The morning light was pale and forgiving at 6:00 a.m., the kind of soft gray that made the apartment balcony feel like a secret pocket away from the waking city.  Tapsee slipped out of bed quietly. Harish was still snoring lightly on his side, phone face-down on the nightstand and padded barefoot to the common hall balcony that overlooked the narrow lane below. She unrolled her yoga mat on the cool tiles, the faint scent of last night's rain still clinging to the air.

She wore fitted black yoga pants and a loose grey T-shirt today, hair tied in a high ponytail that swung with each movement. She started slow: child's pose to stretch her back, then cat-cow, inhaling as she arched, exhaling as she rounded. Her body moved with quiet grace. Her hips lifting in downward dog, the pants stretching taut over her rounded ass, T-shirt riding up to show a slim strip of smooth midriff. Sweat began to bead along her collarbone, making the fabric cling lightly to her full breasts.

The sliding door opened behind her at 6:15.

Sanjay stepped out in a plain white T-shirt and track pants, towel draped over his shoulder, hair still damp from his own shower. He paused when he saw her—body curved in a perfect downward dog, the line of her spine dipping invitingly, ass high and rounded in those tight pants.

He cleared his throat once, quietly.

Tapsee straightened slowly, turning to face him. Sweat glistened on her neck; a few strands of hair stuck to her face.

"Good morning... Sanjay Uncle," she said, palms pressing together in namaste.

Sanjay's mouth twitched—half smile, half wince. He stepped closer, leaning against the railing.

"Good morning, Tapsee." He paused, eyes flicking down her body—just once, quick, instinctive—taking in the way the T-shirt molded to her breasts, the way the pants clung to her thighs and the soft swell of her hips. 

He looked away fast, jaw tightening. "Yoga kar rahi ho? Achha hai."

She laughed lightly, wiping her forehead. "Bas routine hai. Subah-subah jaldi jag jaati hai. Aap bhi karte ho roz?"

"Haan, thoda running, thoda stretching," he replied, voice low and easy. "Army days ki aadat. Ab bhi nahi chhooti."

They stood in companionable silence for a minute, watching the lane below slowly come alive—chai-wala lighting his stove, a milkman cycling past, the first school bus rumbling past.

Tapsee shifted her weight, ponytail swinging.

"Aapko green tea chahiye ya coffee?" she asked suddenly, tilting her head. "Main bana deti hoon. Subah ke time kuch light hi achha lagta hai na?"

Sanjay smiled—small, real. "Green tea theek rahegi. Thank you."

She nodded and slipped inside.

Five minutes later she returned with two steaming cups—green tea for him, chai for herself. She handed him his, fingers brushing for the briefest second.

They sipped in quiet for a while.

Tapsee broke the silence. "Aapko yeh sab... subah ka routine miss nahi karta tha army mein? Roz alag jagah, alag log..."

Sanjay exhaled through his nose, gaze on the distant sea-link bridge. "Miss karta tha. Bahut. Par wahan discipline tha—sab kuch fixed time pe. Yahan ghar aake lagta hai... freedom hai. Thoda zyada freedom." He glanced at her sideways. "Tumhare liye bhi yoga freedom jaisa hai na? Har roz ek chhoti si victory."

She laughed softly, surprised by how easily he'd seen it. "Haan... bilkul. "  Waking up early, listening to my body—it feels like I'm finding myself again.

Sanjay nodded slowly.  Very beautiful thing you said.

 He paused, then added quieter, "Tum mein woh spark hai, Tapsee. Bahut logon mein nahi hota."

Her breath caught. She looked at him—really looked. The scar on his eyebrow, the salt in his hair, the way his T-shirt stretched over his chest when he breathed. Something inside her fluttered—dangerous, alive.

"Aap bhi toh... strong ho," she said, voice softer now. "Army mein itne saal—phir bhi roz uth ke run karte ho, sab khud karte ho. Yeh sab... inspiring hai."

He chuckled—low, warm. "Inspiring? Main toh bas aadat se kar raha hoon. Par sunke achha laga." He turned slightly toward her. "Tum bhi inspiring ho. Itni young age mein itna sambhal rahi ho—ghar, family, sab. Bahut strong ho tum."

Tapsee looked down at her tumbler, cheeks warming. "Strong nahi... bas adjust kar rahi hoon." 

(Not strong... just adjusting.)

Sanjay's voice dropped. "Adjust karna band karo kabhi-kabhi. Tum deserve karti ho zyada se zyada." (Stop adjusting sometimes. You deserve much more.)

The words landed heavy between them. Tapsee's heart thudded once, hard. She opened her mouth to reply—

Her phone buzzed on the mat. Harish's alarm rang from inside the bedroom sharply.

She exhaled, setting the tumbler down. "Main nahaane jaati hoon. 7 bajne wale hain."

Sanjay nodded, but as she turned, he spoke again—soft, almost reluctant.

"Tapsee."

She paused, back to him.

"Kal raat... aur aaj subah... baat karne mein achha lag raha hai. Agar kabhi... zyada baat karni ho, ya kuch share karna ho... main yahin hoon. No pressure."

She didn't turn fully, but her lips curved—just a fraction.

"Pata hai, Sanjay Uncle," she whispered. "Thank you."

She slipped inside, heart racing, the echo of his voice following her like a warm hand on her lower back.

By 7:15 she was showered and changed into sea-green saree draped perfectly, low-back blouse showing the elegant line of her spine, two thin gold bangles clinking, mangalsutra resting between her breasts, sindoor bright in her parting. Hair loose but pinned on one side. She rushed to the kitchen, tying her pallu at her waist.

Sarita was already there. "Aaj paneer paratha bana lenge, beta. Sanjay ko pasand hai. Main chai bana deti hoon."

 (Today we'll make paneer parathas, beta. Sanjay likes them. I'll make the chai.)

Tapsee smiled. "Ji, Mummy ji. Main shuru karti hoon." (Yes, Mummy ji. I'll start.)

They worked in rhythm, Tapsee grating paneer, mixing spices, rolling dough; Sarita adding elaichi and adrak to the tea. The kitchen filled with comforting sizzle and aroma.

Harish's voice suddenly cracked from the hallway. "Tapsee! Mera blue tie kahan hai? Har roz ek naya drama!" 

(Tapsee! Where is my blue tie? Every day a new drama!)

Tapsee's shoulders tensed. She wiped her hands and hurried to the bedroom.

Harish stood in front of the mirror, shirt half-buttoned. "Yeh tie kahan rakha tune? Kal raat wala nahi mil raha!" 

(Where did you keep this tie? The one from last night isn't there!)

"I didn't move it," she said quietly. "Aapne khud rakha tha." (You kept it yourself.)

"Don't argue!" he snapped. "Hamesha meri cheezein idhar-udhar. Main office late ho raha hoon aur tu yahan—" (Always moving my things around. I'm getting late for office and you're here—)

Tapsee handed him the tie silently. He snatched it, muttering, and stormed out.

At the dining table by 7:50—hot paneer parathas, curd, chai. Ramesh at the head, Sarita beside him, Tapsee opposite, Sanjay next to her.

Sarita served. "Sanjay beta, lo. Tapsee ne banaya hai." (Sanjay beta, take this. Tapsee made it.)

Sanjay took one. "Bahut tasty hai, Tapsee. Paneer soft hai bilkul." (Very tasty, Tapsee. The paneer is perfectly soft.)

Tapsee smiled. "Thank you... Sanjay Uncle."

She added "Uncle" quickly, glancing at Sarita and Ramesh. Sanjay's eyes met hers—knowing, amused—then he nodded politely.

"Haan, beta. Bahut achha banaaya." (Yes, child. Very well made.)

Harish entered, ate fast, phone in hand. "Morning," he muttered.

Sanjay noticed everything: Tapsee's tight smile when Harish ignored her, the way she flinched when his phone rang mid-table, how he left without a goodbye.

Harish stood. "Main nikal raha hoon." (I'm leaving.)

Door shut.

Sarita sighed. "Yeh ladka hamesha itna jaldi mein." (This boy is always in such a hurry.)

Ramesh looked up. "Haan, aur suno—hum dono aaj mandir ja rahe hain. Siddhivinayak aur Mahalaxmi. Subah 10 baje nikal lenge, shaam tak wapas aa jayenge. Tapsee, ghar sambhal lena. Sanjay bhai ka bhi khayal rakhna—koi zaroorat ho toh bol dena."

(Yes, and listen—we both are going to the temple today. Siddhivinayak and Mahalaxmi. We'll leave at 10 a.m., be back by evening. Tapsee, take care of the house. Look after Sanjay bhai too—if he needs anything, tell him.)

Sanjay glanced at Tapsee—brief, warm—then smiled at Ramesh. "Nahi bhaiya, main yahin rahunga. Thoda rest kar lunga. Aap log safe jao aur dua leke aana." 

(No bhaiya, I'll stay here. I'll rest a bit. Go safely and bring back blessings.)

Tapsee nodded, voice soft. "Ji, Papa ji. Aap log jao araam se. Main sab sambhal lungi." 

(Yes, Papa ji. Go comfortably. I'll handle everything.)

Sarita patted her hand. 

Ramesh chuckled. "Haan, Sanjay ko bore mat hone dena. Warna yeh army wale log bore hote hi gussa kar dete hain." 

(Yes, don't bore Sanjay. Otherwise these army people get angry when bored.)

Sanjay laughed low. "Bhaiya, main bore nahi hota. Ghar mein rehne ka maza hi alag hai ab."

 (Bhaiya, I don't get bored. Staying home feels different now.)

Sarita and Ramesh left the table to get ready.

Only Tapsee and Sanjay remained.

She kept eating slowly—small bites, eyes down—trying to ignore the way the silence between them had thickened, turned intimate.

Sanjay finished his paratha, wiped his fingers, and leaned back.

He reached over—slow, deliberate—and placed his hand on her shoulder. Not a quick pat. A proper hold. His palm was warm through the saree, fingers firm but gentle, thumb resting just above her collarbone where the mangalsutra lay.

Tapsee froze.

Something electric zipped down her spine—sharp, unexpected, making her breath catch audibly. His hand felt heavy, grounding, like an anchor she hadn't realized she needed. Heat spread from his touch, blooming across her chest, sinking low into her belly. She felt exposed, seen in a way Harish had never bothered to try.

Sanjay's thumb moved—just once, a small, reassuring press against her shoulder blade.

"Sab theek ho jayega," he murmured, voice low enough that it felt like it was only for her. "Tum strong ho. Bahut strong." (Everything will be okay. You're strong. Very strong.)

He squeezed once—firm, affirming—then let go.

But the pressure lingered on her skin long after his hand returned to the table. Tapsee stared at her plate, pulse loud in her ears. Her cheeks burned; her thighs pressed together under the table without conscious thought. The place where he'd touched felt branded—warm, tingling, alive in a way nothing had felt in years.

She swallowed hard.

"Thank you... Sanjay," she whispered.

He didn't reply immediately. Just nodded once, eyes still on her face—dark, steady, holding something unspoken.

The apartment door closed behind Sarita and Ramesh.

The house fell silent.

Tapsee stayed standing by the table, fingers gripping the back of her chair. Sanjay hadn't moved. He watched her—quiet, patient.

She turned to face him fully.

Their eyes locked.

Neither spoke.

But the air between them crackled—thick with everything they weren't saying yet.

Tapsee's voice came out small, almost a breath.

"Aap... yahin rahoge na aaj?" (You... will stay here today, right?)

Sanjay's gaze never wavered.

"Yes, Tapsee," he said softly. "I am gonna stay here for a week."

She nodded once—slow, shaky.

Then she turned toward the kitchen to clear the plates, bangles clinking softly with every step.

But she felt his eyes on her back the entire way.

And for the first time in a long time, the loneliness in her chest didn't feel quite so heavy.

It felt... full.

Waiting.

Ready to spill over.

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