Mumbai Noir

14

Guilt gnawed at me as I entered Mrs. Kapoor's house. The houseworkers scurried past, their hurried exit a silent confirmation that Mrs. Kapoor had tipped them off about my arrival. They always did. Did she feel safer with me around, or was it something else?

I found her in the bedroom, a solitary figure bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Ayushi's absence hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the tragedy we were trying to solve.

"Mrs. Kapoor," I announced softly, my voice laced with concern.

She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with despair. "Ragu," she murmured, a hint of relief flickering across her face.

I sat beside her on the bed, the familiar scent of lavender washing over me.  As if seeking comfort, she leaned her head against my shoulder, a silent plea for solace.

"I can't stay here anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This house, it's filled with memories, haunting reminders of Ayushi."

A lump formed in my throat. It was understandable. Every corner, every object, must be a painful echo of her daughter's laughter, her dreams, her life cut tragically short.

"Vikram," she continued, bitterness creeping into her voice. "He's always busy, working late. It's as if Ayushi's disappearance hasn't even affected him."

Her words fueled a flicker of anger within me. How could a father be so detached, so seemingly indifferent to his daughter's fate? It was a stark contrast to the raw grief Mrs. Kapoor displayed.

She turned to me, her eyes searching mine.  Hesitantly, she reached out and grasped my hand.  Her touch was electric, sending a jolt through my body again.

"Ragu," she whispered, her voice catching. "You're the only one who seems to understand. The only one who truly cares."

I found myself unable to look away, drawn into the depths of her sadness.  In that moment, the boundaries between investigator and confidant blurred.

"You shouldn't be doing this," I managed, my voice hoarse.  "What happened that day…" I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

A sad smile played on her lips. "About that," she said, her voice soft. "Don't worry. It's okay."

Relief washed over me, tinged with a touch of disappointment.  "I just… I shouldn't have crossed a line," I stammered.

"No," she said, squeezing my hand gently. "Vikram… he doesn't give me much attention anymore. Not like you do."

Was this a flirt or just a joke?

We locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between us.

A magnetic pull drew me closer, the boundaries of propriety dissolving. I rose to leave, but my body seemed to betray me.  Before I could stop myself, I leaned in, closing the distance between us. I kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm when our kiss met.  Butterflies erupted in my stomach, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within me. Guilt, desire, a desperate need for connection, all tangled together.

She pulled away abruptly, her eyes filled with a mixture of regret and defiance. "No, Ragu," she whispered, her voice firm. "This is wrong. I won't be like that. I'm not some… some slut."

Shame burned in my cheeks. My actions were impulsive, a betrayal of trust and professionalism. Yet, seeing the hurt flicker in her eyes sent a pang of regret through me.

"I… I'm sorry," I stammered, stepping back. "It won't happen again."

A sigh escaped her lips. "It's alright," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Just… holding hands, it makes me feel… safe. But this… this wasn't right."

We stood there in an awkward silence, the weight of the moment heavy upon us.  Then, to my surprise, she spoke again.

"You can smell it," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "That's okay. But this…" she gestured vaguely between us, "this needs to stop."

How did she got to know that psychotic behaviour of mine that day?

A strange mix of emotions washed over me, relief, confusion, and a flicker of something akin to disappointment.  Despite the awkwardness, I couldn't help but be surprised by her openness, her acceptance of my impulsive act.

As I turned to leave, she reached out and grasped my hand one last time. "Don't worry," she whispered, her eyes holding mine. "I won't tell anyone."

Again it was the same tale.