wide. Still staring at the space he had just occupied.

She had never seen him like this before.

He had always been calm, composed and polite. Yes, she had seen his anger a few times And it wasn't something she ever wanted to witness again.

But this...this wasn't anger. This was something else. Something he never showed anyone.

There was a look in his eyes she couldn't place. It held intensity, but not rage Possession, perhaps. Or something dangerously close to longing.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she whispered to herself

"Yeh hume dhamki deke gaye...? Ya bata gaye ke yeh bhi... pasand karte hain?"

(Did he just threaten me... or did he just tell me he likes me?)

Then came the Bengali again, breathless and confused.

"Hay bhogoban... ki je manush... kichu bujhte parchi na..."

(Oh God... what kind of man is he... I can't understand anything. )

༄°.🍂.ೃ