Chapter Text
The Gumnaam guest house stood silent, save for the soft patter of rain on its tiled roof. Anita sat cross-legged on the bed, ginger tea cooling in her hands. Her saree, damp from the rain, clung to her skin, a reminder of the dance she had shared with Vibhuti, Tiwari, and Angoori just moments ago. Unlike Angoori, she didn’t have that magical immunity to the cold, so she didn’t waste any time changing into her red and black nightdress. She remembered how Vibhuti caught a cold from the rain dance, sneezing profusely till his nose got red. He’s currently resting in the room adjacent to theirs that he and Tiwari previously booked. What surprised her the most was that Tiwari volunteered to take care of him for the time being despite his and Vibhuti's annoyance.
Maybe it's because the innkeeper was adamant about not changing their allotted rooms, saying things like 'rules are rules,' despite how grateful he was for the ladies' help, so he offered a hefty discount on the price of their rooms.
Not that Anita minded not being able to share the room with her husband. In fact, she was quite grateful for this arrangement since she’s still mad at him despite how good she is at masking her anger in front of Tiwari and Angoori. Vibhu’s reluctance to come to Mussoorie still stung, even if he’d joined at the last minute, only because she and Angoori had decided to ditch their “good-for-nothing husbands” and enjoy the vacation on their own.
A shiver ran down Anita’s spine as the chill air brushed past her skin, mingling with the scent of rain. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her tea was finished, but she held the cup, letting the warmth linger. Outside, Angoori danced on the balcony, still in her silvery-white saree, droplets of rain glistening on her skin; her laughter was light and carefree. Anita watched, mesmerised. It was impossible not to be. Angoori’s grace, her joy, the way she seemed untouched by the cold—it was as if she was a child again, lost in the rhythm of the rain.
Anita remembered how Angoori had excitedly told her about her memories of dancing in the rain during the drive up. She couldn’t understand why Tiwari hadn’t joined her or couldn’t indulge in this simple request of his wife.
It’s not like he’s weak to rain or something since she recalled how Tiwari was fine too after the rain dance, just like Angoori, while Vibhu was the only one shivering with fever, despite him denying the accusation so much. Tired of her husband's tantrums, Tiwari carried Vibhuti to their room on his back, much to her husband’s complaints, his face turning red due to fever.
“Anita-ji!” Angoori’s melodious voice snapped Anita from her thoughts. She looked up to see Angoori standing in front of her, the silvery saree clinging to her skin, highlighting her curves, her skin glistening in the soft light of the room. Angoori’s childlike glee and joyful smile melted Anita’s worries away, but there was still a pang in her heart for some reason.
“Angoori-ji, you look... stunning,” Anita said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.
She didn’t know if Angoori heard that or not, for she just giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Anita-ji! Chaliye na dance karte hai, kitna achha mausam hai.”
Anita wanted to protest that she had only just changed, had only just done her hair, and had no desire to be drenched again, but the words never left her throat. For the moment, Angoori stepped closer and clasped their hands together, her grey eyes looking at Anita in anticipation; whatever protest Anita had dissolved before it could take shape.
Anita’s breath caught.
Angoori stood so close she could smell the faint scent of lavender and a hint of sandalwood lingering in the damp air between them. Her proximity made Anita suddenly aware of her own heartbeat, which was quickening without warning.
“What’s wrong with me?!” Anita mentally cursed herself for feeling like this, for this was not the first time she and Angoori had shared such close proximity—countless times even—but for some reason, now’s the time she’s feeling this way and noticing all these details she hadn’t before.
“Thik hai, Angoori-ji!” Anita agreed, hoping the cool rain would cleanse her thoughts, for her eyes, for some reason, couldn't stop wandering over Angoori's smooth neckline. “Agar aap itna insist karti hai toh chaliye ek last dance ho jaye.”
Before she could finish, Angoori had pulled her in a tight hug, jumping up and down profusely, saying, “Thanku, thanku, Anita-ji!!”
Anita, whose face was burning red, couldn’t help but ask Angoori why she was thanking her so profusely for just indulging in this simple request.
To which Angoori replied, "Aapko pata nahi hai, Anita-ji, par baarish ka mausam humre liye bahut especial hai."
"Aap sayad special kehna chah rahi hai!" Anita corrected Angoori, who beamed, "Sahi pakde hain!"
Angoori has a soft expression on her face as she explained, reminiscing about her childhood, how her grandma once told her how the memories they make in the rain last longer, and how this phrase fascinated her, which made her look forward towards the rainy season even more to make memories with her loved ones.
"Humri Mimmi aur humre Daddu dono uss samay khet mein busy rehte the, toh sirf Puttan bhaiya they jo humre sath Baarish mein bheegte they." She paused, a flicker of something bittersweet crossing her features before she quickly changed the subject to how she also has memories of dancing in the rain with her cousin Bhoori and some of the farm animals that she adored so much, like her donkey Jhabra, her buffalo Basanti, and her goat.
Anita listened, her heart aching a little. In all of Angoori’s stories of her childhood, she mentions her family and her pets, yet there was never a time she mentioned school friends or friends from outside her home. Anita knew from Tiwari that Angoori had only studied up to class 5, and in her memories, the only people who kept her company were her brother Puttan and her cousin Bhoori, whom she cherished even now. Despite how open and joyful Angoori seemed on the surface, there was a quiet loneliness in her stories, one that Anita had never noticed before.
"Par jab say hum Ladoo kay bhaiya kay sath shaadi kar ke yaha Modern Colony mein aaye hain, tab humme utna bahar jaane ka mauka nahi milta kyuki Ladoo kay bhiaya khoke," which she quickly corrected to "humra matlab hain 'shop.'
Anita let out a giggle as she assured her, "Relax, Angoori-ji, abhi Tiwari-ji yaha nahi hai, toh aap 'khoka' bol sakti hain."
"Thik ba," Angoori said, amusement flickering in her eyes as she continued, "Ladoo kay bhaiya hamesha khoke pe busy rehte hain, toh unko humme kabhi ghumane ka liye time hi nhi milta, aur pata nahi kahe woh humre sath bhaarish mein bheegne ko bhi taiaar nahi they."
Anita slid an arm around Angoori’s shoulders for comfort. She knew this frustration too well, the way their husbands always found excuses, the way their own needs were brushed aside.
"Mein in mardo ki rag rag say waakif hun, Angoori-ji,” she said, the words heavy with bitterness. “Yeh sab bahane, like aisa bhi kon sa kaam hai ki itne saalo mein woh itne busy hain ki vacation kay liye bhi nahi nikal sake," Anita said, frustration evident in her voice.
"Aur yeh dekhiye, jab hum dono yaha par Mussorie mein enjoy karne aaye hai, tab kaise yeh dono peeche peeche aa gaye. Tab inka koi kaam inhe rok nhi raha tha." Angoori, noticing Anita's agitation, rested her head on Anita’s shoulder, which seemed to have a calming effect on her. The faint floral scent Angoori carried mingled with the damp air, and the warmth of her body seeped into Anita, quieting her agitation. Anita’s body responded before her thoughts did, her muscles relaxing, her breathing slowing.
“Ha, sahi pakde hain, Anita-ji,” Angoori said, annoyance flashing across her face as she recalled the earlier events. “Iss bar Ladoo ke bhaiya ne humko bahut hot kar diya hain.” She puffed her cheeks, a gesture so childlike and genuine that Anita couldn’t help but find her endearing.
“Aap toh pehle hi bahut ‘hot’ hain, Angoori-ji,” Anita whispered, her voice soft, almost teasing, as she admired Angoori’s pouting expression.
“Ka bole?” Angoori asked, which made Anita mentally curse herself, for she didn't anticipate the whisper to be louder than intended. “Aap shayad hurt kehna chah rahi hain,” she quickly added, trying to divert the topic.
Relief washed over her when she heard Angoori’s familiar “sahi pakde hain,” the words falling like a gentle anchor in the quiet room.