Delhi was not Ujjain. It lacked the slow, tangled intimacy of the city where Rati and Rohan’s families had laid their roots. In Ujjain, life was a web of tradition and shared history. Delhi was a blur of speed and anonymity, a place that offered, perhaps, a dangerous degree of freedom. Here, Rohan held a good job in a multinational firm, and after two years of marriage, Rati had found her own footing as a graphic designer in a small advertising agency.

Both their families were steeped in tradition. The weight of relationships, rituals, and social expectations was in their blood. In Ujjain, Rati’s life was one of quiet deference—the edge of her saree pulled over her head, her voice low, her eyes downcast before elders. It was second nature. But Delhi, and more specifically Rohan’s friends, had begun to peel back those layers.

Rati was dark-skinned. Not dusky, but what people, in their blunt simplicity, called ‘dark’. A lifetime of advice from her mother and aunts echoed in her ears: “Apply some gram flour.” “Don’t go out in the sun.” But what lay hidden beneath that complexion was a masterpiece. Her body was a secret marvel, as if carved by a master sculptor over years of devoted labor. Every curve, every angle, every swell was perfect. She was a living Kohinoor, a priceless diamond hidden away in a vault of tradition and dark skin.

The world of Ujjain had never taught her to display this treasure. Here in Delhi, at Rohan’s insistence, she had started wearing jeans and fitted kurtis, but a natural hesitation still held her back. Other than Rohan, no one had truly seen or known the priceless gem she possessed. Rati had the kind of form that, if seen in its entirety, could make it impossible for a man to resist a surge of lust. But the sanctity of relationships and her own restrained nature had always been her shield. The little openness she now had was a product of Rohan’s influence; at her core, she remained deeply reserved.

Rohan’s friends—his support system in Delhi, his weekend partners—were Sameer and Bhavesh. They were from good families but carried a streak of recklessness. Partying, flirting, a life lived on the edge of propriety—it was their nature. Rati often found herself at their gatherings, feeling a familiar prickle of discomfort when Sameer’s or Bhavesh’s eyes lingered too long, or when a double-meaning joke hung in the air. Rohan would always laugh it off, lightening the mood, and over time, Rati had cautiously warmed to them. On Rohan’s urging, she had even started drinking in the last few months—just a drink or two, always under pressure.

Tonight’s party was special. Rohan’s childhood friend, Arjun, was visiting from Sweden. It was a reunion after many years. Arjun was the quiet one, a man who, as Rohan said, had seen the world. He spoke little and drank nothing. To celebrate his arrival, they had all gone out to a high-end club.

The evening began pleasantly, filled with old stories and laughter. But as the night deepened, the whiskey flowed freely. Rohan, Sameer, and Bhavesh drank heavily. Rati, pushed into having two or three pegs, had far exceeded her limit. Through it all, Arjun sat quietly, nursing a Coke, a calm observer. Fueled by alcohol, Rohan grew loud, boasting to his friends about his life, about Rati, his words painting an exaggerated, intimate portrait. Rati shrank with embarrassment, her attempts to quiet him lost in her own intoxicated haze. Sameer and Bhavesh’s jokes grew sharper, more personal.

Around two in the morning, when it was decided to end the party, Rohan and Rati’s condition had worsened. Rati was feeling dizzy, she was not able to stand properly. Rohan was also swaying. Sameer and Bhavesh were also drunk, but perhaps not as much as Rohan and Rati. They were able to walk and talk.

“Arjun, you drive, brother,” Bhavesh slurred, tossing him the car keys. “We’re in no condition.” Arjun, the only sober one, caught them.

Downstairs, as they reached the car, Rohan clutched his stomach. “Friend… I think I’m going to be sick. I’ll sit in the front, get some air.”

“Yes, yes, you sit up front,” Sameer agreed, propping Rohan up and guiding him into the passenger seat.

That left three of them for the back. Sameer slid in on one side, Bhavesh on the other. Rati was nudged, almost pushed, into the middle. She was so far gone she barely registered where she was, or between whom. Her head lolled back against the seat, her eyes fluttering closed.

Arjun took the driver’s seat, started the engine, and adjusted the rear-view mirror. The image that greeted him was unsettling. Rati was slumped between the two men, nearly unconscious. A mischievous, predatory glint shone in Sameer’s and Bhavesh’s eyes, visible even in the dim cabin light.

The car had only traveled a short distance when Arjun saw it in the mirror. Sameer’s hand, moving slowly, deliberately, onto Rati’s thigh. She didn’t stir. Then, Bhavesh’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, pulling her gently toward him. Her head rolled onto his shoulder.

Arjun’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Rohan in the passenger seat. His friend’s eyes were open, staring into the rear-view mirror, but his face was a blank mask. No anger. No objection. He was just watching, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Arjun looked back at the mirror. Sameer’s hand had crept higher. Bhavesh was now running his fingers through Rati’s hair. She remained limp, a faint, drunken smile on her lips.

Confusion warred within Arjun. He had known these men for years, but this Delhi life, their dynamic, was alien to him. Rohan’s silence was baffling. Rati’s smiling unconsciousness was unnerving. Was this some kind of twisted game they played? A dark understanding between husband and wife? Arjun, the outsider from Sweden, couldn’t decipher the complicated, horrifying equation. Rohan’s passivity and Rati’s smile led him to a mistaken conclusion: that this wasn’t as serious as it looked. That it was just the party continuing in the car. He was a guest. It wasn’t his place to interfere.

And so, with this fatal misunderstanding, he kept driving. In the back, the advances of Sameer and Bhavesh grew bolder. And Rati, trapped in the fog between sleep and waking, remained oblivious to what was happening to her body, and who was watching her with what eyes. The only things that pierced the haze were soft whispers, one of which sounded hauntingly familiar:

“Rati, I have waited so long for this moment…”