Part :5 The Wager That Changed Everything

 The credits on the period drama rolled silently. Karan absentmindedly traced gentle circles on Sneha’s shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, not quite asleep—but content, grounded. Her hair still smelled of city air and old perfume, and there was a faint smudge of kajal under one eye.

His fingers trailed down, brushing the soft silk of his kaftan. She shifted slightly and murmured, “You make this place feel like a home.”

That sentence stayed in the air longer than any dialogue from the screen.

Karan looked down at her. “Do I?”

She turned her head slightly on his lap, lips close to the fabric now. “Mhm. You... soften everything. I come back to warmth. To light.”

He swallowed. “But you’re the one doing all the real work. The deals. The late nights. The signatures.”

Sneha’s eyes fluttered open. “You think value comes only from what gets signed?”

He didn’t answer.Instead, she sat up slowly and turned to face him on the sofa. You cooked. You folded the laundry. You diffused the lamp because it hurt my eyes last night. You kissed me like I mattered. You wore that kaftan like it chose you.

A flush crept up his neck. You’re romanticizing housework.She smiled, then leaned forward and whispered, No. I’m romanticizing you.Karan froze.She reached out and stroked his cheek, her thumb brushing against his chin pausing briefly at a spot that had once bristled with stubble. “Soon,” she murmured, we won’t even need the wax.

He looked down. Her hand tilted his chin up.You know what’s funny?” she said softly. “I don’t even miss the man you were pretending to be.

His lips parted, unsure what to say. But his eyes brimmed with something quiet and unsaid.Then, her tone changed teasing, playful. Anyway, tomorrow you’ll need to dress up. We’re having dinner at Aarti’s place. She asked for both of us.

He blinked. Why me? Sneha raised an eyebrow. “You charmed her. And besides…” her smile curved, “she said your tea reminded her of her grandmother’s touch. That’s not an insult, by the way—it’s nostalgia.

Karan looked away, embarrassed, but oddly pleased. “I… don’t have anything to wear.

Oh, Sneha said, standing and stretching, the buttons of her blouse strained at the top. There’s a new parcel in the bedroom wardrobe. It’s not from the company. Just something I thought might suit Kavya.

The name settled in the room like a dropped scarf. Soft. Intimate. Inevitable.He didn’t respond. Just watched her walk away, unbuttoning her cuffs as she went.

He stayed on the couch a little longer, the faint scent of rose and sandalwood from her body still lingering on the cushions.

Later, when he entered the bedroom, he saw it: a slim box in cream wrapping with a soft navy ribbon. No label. No receipt. Just a handwritten note taped to the top:

“For that neck I keep kissing."

 He didn’t open it yet.He just stood there for a moment, palms lightly pressed against the box. The  nextmorning sun filtered through sheer curtains, painting soft gold on the bedroom walls. Karan sat on the edge of the bed, the cream-wrapped box still unopened beside him.

His fingers hovered over the ribbon. It felt almost indecent to untie it.A note from Sneha had been slipped under his toothbrush, folded neatly in the same navy shade: It’s the last day. If it still feels like pretending, you can stop anytime. But if it doesn’t... maybe it never was. – S . He held the note for a long time before placing it beside the box.

Then he undid the ribbon.Inside was a folded saree — deep wine red with matte gold borders, elegant and understated. Not flashy, not loud. The kind of saree someone could wear and feel.herself in.Below it: a matching blouse, elbow-length sleeves. The back tied with delicate strings. Next to it, a pair of muted gold earrings shaped like leaves. At the bottom of the box: a small glass bottle. Not perfume  kumkumadi oil.

No instructions. But none were needed.

By late afternoon, he stood before the mirror in the bathroom, the oil massaged gently into his skin. It left a faint floral glow that caught the light in a way powder never could.

He stared at his reflection. The coral lipstick again. His lashes darkened by nothing more than coconut oil. A tiny bindi sat between his brows, trembling slightly from where his hand had placed it.

Then came the drape.Sneha had helped him earlier  guiding the pleats, pinning the pallu. Her fingers had moved with quiet confidence, brushing his bare waist, pausing just once when their eyes met in the mirror.

“You wear it,” she had whispered, “like you’ve always known how.”

Evening.At Aarti’s apartment, candles flickered along the walls, and soft instrumental music played in the background. The scent of sandalwood mingled with something slow-cooked.Sneha arrived in a sharp indigo silk shirt and trousers. No jewelry. Her hair pinned up, exposing her long neck. Power looked effortless on her.Karan walked two steps behind her, the soft fall of his saree trailing like breath. Each step was silent, but not shy.Aarti’s eyes widened as the door opened. “Oh... my,” she whispered, smiling. “Now that’s* an entrance.Sneha grinned. Told you my lucky star had a special shine.Karan lowered his eyes briefly in greeting. “Thank you for inviting us.Please,” Aarti said, ushering them in. “You’re the reason I signed that deal, remember? Cardamom diplomacy.They laughed, and the room filled with warmth.Dinner was slow and rich paneer in saffron gravy, soft rotis, mango slices chilled in rose waterAt one point, Aarti turned to Karan. Can I say something without offending?

He paused, then nodded.You look... free. Like someone who doesn’t need a reason anymore.

Sneha, sitting beside him, took his hand under the table. “That’s because,” she said quietly, “today *was* the reason.

Much later, back home, Karan stood before the mirror again, slowly unpinning the saree. The blouse slipped off his shoulders, exposing skin kissed by fabric all day.

Sneha leaned on the doorway. Her voice was hoarse with affection. “You never asked me who  Kavya* is.He looked at her reflection.Who is she?Sneha walked closer. Her hand traced his bare shoulder.She’s someone I hoped existed. Someone I saw… in glimpses, long before you did.

Karan’s throat tightened. “But if the week is over... what happens now?

Karan stood silent, the blouse now slipped to his elbows. The cool air brushed against his bare back. His chest rose and fell slowly, unsure of what this stillness meant

Behind him, Sneha stepped closer. Her hands, firm and warm, slid up his arms and then across his waist. She kissed the back of his neck  once, twice then rested her chin on his shoulder.You kept asking if this was a game,” she murmured, her voice low, rich. “But tonight… this wasn’t pretend.

He nodded faintly, his voice barely audible. “It didn’t feel like it.”Then her hands pushed forward  not roughly, but with total certainty. Karan felt his knees touch the edge of the bed, and then the pressure of her palm between his shoulder blades. A silent command. Down.He went without protest, the soft rustle of the saree catching under him as he lay on his side. She climbed in behind, straddling his thigh, her breath hot against his ear.

“I’ve waited long enough,” she whispered, brushing his hair back, her fingers grazing his earlobe. Tonight, I don’t want Karan.

He turned to look up at her, eyes wide. “Then who ? Her mouth pressed hard onto his lips, silencing him. The kiss deepened  claiming, slow, endless. Her tongue traced his lips with possessive fire, and when she pulled away, her voice came like velvet with a knife hidden inside.

“You're *Kavya* now.”He shivered.She ran her hand down his chest  slow, with intention  stopping where the fabric met skin. “You were never made to carry weight with muscle, Karan. You were made to melt. To sway. To glow.

Her leg pressed between his thighs, tilting him back. He gasped.This week was never about whether you’d enjoy it,” she said, pressing him down with her palm flat on his chest. “It was about whether you’d *admit* it. And you have.

He stared up at her, lips parted, unsure whether he wanted to cry, speak, or beg for more.I didn’t mean for it to go this far, he whispered. She smirked. “You didn’t mean for it to go this far. But your hands folded the saree neatly. Your fingers shaped your nails. You smelled that hair tonic and smiled.” Her hand cupped his cheek. “Sweetheart, don’t lie to either of us.”

He swallowed. “Is the bet over?”She kissed him again  harder, deeper  grinding her hips against him slowly. Her thigh rocked into his softness until he moaned without meaning to. Then she pulled back, lips wet.“No,” she said. “The *pretending* is over. The bet? That ends in the morning.And me?” he asked, voice trembling. “What happens to me?She brushed a thumb across his lip. You’ll still be here. But not as Karan.She kissed his collarbone now, trailing down his chest, past the pleats of the saree. “You’re mine, Kavya. My soft-lipped muse. My pretty thing.”