Rupesh’s Day as Priya’s Wife

Rupesh and Priya’s apartment on the 12th floor of a bustling Mumbai tower was a sanctuary of warmth—a mix of Priya’s vibrant decor and Rupesh’s minimalist tech gadgets. On a Sunday evening in late June, the monsoon had arrived with full force, battering the windows with relentless rain. The city below was a blur of gray, but inside, the air was thick with the scent of ginger chai and the hum of (debate).

Rupesh lounged on the couch, his laptop glowing on his lap, while Priya stirred a pot of dal on the stove. The aroma of turmeric and cumin filled the kitchen, but Rupesh’s focus was on a bug report he’d been wrestling with since noon.

“Did you take out the trash?” Priya called from the kitchen, her voice laced with amusement.

“Later,” Rupesh muttered, scrolling through code.

“And the laundry?”

“Machine’s running,” he said, not looking up.

Priya entered the living room, a tray of chai in her hands. She set it down with a clink. “You know, the machine doesn’t fold clothes. Or buy groceries. Or clean the bathroom.”

Rupesh glanced up, smirking. “You make it sound like a marathon. It’s just chores.”

Priya arched an eyebrow, her sari swishing as she leaned against the couch. “Oh, really? Let’s see. Today: grocery run in the rain, two loads of laundry, cleaning the balcony because monsoon mold is a nightmare, plus dinner. And that’s after work.” She tapped her hip. “You think coding’s tough? Try juggling this daily.”

Rupesh chuckled, closing his laptop. “Fine, I’ll do the dishes tonight. Happy?”

Priya shook her head, her braid swinging. “One day, Rupesh. That’s all. You’ll never understand my day until you live it.” She crossed her arms. “Dress as me, do my work, and see.”

He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. “You’re on. One day. I’ll prove it’s easy.”

Priya’s smile turned mischievous. “Not just chores. The whole experience. Wig, saree, makeup—everything. No shortcuts.”

Rupesh scoffed, but his curiosity was piqued. “Deal. When?”

“Tomorrow. Sunday’s perfect—no office distractions.” She handed him a cup of chai. “But tonight, shave. I won’t have stubble ruining my saree.”

He took a sip, the ginger warming his throat. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Priya said, her eyes twinkling. “But you’ll thank me when you realize how hard I work.”

As the rain drummed against the windows, Rupesh felt a flicker of unease. How hard could it be? he thought. But Priya’s challenge lingered—a dare he couldn’t back down from.

That night, Priya handed Rupesh a razor. “First, shave everything. No stubble, no chest hair. A wife’s skin is always smooth.”

Rupesh grimaced but complied, emerging from the bathroom with freshly shaved legs and a pink-tinged chest. Priya inspected him, nodding. “Now, the bra.” She adjusted a lacy garment stuffed with water balloons, its weight unfamiliar.

Next came panties—sheer fabric that clung softly. “A nighty,” Priya said, draping a gauzy white dress over his shoulders. Rupesh slipped it on, the lace trim tickling his collarbone.

“Nails,” Priya said, painting his fingers and toes a glossy rose. “Sleep in this. Wake up at 6 AM sharp.”

Rupesh climbed into bed, the nightie rustling against the sheets. Priya kissed his cheek. “Goodnight, wife.”

At 6 AM, the sound of rain woke Rupesh. He padded to the kitchen in the nightie, the cool tiles shocking his bare feet.

Breakfast first. Rupesh cracked eggs, the yolks spilling onto the pan. Toast burned, smoke curling. “Damn,” he muttered, recalling Priya’s effortless mornings.

Next, laundry. He sorted clothes, mixing Priya’s silks with his jeans. The washing machine roared, water splashing as he overfilled it.

By 9 AM, Rupesh was mopping floors, the nightie hiked to his knees. His back ached, sweat trickling down his shaved chest. “How does she do this daily?” he panted.

Priya watched from the couch, sipping tea. “Almost done?”

At noon, Priya announced, “Time to dress up.” She led Rupesh to their bedroom, a crimson silk saree draped over her arm.

“Wear this,” she said, unfolding the fabric. Rupesh fumbled with the pallu, Priya laughing as she pinned it in place.

“Jewelry,” she said, fastening a gold necklace around his neck. Earrings dangled, bangles clinked. She applied kajal to his eyes, the black rimming them dramatically.

“Now, the wig,” Priya said, placing a chestnut wig on his head. Its curls cascaded past his shoulders. “You look stunning,” she whispered.

Rupesh stared in the mirror—a stranger in silk and jewels. His heart raced.

“Enter like a new bride,” Priya said, dimming the lights. Rupesh hesitated, then swept into the bedroom, the saree swishing.

Priya stood in a crisp white kurta, her hair slicked back into a neat bun, a stark contrast to Rupesh’s cascading curls. The wig he wore was chestnut, its waves brushing his shoulders like a silk shawl. His cheeks were flushed, not just from the warm Mumbai evening but from the weight of Priya’s gaze.

“Welcome, husband,” she said, her voice deep and playful, a low rumble that sent shivers down Rupesh’s spine. She stepped closer, her sandalwood scent mingling with the jasmine he’d woven into his wig.

Rupesh blushed, the wig’s strands tickling his neck. “You look… different,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual, the lilt of nervousness in his tone.

Priya chuckled, a sound like wind chimes. “Different? Or just seen for the first time?” She took his hand, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding him toward the bed. The mattress dipped as they sat, the sheer pallu of his saree pooling around his ankles.

“Let me see,” Priya said, reaching for the wig. Her fingers brushed his scalp, sending a jolt through him. “This is heavy, isn’t it?” She undid the wig’s hidden clasp, letting the waves fall loose. “No wonder your neck aches.”

Rupesh leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as she combed her fingers through the strands. “It’s hot,” he admitted.

“Hmm.” Priya stood, returning with a hairbrush. “Let’s try a braid.” She parted the wig into three sections, her movements practiced. The braid fell down his back, cool against his spine. “Better?”

Rupesh nodded, the weight redistributed. “Feels nice.”

Next, Priya twisted the braid into a low bun, pinning it with jasmine flowers. “You look like a bride,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

He opened his eyes, catching her reflection in the mirror. “You’re the bride,” he said, smiling.

Priya shook her head, her own bun swaying. “Tonight, roles are reversed.” She unpinned the bun, letting the wig cascade again. “This is my favorite part,” she said, running her fingers through the waves. “So soft.”

Rupesh shivered, her touch sending ripples of sensation through him. “Stop teasing,” he said, though his voice held a hint of laughter.

Priya leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. “Who’s teasing?” She kissed his cheek, the wig’s strands brushing her face. “You’re beautiful, Rupesh. Do you know that?”

His breath hitched. “I’m… I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?” She framed his face, her thumbs grazing his kajal-rimmed eyes. “Being seen? Or being loved?”

“Both,” he whispered.

Priya’s smile softened. “You’re always loved. By me.” She kissed him then—not on the lips, but the forehead, a tender press that spoke volumes.

Rupesh reached for her, his hand tangling in her real hair. “Stay,” he said.

Priya straddled his lap, her kurta brushing his saree. “Always,” she murmured, their lips meeting this time, slow and sure. The wig shifted between them, a silk curtain as they kissed.

Later, as rain drummed against the window, Priya lay beside Rupesh, her fingers tracing the wig’s curls. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

“For seeing me. For understanding.” She kissed his shoulder, the saree’s silk rustling.

Rupesh sighed, content. “I get it now. Your day isn’t just chores—it’s… everything.”

Priya smiled, her hand resting on his chest. “And tonight?”

He looked at her, the wig’s curls framing his face. “Tonight was… perfect.”

Weeks later, Rupesh found himself lingering in the saree section of a store. Priya joined him, her eyes soft. “Still dreaming?”

He nodded. “Of being a full-time wife. Of carrying our child.”

Priya kissed his forehead. “Maybe someday, we’ll redefine roles together.”