Aadrika : His unconscious desire

8. Dhoti & Pant

Aadrika

Wear my clothes,“he suggested,” his voice still soft but firmer now. “They'll be more comfortable.”

The weight of his suggestion hung in the air, and I stood there in shock, clutching the heavy pleats of my saree, wear his clothes? The thought made my cheeks flush, but when I looked into his eyes, there was no mockery, no teasing. Just that familiar warmth, paired with something new, concern, perhaps. I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of how to react.

He went over to the almirah and took out a pant and a shirt. He came over to me and streched his hands, indicating me to take it. I was still uncertain about it.

“Do I…have to wear this?” I finally asked, my voice small, almost hesitant. I couldn’t look directly at him, my fingers playing nervously with the hem of my saree.

He arched an eyebrow, and for the first time since I’d known him, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “आपको धोती पहननी है हमारी?” he said, the sarcasm in his voice taking me by surprise.

(Do you want to wear my dhoti?)

I blushed deeper, embarrassed by my own uncertainty, but his tone held no malice. It was as if, for the first time, he was letting me in on a lighter part of himself, without saying another word, I took the clothes he offered, a simple white shirt and loose pants and hurried to the bathroom to change.

I closed the door behind me, I let out a slow breath, pressing my back against the cool wood. My heart was racing. I had no idea why, but something about this felt…different, something about him standing up for me, giving me his clothes, speaking to me in that gentle way. It was all so unexpected.

I slowly undraped my saree, letting the fabric fall to the floor. As I turned toward the mirror, my gaze landed on the burn marks which were scattered to my shoulders, the reflection showing the marks I tried to forget. I swallowed hard, the memory still raw, and a tear slipped from my eye before I could stop it. I quickly wiped it away, not wanting to dwell on the pain of my past, especially not now.

I dressed in his clothes quickly, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing against my skin. It was loose, too big for me, but oddly comfortable. I wasn’t used to feeling this free, this is - really nice. I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, feeling a strange mix of emotions, nervousness, embarrassment, and something else I couldn’t quite name.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I was surprised to find him still standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on me. His gaze wasn’t harsh, but it was intense, as though he were seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time.

I shifted a little bit, unsure of what to do under the weight of his stare. “Choudhary ji… are you fine?” I asked softly, hoping to break the strange silence that had fallen between us.

He blinked, as if my words had pulled him back from some distant place, and he cleared his throat. “Good night,” he muttered abruptly, almost as if he was trying to shake off the moment. Without waiting for a response, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud.

I stood there, staring at the door for what felt like an eternity, my heart pounding in my chest. What had just happened? He had always been distant, cold, odd, but tonight… tonight he had shown me a side of him I had never seen before. He had defended me, cared for me in his own silent way and that gaze… that intense, unreadable gaze had shaken me more than I wanted to admit.