The silence in the large, lamp-lit bedroom was thick with expectation. The oil lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows on the polished wooden walls and over the vast expanse of the hand-carved bed. Siddharth, the respected Sarpanch of the village, stood by the window, looking out at the dark night. His kurta and pajama were crisp, but his heart was a drumbeat of nervous desire.

Sana, his second wife for eight days now, sat on the edge of that enormous bed. Her pink silk saree shimmered under the lamplight, the fabric draped over the lush, undeniable curves of her body. She was younger, the sister of his first wife, and for all these days he had kept a respectful distance, fearing he couldn’t handle her youth, her vibrancy. But tonight, she spoke. It is time, she had said. We should fulfill our duty as husband and wife. He hesitated, then agreed. Now, the moment hung between them, heavy and ripe.