The monsoon had finally broken by the time I returned to Rimi's Makeover. The mobile internet service was down. The rainwater was still clinging to the edges of my dupatta, and Kolkata smelled of jasmine and wet dust. The smell of freshly applied sandalwood cream and mehendi (temporary skin decoration using a paste created with henna), however, filled the parlor, which was warm and dry.

Rimi had a half-empty glass of lime soda in her hand and was sitting on her usual perch behind the counter with her legs tucked under her. When she looked up and saw me, her anklets jingled slightly.

She remained silent and carried a knowing smile.

Simply grinned, slowly and wickedly, like a cat that had foreseen the rain long before the clouds appeared.

Finally, she said, "You're glowing. You have either won the lottery or someone who isn't even in the same country has touched you in all the right places."

I released a breath. I was unaware I had been holding.

Without asking, I entered and took a seat. It was a lean hour once more, and the parlor was deserted. Only the patter of the rain outside and the faint hum of the facial steamer.

"I texted him," I muttered.

Rimi's eyes were keen as she leaned forward. "Well done, girl. And?"

"And I touched myself. With him... leading me. Word for word.”

She did not flinch and did not appear shocked. Her smile only got bigger.

Then she leaned closer with a playful frown and asked me, “I am sure you had fucked your husband to sleep before that, right?”

I nodded.

I chuckled. Silently. This laughter felt odd. My throat feels warm and round.

I said, "Rimi, it wasn't just the sex… It was the connection. He gave me a sense of being seen. Wanted. As if I were a woman once more, independent of a home or a headset.

Rimi took my hand in hers as she reached over the counter.

"I told you, darling. It wasn't wrong that you were hungry. All it did was wait. It required the appropriate voice to address.

Slowly, I nodded. I lowered my voice to a whisper. "And I'm content. I mean, truly joyful."

Rimi's eyes glistened. "And that is the rarest rebellion of all, my love."

At the time, I saw her not only as a friend but also as the silent mastermind behind this change. I had gone through the door after she had pushed it open.

"You don't believe that I'm..." I started.

"A liar? A transgressor? A futile endeavor?" She was done. "I believe that you are a woman who is at last blossoming, Alta. It is your husband's fault if he did not notice the scent.

I sat quietly. Letting the moment steep.

The rain continued to fall outside. I felt lighted from the inside out. I felt so alive!

I was wrangling my hair into this half-hearted bun, honestly just trying to look like I had my life together before stepping out. Rain was still hanging around, just a drizzle now, but the sky looked like it was holding a grudge… Clouds all dark and ugly, mixing black and gray like a storm that could not make up its mind.

My mood? Weirdly light, but my skin felt electric, like something was fizzing under the surface. I had not felt that in ages.

So, I was still fussing with my hair, and—ding—my phone chimed. Out of nowhere, the data signal’s back, bars full and proud like nothing ever happened.

In total reflex, I check the screen. And then, I swear my heart just straight up choked.

It was a message from William Saxton.

William:

I’ll be in Kolkata soon.

Can we meet and spend some time together?

Turns out he had sent that a long time ago, but, thanks to the Bermuda Triangle of mobile networks, it had been floating in digital limbo. Now, with everything back online, it is like my brain just short-circuited for a second.

Not because I was surprised, but more like...this? Him? Here? In my city? On my turf? I had not even let myself daydream about that.

I just… froze. Got one hand still tangled in my hair, fingers shaking like I had stuck them in an electric plug socket. Part of me was already brainstorming excuses. The rest? Already scrolling through my closet in my head, like, what would I even wear?

And then Rimi swoops in from the side, snatching my phone right out of my reach.

“Rimi!” I squealed, but she had got that villain grin on, thumbs moving at lightning speed.

“You’ve wasted enough time, Mishti (Sweetheart),” she shoots back, calling me sweetheart in that way only she can.

Dramatic as ever, she hammers out:

YES.

All caps. No chill.

She slams her thumb down on send. I just stare. Two blue ticks pop up almost instantly.

“Are you insane?” I hiss, honestly half-panicked, half...well, whatever the opposite of panic is.

“Probably,” Rimi says, tossing the phone back, her eyes sparkling like she has just won a bet with the universe. “But I am done sleepwalking through life. And you are too, Mrs. Alta Bose, whether you like it or not.”

“But meeting him...”

“—is exactly what your body’s been writing midnight poetry about,” she cuts in, brushing her fingers over my cheek. “Do not even try lying to me. As a matter of fact, stop lying to yourself.”

As if on cue, my phone chimed again; we both read that William had shared his travel schedule. He will be here in Kolkata next week.

The monsoon hadn't just broken; it had settled in, a humid, brooding presence over Kolkata. But inside Rimi's Makeover, a different kind of storm was brewing, one that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Four days, Alta," Rimi had said, her voice smooth as the lotions she worked with, "to become the woman you're meant to be, before you meet the man who already sees her."

Rimi didn't just talk; she interrogated. "What do you truly want, Alta? Beyond the fleeting excitement, beyond the validation. What hunger is this man stirring in you that Ronnie cannot touch?" I found myself confessing things I hadn't dared articulate even to myself...a yearning for adventure, a craving to be consumed by passion, and a desperate need to feel desired in a way that transcended duty. Rimi had nodded, a glint in her eye, offering no judgment, only a quiet affirmation: "Good. Hold onto that. It's your compass."

The most difficult hurdle, however, wasn't psychological. It was Ronnie.

"A friend's wedding," Rimi had coached, "in Darjeeling. Say my cousin, Sunita. She’s finally getting married, and you, as her oldest and dearest friend, simply must be there for the full four days of rituals."

I swallowed the lie, a bitter, exciting taste on my tongue. The real sting came next. "And invite him," Rimi had added, watching me closely. "A calculated risk, Alta. He'll decline, of course; his work is too important. But it makes the lie ring truer. It removes a layer of his potential suspicion."

That evening, the words felt like lead in my mouth. Ronnie, engrossed in a late-night blueprint on his laptop, merely grunted when I first mentioned it.

"Ronnie," I tried again, my voice softer, "Sunita's wedding is next week. Four days. I was thinking... maybe you could come with me?"

He looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow, his eyes still distant, focused on lines and angles I couldn’t comprehend. "Darjeeling? Alta, you know I can't. This new project… it's crucial. I'm practically living at the office. You go. Give Sunita my regards." He turned back to his screen, dismissing me, dismissing the invitation, and dismissing the flicker of guilt that had briefly threatened to ignite within me. He hadn't even asked which Sunita.

The calculated risk had paid off, but the casual dismissal stung more than an argument ever could. It reaffirmed Rimi's assessment: he wasn't just absent; he was oblivious.

The week passed in the blink of an eye. My leave application was approved, a simple email exchange that felt monumental. Even better, Ronnie's dismissive "You go" had landed like a soft cushion, absorbing the impact of my lie. It was D-Day! Day One of Rimi's plan was already underway, and at my H-Hour, I found myself at Rimi's doorstep far earlier than strictly necessary, buzzing with a nervous energy I hadn't felt in years.

Rimi, already at work mixing a concoction for a client, greeted me with a knowing smile. "Eager beaver, aren't we?" She teased, but her eyes held a deeper understanding. She watched me flit around the parlor, rearranging bottles and picking up magazines I didn't read. I was clearly vibrating with an excitement that transcended mere curiosity.

We spent the morning chatting, superficially at first, about the monsoon and about the slow stream of clients Rimi served. But Rimi, with her uncanny ability to peel back layers, soon steered the conversation.

"So," Rimi began, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone as she started on a client's pedicure, "the man from across the ocean. You've thought about what happens when you actually meet him, haven't you?"

I chuckled, a little too quickly. "Of course. We'll talk. Get to know each other. He's very charming on text."

Rimi paused, her hands still. She concentrated on the pedicure, and after it was all done and the client left, she looked up, her gaze direct and unwavering. "Alta. You're not going to a tea party. You're going to a hotel for two days with a man who made you whisper his name while you touched yourself. You truly believe it will stop at charming conversation?"

Rimi sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. "Mishti (Sweetie)," she said, using the endearment that softened her bluntness, "we need to talk about what 'spending time together' with William Saxton actually means. Explicitly."

My breath hitched. I'd been swept away by the thrilling game of words, the emotional validation, and the reawakened desire, but the stark, physical reality of it remained a distant, unacknowledged thought. There was a truth I had not dared to confront.

"He's coming across continents, Alta," Rimi's voice was gentle yet firm. "He's booked a hotel, and he has been direct from the start. This meetup isn't about platonic intellectual exchange. He wants you for two full days, Alta. He wants your body; he wants to be inside you. It's going to be penetrative sex, coitus, and ejaculation, you naive woman! He has already fucked you over the phone, and now he wants you for real. And if I'm reading you right, you want that too, whether you've allowed yourself to say it aloud or not. Do you get it, Mrs. Alta Bose?"

I could only stare. The starkness of Rimi’s words was like a cold splash of water. It stripped away the romanticized fantasy, laying bare the raw, carnal truth. My mind raced, a whirlwind of fear and a strange, undeniable pulse of anticipation. Shame flickered, then an exhilarating rush. Was I truly ready for that? To open myself up entirely, not just emotionally but physically, to a stranger?

"It's okay to want it, Alta," Rimi said, seeing the turmoil in my eyes. "It's okay to be scared. But you need to be clear with yourself. This isn't just about feeling 'seen.' This is about feeling everything. Are you prepared for that?"

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. The comfortable, exciting anonymity of the phone calls, the distant fantasy… it was evaporating, replaced by the imminent, tangible reality. I thought of Ronnie, his oblivious sleep, and his practiced indifference. And then I thought of William's words and his gaze, which, even through a photograph, seemed to strip me bare and see my hunger.

"Yes," I whispered, the word barely audible, yet resounding with a newfound conviction. "Yes, I am."

The admission, spoken aloud, felt like another breaking, like the heavy monsoon clouds finally giving way. It was a terrifying, exhilarating plunge into the unknown. Rimi simply smiled, a genuine, proud curve of her lips. The mental preparation was complete.

Tomorrow, the physical transformation would begin, preparing my body for a reality my mind had only just begun to grasp.