Come as Nisha

Nisha stands in the afternoon sun at the stranger's gate, the address in her pocket, her mother's black salwar under her dupatta and the sindur line bright on her forehead, and she pushes the door open before she can think. Inside, the drawing room is dim and cool, and the man—middle-aged, soft-handed, watching her with a quiet hunger—does not touch her yet, only says her name like a question. She sits where he points, the money already set on the table between them, and when he asks her to lift her dupatta, she does, letting the fabric fall over her shoulder, her breast half-bared, her hand steady on the armrest. He reaches out to touch her knee, and she does not move, the small hot thing turning over in her chest, the door she came through now closed behind her. The act this chapter delivers: In the stranger's drawing room, Nisha lets him look at her, then guides his hand under her salwar as she unbuttons it herself, and she rides him on the worn sofa until she comes and he spills inside her, the money still on the table.