Borrowed wife

The bulb in Anjali’s corridor flickered like it was about to give up. Niraj stood outside her door at 1:17 a.m., shirt damp with sweat even though the night air was cool. His wife Jhalak’s red scarf was twisted tight in his fist. In his other hand, a crumpled metro card with her handwriting on the back—*Don’t wait up*—now smudged by his thumb.

He knocked twice. Soft. Then again, harder.

The door opened. Anjali stood there in an old grey t-shirt that hung loose on her thin frame, hair messy from sleep. Her eyes widened when she saw his face.

“Niraj… what happened?”

He tried to speak. He didn't said anything. His legs were tired. He stepped inside without being asked. The flat smelled faint burnt milk from earlier. Her home was small, safe and everything like his own place was no longer.

Anjali closed the door. She didn’t ask again. Just took the scarf from his clenched fingers, gently, Then she pulled him into a hug.

His knees gave out.

He collapsed against her, his forehead pressed into her shoulder, and finally broke down. Tears streamed down his face as sob after sob shook his body. No words came, only grief he could no longer keep buried. Anjali held him tighter, her hand moving in slow circles across his back.

“Shh,” she whispered. “I’m here. Breathe.”

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**Three months earlier**

The new Mumbai flat still smelled of fresh paint. Cardboard boxes sat half-open. A single tube light buzzed above the tiny hall.

Jhalak stood by the window, arms folded under her chest, looking out at the tight cluster of buildings. Her kurti clung to the curve of her belly and the heavy swell of her breasts. She had gained a little weight since the wedding. Niraj liked it. He also hated how much he noticed it.

“Come eat something,” he said from the floor where he was sorting wires.

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was flat.

He stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked behind her. When he slid his arms around her waist, she didn’t lean back like she used to. But she didn’t pull away either.

Niraj pressed his face into the side of her neck. Her skin was warm. He breathed her in—sweat, faint talcum powder, and the metallic trace of the local train she had taken earlier.

“Jhalak…”

She turned in his arms. Her eyes were tired but there was that familiar spark, the one that always made his stomach tighten. He kissed her first. Hard.

She raised hands and He removed her kurti and threw aside that landed on a box. His t-shirt on the floor. They didn’t even make it to the bed. She was on bra and panty and he make himself fully naked.

She layed on plastic mattress. He pressed his forehead on her forehead and he pushed inside her slowly. She was wet, but tense. Her thick thighs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. Every thrust made her breasts bounce heavily between them. Niraj buried his face there, sucking on one dark nipple while she gripped his hair.

“Harder,” she breathed.

He gave her what she wanted. He went on faster and faster. The plastic on the mattress crinkled loudly under them. Her moans were loud, almost angry. He cummed inside her, It was shamefully quick, his hips are stuttering. She followed a minute later, fingers digging into his shoulders, but her eyes were somewhere else when she finished.

They lay there afterwards, bodies sticky, breathing the stale air of the flat.

Jhalak stared at the ceiling. “We don’t talk anymore. Not really.”

Niraj swallowed. “We’re both tired. New city. New job. Everything’s new.”

She turned her head toward him. “I feel like a guest in my own marriage, Niraj. Like we’re just… performing.”

The words landed heavy in his chest. He wanted to argue. Instead he reached out and traced the stretch marks on her hip with his thumb.

“We need people,” he said quietly. “Friends. Real ones. Not just your office colleagues and my old college group on calls.”

Jhalak nodded slowly. “Anjali messaged today. Said she can help us settle. She knows good people and friends around here.”

Niraj smiled a little. “She’s been pushing me to call her since we landed. Good friend.”

“Yeah.” Jhalak’s voice was soft. “She’s always been there for you.”

Something in the way she said it made him glance at her, but her face gave nothing away. She rolled over and rested her head on his chest. Her big ass pressed warm against his thigh. He ran his fingers through her hair, telling himself this was normal. Couples went through phases. They would fix it.

Outside, a local train rattled past in the distance, horn blaring long and lonely.

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