Ragini

The brothel smelled of attar and alcohol.

Music floated through the air—sarangi strings, tabla beats, the low clink of anklets moving in rhythm.

I had no business being here.

I hated such places. Painted women, greedy men, and cheap displays of desire—it was a circus I had no taste for.

But Arvind, my partner, wouldn’t stop insisting. “Just once, Devraj. You’re always buried in work, always too serious. Come, sit, enjoy. It will not kill you.”

I had told him no at first. My nights were for silence, not spectacle. But eventually, his persistence wore thin against my patience. And so, here I was, seated on an expensive carpet, glass untouched in front of me, while he laughed with men who found pleasure too easily.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the shadows cover me. My wheelchair always drew eyes, and I preferred to remain unnoticed.

The music beat grew louder. The crowd hushed.

And then some girl's stepped in.

A girl in red, lehenga shimmering under the lantern light. The blouse was cut low, designed to tempt, to sell. Silver ghungroos wrapped around her ankles, each movement of her feet striking music into the floor.

Her face was veiled, a delicate mask hiding what the world wanted to see.

But her eyes—those she could not hide.

Kohl-dark, lined like a storm. They flashed beneath the mask as she moved, catching the light, catching… me.

For a second, I forgot myself. I forgot Arvind’s chatter, the smoke in the air, the weight of the chair beneath me. Those eyes dragged me into their orbit, silent but burning.

Not desire.

Something quieter. Curiosity.

She danced as if the world outside did not exist. Every twist of her wrist, every bend of her waist spoke of practice and pain. She did not smile. She did not try to charm like the others. She moved like a woman who had learned to wear chains as jewellery.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Arvind whispered at my side, breaking my thought. “They say she never removes her mask. No man has seen her full face. That’s what makes her special.”

I said nothing. My gaze followed her as she spun, veil brushing against her cheek, the music climbing higher.

Special.

Because eyes like that didn’t just perform. They consumed.

And for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t look away.