Summer Love

It's afternoon and you are with her. Sometimes some things don't feel like sin. Probably because they aren't. You belong from somewhere where love blooms within traditions. It's a new feeling where you see it blooming out of traditions. It's a cracking hot afternoon of June and it's just you and her in the house. You look out the window and the streets are empty. People are either in their air-conditioned offices or at home taking a nap after the lunch, and here you are with her alone in the room lying with your head on her tummy your head being cooled by the smooth cotton of her kurta and your body by the cotton bedsheet. The desert cooler is doing its job, keeping the room cool. She is playing with your hair, you take her long hair and spread it on your face, it smells so good just like flowers and freshness. You feel happy, a kind of happy that you didn't know existed. She gently removes your head from her tummy and pulls your arms towards her, you move upward in her direction your face now facing hers. You look into her eyes. They are deep, and they know things that you don't know. She takes your hand and entwines her fingers into yours. The street is quiet with occasional calls of a lone street hawker. You both are quiet, looking at each other. You don't know what is she thinking, but you fear she knows what you are thinking. You take a deep breath and take her scent inside you and you wish that it remains inside you forever. One hand holding your hand and with the other she starts playing with your ear, pulling your earlobe, and you watch her doing that her eyes sparkling with a kind of disarming mischief. You feel a kind of calm that you had never felt before. She puts her feet on yours and keeps playing with your ear. Your hand still tightly clasped by her other hand, fingers entwined. You want the afternoon to last forever, as you don't get a chance to meet her often and especially like this when you both are alone, but the clock is ticking in your head and one hour or so it would be time to go back. She pulls you closer and wraps her arms around your head. You feel the warmth of her body and coolness of her Kurta surrounding you, your nostrils fill with the scent of the flowery freshness she wore mixed with the scent of her body. The clock in your head stops ticking, you stop thinking and lose yourself in the moment quietly laying with your head on her heart surrounded by her arms. The sun is raining fire outside, the desert cooler is whirring its coolness inside the room, and the lone street hawker's occasional calls remain as the only measure of time.