Give it a Try

Neha had moved through the evening like a woman with a secret. Dinner had been simple—dal and rice, a bit of pickle—just enough to feed the boys and Rahul without raising suspicion. Afterward, she had wiped her hands on her apron and made the call to a family friend, arranging for the boys to stay overnight. Unusual for a Monday, yes, but she had insisted. She wanted the apartment quiet, just the two of them, no interruptions.

Rahul had asked why, of course, his brows knit with that patient curiosity of his. She'd only smiled and told him she wanted some time alone with him. Time to talk about their future.

Now, sitting together in the living room, she folded her hands in her lap and tried to find the words.

"I've made a new friend," she began. Her voice surprised her—calm, certain. "A woman named Donna Granger."

Rahul tilted his head. "Donna?"

"She's… different. Supportive, in ways I didn't expect. Today, she gave me something I didn't think I'd ever have again." Neha let herself breathe. "A chance. She offered me a position at her law firm. I'll have to learn, of course, but she believes I can do it. And with her guidance, I will."

She saw Rahul's expression soften, his shoulders loosen. "That's good news, Neha. If it makes you happy…"

"It will," she said, with more certainty than she expected—knowing that Donna believed in her was overcame her self-doubt.

For a moment they sat together in a comfortable quiet. Neha's heart began to race. She smoothed the folds of her sari, then looked at him, steady. "I have a surprise for you," she said.

"A surprise?"

"Yes. Wait here. In the living room."

She rose before he could ask more, retreating down the short hall to their bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, pulse thrumming in her throat. The shopping bags from earlier sat by the dresser, brimming with silks, lace, satins—gifts, Donna had called them. Gifts from an ideal mother.

Her fingers found the cheerleader costume. Red, white, and blue, cut far shorter than anything she had ever owned. The letters blazed across the chest in bold white: SLUT.

She changed quickly, trembling as she pulled the fabric tight across her breasts, tugged the skirt low over her hips. In the mirror, she hardly recognized herself.

From the other side of the door, she heard Rahul's voice. "Neha? What are you doing?"

She swallowed, then raised her voice so he could hear. "I've been thinking about what you said, about Indira. About how maybe I need to see the world through her eyes a little. When I was younger, Rahul, I inspired you. Do you remember? Maybe we lost something along the way. Maybe it's time we tried to bring some of it back."

She opened the door.

Rahul's eyes went wide. "Neha! What are you wearing?"

She stepped out, steady on bare feet, the skimpy uniform clinging to her like a second skin. The word SLUT glared at him, daring him to look away. He didn't. Crossing the room, she knelt before him, settling between his legs.

"It's not what I'm wearing that matters," she said softly, her hands resting on his knees. "It's what I'm willing to do, to be, for you. My man."

Rahul flinched, torn between desire and disbelief. "You don't have to… change yourself for me. I've always loved you as you are. You don't have to become… whatever this is."

Her lips curved, but her eyes were sharp. "I've been holding onto old ways, Rahul. Old thinking. I love you—but you deserve more than what I've given. I see that now."

Her hands slid higher, fingers brushing the fabric of his pants. She felt the heat beneath. "Let me try. Just once. If you don't like it, then we'll forget it ever happened."

"Neha…" His voice was a warning, but weak.

She unfastened his belt with a sure hand, tugging at his zipper. "At least give me a chance to show you what I can be," she whispered, drawing his hardness into her hand. She looked up, eyes fierce and tender all at once. "Give your wife a try."