The woman snatched the bouquet from the boy’s hand and crushed it under her heel.

The boy watched with wet eyes as she snapped, “How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want flowers? Do you understand?”

When she walked away, he gathered the stems, pressed the roses flat against his palm, and tucked them back into his bucket. If they held, he could still sell the bouquet, maybe at a discount at the next light.

-

I had barely stepped into the party when a married woman tried to catch my attention, shamelessly flirting with me. Pleased with myself, I went to find my wife to tell her I still had it. But before I could reach the stairs, the woman tugged my sleeve. "If it is your wife you're after, you'll have to wait," she winked, her eyes full of amusement. "My husband's with her. Didn't anyone tell you the rules?" My mind reeled as she explained the wife-swapping party.

-

Flooded City

He waded through waist-deep, murky water, office shoes clutched in one hand, the other searching for balance with every step. The streets of Kolkata had become rivers, drains vomiting brown froth, plastic packets and dead leaves brushing against his trousers. He lifted his eyes. The building was still a long way off, the road seemed never-ending.

-

They craned for a glimpse of the newlywed couple. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” someone whispered, eyes fixed on the bride. Others were already counting the gold.

They murmurs were just beginning to rise into full-blown gossip when the sirens parted the lane and police shouldered through the crowd toward the wedding car, still draped in flowers, lying on its roof.

-

He grabbed his crotch, eyes fixed on the young woman. The black dress she wore clung to her like second skin, the neckline dipping low, the hem riding high with every slight shift of her legs. Streetlights licked over her thighs and collarbone, striping her body in bands of shadow and pale gold. The sight fed his imagination until he could think of nothing else. His hand moved over himself beneath the wheel, breath shallow, surreptitious at first, then with fervent abandon, no longer caring about getting caught.

He tilted the rear-view mirror, angling it until her cleavage filled the frame. She noticed. A sudden flicker of panic crossed her face, and her hand shot out, fumbling for the door handle.

A soft click.

The child safety lock slid into place as the car surged forward, leaving her destination behind in a blur of city lights.

-

Kiss

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ll suck me off without a second thought, but a kiss? That’s where you draw the line?”
Frustrated at being refused, he pulled out a thicker stash of cash to satisfy his fragile ego. “Fine,” he snarled, “I’ll pay double what I usually do.”

In a blur of motion, he lunged at her, pinning her against the threadbare mattress with the full weight of his body. His lips crashed onto hers, tongue prying past her clenched teeth in a savage invasion. She twisted beneath him, muffled protests vibrating against his mouth, her nails scraping futilely at his arms. Only when her struggles weakened did he pull back, leaving her gasping, chest heaving like a storm-tossed sea.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trembling as she propped herself up on one elbow. Her gaze locked onto his. “I was refusing because…” Her voice cracked, tears streaking her cheek. “A kiss… it’s the only piece of me I’ve saved for my husband. And you just stole it.”

-

Visarjan

The bridge throbbed with life as drums pounded, conch shells wailed, and speakers spat out devotional remixes that shook the steel beams. A pickup truck swayed past, Devi perched high among marigolds and sindoor-streaked faces, her painted eyes glowing in the floodlights. Men and women danced in sync with the music, their shadows flickering across the railings.

-

"I wish people had full conscious control over who they’re attracted to," the man said to the packed courtroom, searching for a glimmer of something, probably sympathy, in the impassive face of the justice.

The public prosecutor smirked. "Do you really believe that will excuse you from the charges of pedophilia?"

He shook his head. "No. All I’m saying is..."

"Enough," the prosecutor snapped, cutting him off. "You have already brought disgrace upon this nation. Just plead guilty and spare us more shame, Mr. Presi..." The prosecutor bit his tongue, the title itself seeming to sicken him.

-

Dad used to say, “Never borrow grief from the future.”

A futile lesson, she knew, for the future was almost here. She could see it through the curtains. Her dad was all she had left, besides, of course, grief, her most loyal companion. With her father’s health fading, the future no longer waited.

It pressed a relentless shoulder against the door, listening for the slightest sound, ready to barge in at any moment.

A final ragged cough cut through the room. The faint, familiar rhythm of his breathing had stopped. Then came silence. It was the sound the future had been waiting for. It slid past the door and tiptoed into the room.

She swallowed the bitterness whole, wiped her eyes clear of sorrow, and rose to meet it.

-

The little boy’s eyes widened as the procession drew near. Lalbaugcha Raja, draped in golden finery, swayed majestically atop the float, the towering idol seeming almost alive in the haze of smoke and light.

His friend had told him Bappa blessed those who believed with prosperity. His father was very sick, and they could use some.

Heart pounding in sync with the chants, the boy clasped his small hands together, mirroring the sea of devotees around him. Lost in a trance, he didn’t notice the hijab-clad woman approach from behind until she yanked his shoulder.

“Ye kya kar raha? Ghar chal abhi.”
His palms slowly unjoined, but his hopeful eyes never left the god, unwilling to blink lest a miracle happens.

-