Tuesday afternoon in Mumbai was always oppressive. The sun beat down on the windows. The heat radiated through the glass. The only relief was the humming of the air conditioner in the living room. The house was silent. It was a heavy kind of silence. Sonia Bhabhi was out. She had left twenty minutes ago. She looked fresh and beautiful in a yellow cotton suit. She said she needed to go to the market for vegetables and some personal items. "Clean the living room Rahul," she had ordered while putting on her sandals. "And finish the laundry. I want everything folded before I come back." "Yes Bhabhi," I had said like a good servant. Now I was alone. I had already finished vacuuming. The carpet was spotless. The cushions were arranged perfectly. Now came the laundry. I walked to the utility area. The plastic basket was overflowing. It sat there waiting for me. My heart beat a little faster as I looked at it.

Doing laundry used to be a boring chore. Just piles of clothes. But now it felt different. Now every piece of clothing told a story. Every piece of clothing had touched her skin.