A Little Past Midnight

Mora Gora Ang Laile, Mohe Shaam Rang Daide…

Lata Mangeshkar’s immortal song from Bimal Roy’s classic Bandini was playing on repeat on the laptop in the dimly lit bedroom. In the adjoining bathroom, she stood under the shower, humming along, occasionally singing a line or two in her own sweet voice. Her singing drifted into the bedroom through the half-open bathroom door, catching his attention. He was sitting against the headboard, scrolling through his phone.

He eventually set the phone aside, closed his eyes and immersed himself in her singing. He was so lost in it that he barely noticed the passage of time. Only when the shower stopped and he heard her footsteps approaching did he open his eyes.

“You know something? You’re quite a gifted singer yourself. Why did you ever give up music?” he asked as she stepped out of the bathroom, gently rubbing her damp hair with a towel.

She stopped and looked at him, her expression a curious mixture of amusement and shyness.

“What? You still think I sing well?”

“Of course you do. Well, if it hadn’t been for your performance at the university cultural evening, perhaps we would never have met!”

“Hahaha! So you think we met only because of that cultural evening? Well…that was…perhaps…aah!..Leave it!”

“Hmmm,” he smiled, deliberately leaving the question unanswered.

He lit a cigarette and walked towards the open window. Leaning against the wall, he took a leisurely drag before turning to look at her.

She was wearing a soft cotton nightdress, its neckline dipping just enough to reveal the gentle curves of her décolletage. The fabric rested loosely around her waist and hips, following the natural contours of her figure. Her damp hair fell freely over her shoulders, with a few stray strands clinging to her neck and collarbone.

“What’s that?” she asked, catching him staring. There was a mischievous little smile playing on her lips.

“Nothing.”

“You have a very suspicious way of saying nothing. And I think I know exactly what this nothing is about, don’t I?” She raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, took one last drag and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. Walking back to the bed, he settled against the headboard, stretching his legs comfortably in front of him.

She climbed onto the bed and settled beside him, deliberately leaving barely any space between them.

He slipped an arm around her waist.

“Come closer,” he whispered.

“Am I not close enough?”

“Not quite.”

She laughed, turned towards him and rested a hand against his cheek. He noticed the faint, playful pout forming on her lips.

“What happened to that smile?” he asked.

“Someone just praised my singing but hasn’t given me a prize for it yet.”

He looked at her for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He leaned towards her, but she drew back just enough to keep him waiting.

“What now?”

“Wait. The music has stopped. Let me put it on again.”

“Which song?”

“The one you just praised me for singing.”

She reached over to the laptop and restarted the music player, putting the Lata Mangeshkar song on repeat. Then she turned around and settled back into his arms.

He gently cupped her chin and tilted her face towards his.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes for a moment before lowering hers. A faint smile played around her lips, which parted ever so slightly. He brushed a stray lock of damp hair away from her face.

This time, neither of them pulled away.

Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. She slipped her fingers behind his neck, drawing him closer, while his hand disappeared into her loose, damp hair. The kiss began gently, almost hesitantly, but soon she was holding him tighter, responding to every tender movement of his lips.

When they finally parted, she didn’t move away. Her eyes remained half-closed, her forehead resting against his. She smiled, still catching her breath.

“Every time you touch me, I melt. It feels like the first time, every single time,” she whispered, running her palms slowly over his back.

He smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her again, lingering a little longer over her upper lip before drawing her into another deep kiss. His hand moved gently through her hair and rested at the back of her neck. She shivered slightly and instinctively moved closer, her arms tightening around him.

For a while, they remained locked in each other’s embrace, occasionally breaking away only to look at one another, exchange a smile or steal another kiss.

Then she slowly lowered herself onto the pillows, taking him with her. Her fingers remained entwined in his as she looked up at him, her expression now softer, more intimate.

“Don’t get up. Come closer. Make love to me,” she whispered, pulling him closer. “Drench me again tonight.”

He bent down and kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, before finding her lips once more. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, returning his kisses with equal eagerness.

Their kisses grew longer, interrupted by occasional whispers and soft moans. He gently moved her hair away from her face and kissed her again, while she held him tightly against her.

As the night progressed, they became more intimate, their bodies drawing closer as they made love. The familiar voice of Lata Mangeshkar continued playing in the background, with their whispers and soft moans occasionally rising above it.

The song kept playing on repeat as the two lost themselves in each other, well into the night.

ALSO READ | Lobhita: The Flood