Jayanta fixed a bored stare at his dinner plate as his finger nail scrubbed the white china. He didn’t look up as Debarati dumped sabzi on it, followed by three chapattis.

“Hard day at office?” She asked, as she sat down across him, not really interested in the answer.

“The usual.” Jayanta’s voice was dull, barely above a whisper, as he tore a piece off a chapatti.

The next few minutes passed in silence. A gloomy veil of stubborn quietness hung over the couple, their lips and tongues moving over the food, steadfastly unwilling to do much else besides.

Their meal over, when she came close to him for picking up the plates, their eyes met for a second. He debated on holding the gaze longer, but her glance fell down and away, refusing to play ball.

He saw her nose twitch, as if sniffing. Once. Then another time. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Did you meet Subhasree today?” She asked, her gaze levelling with him again.

 How the hell did she know?

“No.” His face impassive, he just hoped his eyes didn’t reveal any flicker of guilt, as he delivered the brutally short reply.

“Oh!” She started gathering up the plates, their eye contact lost. “I think I caught the whiff of her Davidoff.”

Her tone left an implicit, unstated conclusion hanging in the air, like a suspended blade. 

I don’t believe you.

The gears in his mind were whirring.

Davidoff. Subhasree’s brand. He resisted the urge to think about her. His thoughts had better be in the here and now, inventing a plausible explanation for his wife.

“I was working with Mrs.Ganguly on a presentation today.” His back stiffened as cautious words trickled out of him. “She had the same perfume.”

Debarati turned on her heels and entered the kitchen without another word, leaving him guessing as to how convincing his lie had been.

 He got up and sneaked a peek into the kitchen. She was bent over the dustbin, scraping into it the leftovers. Behind her, the tap water rushed down on the aluminium sink in a rumbling torrent.

His gaze rolled over the kitchen shelves. Groceries, cutlery, utensils were strewn around in disorganized confusion. The pell-mell scatter was in such sharp contrast to his wife’s earlier orderly nature that this realization almost jolted him out of his apathy.

When was the last time he looked inside?

His memories stole back into the past. To a much happier Debarati, a Debarati who prided on keeping things neat and arranged, a Debarati who fretted over the teaspoon being kept in the wrong placeholder.

Now just a thick, sticky net of indifference coiled itself around everything in their house; the newspaper, unfolded and lying sprawled across the sofa; the magazines stacked in slip-shod manner in the drawing room cupboard; the TV remote peeking out from under the sofa cushions.

She started to stand up, and he flinched, debating on moving away. Too late. Their eyes met again.

Her sight was hard to bear. Not angry. Not accusing. But simply disappointed. His right cheek twitched under the glare.

He wondered whether a tight hug would set things right; convince her that he still cherished their marriage, that he wanted it to work. Maybe a gentle embrace, maybe a nuzzling of his nose-tip against her earlobe, maybe, just maybe, it could work.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The last embers of passion fought valiantly to remain alive in his heart, but it was a hopeless war. What he now felt for his wife was simply a brotherly fondness. There would be no burn in the embrace, just friendly warmth at best.

He turned away.

And maybe he was mistaken, but he thought he heard a sigh behind him.

***

Subhasree rolled the De Beers platinum ring between finger and thumb. It was from Anuj. She remembered the innocence in his eye, nourished by the naive hope that this token would be enough to set things right. She recalled their heated exchange two days before, his storming out of her flat and banging the door shut with a ferocity which made the hinges and her shudder. She wondered who it was who had actually taken the anger too far. Whose verbal daggers had been more spiteful?

Was it her?

She could still hear the nasty stuff she had said ringing in her own ears.

The smoke rose in twirls from the electric kettle beside her; she watched the white wisps deliberately, her gaze fixed on the patterns. Her brain’s neurons made connections faster than she could process and she soon found herself thinking of the smoke from Jayanta’s cigarette.

She picked up a pillow and hugged it to herself. The cool air from the A.C. was creating tiny undulations in her silk nightdress; a tiny shiver of pleasure zinged up her spine as she reflected on the sensation. She closed her eyes. She allowed her thoughts to be filled by Jayanta.

Her mind scurried back to last week, when they had been celebrating Anuj’s fortieth birthday. Jayanta had kept his eyes fixed on her face, while biting into the slice of black forest. He had licked his lips, eyes gleaming in a fashion which made her heart land somewhere halfway up her throat; warmth rushed in interesting places on her body, warmth which Anuj simply wasn’t able to kindle.

She had almost jumped out of her skin when he had leant in close to whisper in her ear.

“The sari is looking gorgeous. On you.”

On her.

But what was she thinking? Their pairing was all wrong. Theoretically. The calculations didn’t add up.

It was with Anuj that the calculations actually snuggled into place; a close, comfortable fit.

Anuj Sengupta.

Corporate high-flyer. Annual cost to company bordering on a crore.

Two-time divorcee. One year short of being on the wrong side of forty.

And Subhasree Das.

Divorcee. Flourishing career.

Thirty. Biological clock flashing the warning in desperate neon.

Anuj and Subhasree. The gears of match-making meshing into place without a hitch. A re-marriage made in heaven.

Theoretically.

And then fate decided it needed something to scratch its funny bone. Along came Jayanta, Anuj’s cousin. Six one. Broad shoulders. Muscular frame. Rocking sense of humour. A walking dynamo of restless energy.

Yet, the energy had now a lid on it. It was simmering inside, aching for release, pulling against the reins of an unhappy marriage.

Her heart melted on thinking of him. The boiling of her hormones made sure of that.

 Her mind hopped back to last week again; she watching in helpless fascination as the cake disappeared into his mouth, one of the best mouths she had ever seen. Lush. Masculine. Beautiful. She could almost imagine it drawing tantalizing circles around her aching womanhood through the dampness.

All this, while her marriage to Anuj was barely a month away.

Yes. Full marks to fate for its sense of humour.

***

Anuj twiddled the TV remote as images flashed across the screen of his plasma TV, casting an eerie stroboscopic glow over the dimly lit living room.

An actor on screen was asking another, “Pre-marriage jitters?”

In reply, the second guy just managed a nervous smile.

Pre-marriage jitters? A smirk rolled across Anuj’s lips. What would they know?

Only last week, on his birthday, Jayanta had asked him a similar question. Anuj’s reply had been the same. A smirk. A feigned nonchalance.

That was the only way he could play this. The only way he could keep his insecurities at bay. There was just too much to live down. More than mere anger and frustration at having to start marriage all over again at forty.

No. Those emotions were relatively simplistic. They could be diffused through distraction.

What he was having trouble living with was a sense of eroding self-worth. Two marriages down the drain; his sense of control slipping away, like sand through cracks between fingers. A realization flickered in his eyes, as he sat staring at the scotch.

Subhasree. Was she a distraction too? His bottle of scotch, his rebound girl? A boost to his flagging self-esteem?

Five seven. Glowing. Attractive. Sophisticated. Trophy-wife material.

But what else besides?

Anuj turned off the TV, sat up in the sofa, bringing up his arms, locking his hands behind his neck.

He needed to think.

***

Debarati was alone with her thoughts in her room. Her patience with Jayanta was wearing thin. He was unavailable. Always. Even when they were in the same room. Elbow resting on a table, chin squashed against his palm, eyes continents away, dissatisfaction with her oozing from every pore; looking at him was like staring at her mutilated reflection in a broken mirror. She often found herself ruing the decision not to go on with the divorce.

Who was she fooling?

Theirs was a doomed marriage. Jayanta was probably cheating on her.

But...But... she couldn’t help feel the bristles stand up on her nape at the thought of how he might hold her, and allow her to sob onto his shoulder. He would rub her hand and whisper into her ear, tell her how beautiful she was and how much he wanted to be with her.

She hated herself for it, but she couldn't let go of her husband. Not yet.

 Deep down, she still loved Jayanta and a part of her desperately hoped that there would be light at the end of her loveless tunnel one day.

***

Jayanta didn’t need to remind himself that it was a bad idea.

It was one week later and he was alone with Subhasree. And his blood held a little bit too much of alcohol, dissolving the chains of his inhibitions. He wished he had turned down Subhasree’s offer of dropping him home. He hadn’t anticipated running into a huge thunderstorm that would become a nightmare for even the most seasoned of drivers. The rain hammered down like fists on the car roof and windshield. Her flat being near, she had driven there quick and fast. The dash from the garage to inside her apartment had left them completely drenched. After changing out of their sloshed clothes, she had offered rum for keeping their bodies warm.

And both of them had gulped down more than they should have. Enough to prevent the wheels and gears of decency from churning smoothly in their brains.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a thunder loud enough to split his eardrums. Jayanta breathed deeper, staring at her glistening lips. A drop of rum hung from her lower lip. Panting softly, she licked it in, making the blood rush through his body.

He remained still. A low rumble vibrated in his chest and he found himself leaning towards her.

He shouldn't do it. This had to stop!

But he did it anyway. He reached over and his hand instinctively went to her hair, damp and inviting. His mind spun, reeling over whether he should pull back while there was still a chance. But at the next flash of lightning, she flung herself into his arms. And her lips into his.

They were soft and sweet. Like several layers of chocolate, with whipped cream and cherries between them. She leaned closer to him, just a little at first, then farther, and Jayanta could feel the raging beat of her heart against his chest.

The illicit and amoral nature of the passion throbbing in her heart tugged at the back of Subhasree’s mind. But it was hard to concentrate on that when Jayanta’s lips felt so soft, yet firm. They wrapped around hers like a perfect fit. Biting a chunk off the forbidden fruit, the excitement sent goose bumps racing across her skin.

She let out the softest of sighs as his lips flowed down her neck, inch by inch, like a rush of hot water. They then grazed over her earlobe.

***

Jayanta sat up with a jolt. Three nights had passed since that evening of passion. Each night his sleep had been filled by a different nightmare. This time it was an angry mob screaming the words "cheater", "scoundrel" and hissing "Die dog!" at him. Last night, it had been Debarati looking forlorn and distraught, and then without warning, jumping off a cliff.

He turned to look at Debarati, sleeping peacefully beside him. Her eyes were closed; he remembered how warm and deep and beautiful they were. Her thick, black hair fanned out behind her. There was a time he would brush his fingers through them, and she would adoringly let him.

He sighed and grabbed his cell phone. He quickly punched in a text to Subhasree.

“Can we meet tomorrow? We need to talk.”

***

“I can’t stay long,” Subhasree said the next day when they met at a coffee shop.

He saw she was wearing a black blouse. It emphasised the dark kohl of her eyes, accentuating the contrast with her fair skin.

Reaching for her hand across the table, he marvelled at its softness. “Okay.” He swallowed hard, wondering how best to say what occupied his mind.

He couldn't see Subhasree anymore.Guilt wouldn't let him.

“It all happened so fast.” She shook her head helplessly.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay,” he said.

“I’m ending this.”

“What?” He exclaimed, shell-shocked.

She turned and looked out of the window. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t love him. We’ve to end this.”

 “Maybe it’s for the best. Even I and Debarati need to…” Jayanta said.

“You belong with her, Jayanta.” Her voice rang earnestly.

“I know.” He sighed. “So you sure about this?”

 She moved her hand away. “He is going to Singapore today. I’ll tell him once he comes back.”

“Will you be happy?”

“I can try.”

“Best of luck.”

“I have to go now,” she finally said.

They were the words he had been dreading. It hurt as bad as a final goodbye. His throat felt parched.

“Bye Subhasree. Take care.”

***

Three weeks passed by.

Debarati had her head snuggled into Jayanta's broad chest. He was stroking her face and hair gently, his fingers occasionally lingering, on her nose-tip, her earlobe, her eyelashes.

She purred her satisfaction. The last three weeks, she could literally see her husband striving desperately to become his old self, to rekindle their lost affection.

And everyone deserved a second chance, didn't they?

She started nuzzling her small palms against his rock-hard arms. She wondered what Anuj and Subhasree were up to.

***

“We can’t call off the marriage now!” Anuj was shaking so much, his hands nearly dropped the phone.

“It’s over,” Subhasree said.

Blood drained from his face. “Come back to me, please.”

Silence. Then, “No.”

He sank into a chair.

“I’m sorry.” And she was gone, the phone disconnected.

He stared at the De Beers ring she had sent back, with empty eyes. A coldness ran through him.

The End