Sweet 'n' Sour | ✔

thirty-three

33. tumhare liye (for you)

•°•

I've read thousands of books.

And hundreds of love stories.

I thought I know what to do, how to do, when to do. Fiction makes everything look so easy. The situation they are in, the backstory, the scene, it's like everything around just wants the leads to finally kiss each other.

I wish the same was the case in real life. Because when I heard the knock on the door, instead of being disappointed, I was actually relieved. I, the same human, who was internally jumping at the thought of kissing his wife, was having a fucking cold feet when the moment really came. The reason? Her face of expectation. She looked at me like I'm some sort of magician who was going to show her stars with closed eyes. In reality, I know shit about intimacy.

Now that I think about it, her questions about the kiss were actually sensible. I don't know how to use the tongue, or whether it is recommended to use the tongue during your first kiss. What if she doesn't like it? What if she finds it gross, just as she had mentioned? Or what if I'm not a good kisser?

Oh, well, who am I kidding?

If not for flying and cheek kisses, my lips have only known food and drinks.

My inexperience will definitely lead to underperformance. And I don't want that. I don't want her to think of me as a nasty kisser.

But I want to kiss her so damn badly.

I'm ready to apply all my theoretical knowledge to those suckable lips but what if she doesn't like it? I don't want to ruin her first experience. I mean, the woman waited thirty-one years for a damn kiss, it should be special, right? I can't ruin it for her.

And so here I was, in the bathroom, post the midnight mini celebration with family, hiding from my wife. The birthday cake was sliced and fed, wishes were sent, and blessings were taken. Now she was on the call with her family, and I can't wait for her to hang up and go to sleep.

Five minutes later, the knock on the door startled me.

"Aditya?"

"Ye-Yeah?" I stammered.

"Uhm, I'm done with my call."

"Good." Night.

"Are you okay?" She asked worriedly.

"Yeah, just- just brushing my teeth." I blurted out. Shit, Aditya. At least come up with a plausible excuse.

"Oh, I don't mind." She murmured bashfully.

I forced a chuckle. "I- I do. Just give me a few minutes."

"Okay, I'm waiting." She mumbled and I heard her footsteps return to the bed.

I covered my face with my hands.

Yeh aurat kiss ke bina nahi sone waali. (This woman is not sleeping without a kiss.)

I lamented, panicking internally. No, this can't do. I've to man up and face her, then maybe, stick my face against her. Ugh. This is so damn stressful.

Getting up from the toilet seat, I walked up to the basin and faced my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked tamed, stubble was trimmed, and my lips looked fine.

I blew air into my palm to check my breath, nodding satisfactorily.

"Okay," I nodded at myself. "Let's have a demo first," I said, holding up my first two fingers horizontally. Pretending them to be my wife's lips, I leaned in, slotting mine against the pair. They were unresponsive, obviously, and slightly thicker, well, a lot thicker, but thankfully soft. "Okay, this works," I blew out a breath, sucking my cheeks in to stop the nervous smile from spreading on my lips. My face looked red, so I waved my hands around, splashed some water on it, and dried it with a towel.