Sometimes she reminisced about food she missed and the temple festivals. They wondered whether the monsoon rains truly came down so heavily this year that the streets flooded waist-high.
For Asha, those brief conversations became precious. It fed that secret part of her that missed home. Then, one afternoon she walked in and immediately knew something was wrong.
The girl stood near the shelves arranging tins. Normally she would smile and talk like she couldn't wait to get the words out. Today she did not look their way. Her nervous eyes darted once toward Asha before dropping instantly to the floor.
“Shanti,” Tanay chirped happily, reaching for the sweets jar.
The girl did not answer.
“Shanti?” Asha tried again, a question in her voice.
Fingers fumbled clumsily with a tin.
Then the girl’s mother appeared from the back room so suddenly it almost startled her.
“Shanti,” she snapped sharply, all the while looking at Asha like she was a criminal. “Inside.”
The girl fled without looking up. Asha stood very still. The older woman wiped her hands on her apron slowly. For a moment neither spoke.
Then the woman sighed.
“A cat drinks milk and closes her eyes,” she said with an air of finality, “thinking nobody sees her do it.”
Heat flooded Asha’s face. For a moment, everything seemed to spin.
The woman avoided her eyes as she continued stacking vegetables.
“This is not India,” she murmured. “But that does not mean you can forget people are watching.”
Asha swallowed hard.
“I did nothing wrong.”
The woman’s lips were stretched thin with disapproval. Lines of fatigue bracketed her mouth and forehead.
“Maybe not.” She glanced toward the street. “But they will still punish the woman first.”
Asha stood there in a daze. It was true, every word. She knew what was unsaid. She was a bad influence for a young girl.
She nodded once, unable to speak. Then she gathered a protesting Tanay’s hand quickly and left without buying anything. Outside, the cold air burned her cheeks and the breeze dried her tears.
Halfway back to the pub, she realised her hands were trembling.
***
That evening, James noticed something was wrong immediately. He cornered her near the back steps while the others shouted over cards and beer inside.
“What happened?”
“Nothing," she whispered through dry cracked lips.
“Asha.”
There was a demand in his voice but she didn't look up. She kept pulling a frayed thread from her apron like her life depended on it.
Finally, she whispered, “People know.”
James sighed. The others had been ribbing him about getting lucky.
