By midnight, the party had wound down, guests hugging goodbye under the porch light. Ajay and Sanjay lingered, rolling up their sleeves with exaggerated sighs. “Can’t leave you with this mess, bro,” Sanjay grinned, grabbing a broom while Ajay stacked plates. Mummy beamed at them from the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. “Such good boys. Come, help and I’ll make midnight tea.”
The cleanup turned into its own party—Ajay blasting Bollywood remixes from his phone, Sanjay doing ridiculous dance moves with the mop, me tossing balled-up napkins at them like free throws. Mummy joined in, her laughter throaty and genuine as she bent to sweep confetti, saree riding up her calves, the boys’ eyes darting to the sway of her hips when she thought no one noticed. We traded stories: Ajay recounting his epic fail at flirting with a girl from tuition, Sanjay admitting he’d snuck a beer once and puked everywhere, me blushing through tales of my awkward crushes. Mummy shared too—light, teasing glimpses of her youth, like the time she ditched college for a secret picnic with Papa, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia that made my chest tighten. The air thickened with easy camaraderie, the kind laced with undercurrents: stolen glances at her full breasts straining the saree blouse as she reached high to untangle streamers, the faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone catching the light.
By 2 AM, the house gleamed again, floors mopped, dishes dried. Mummy straightened, stretching with a soft groan that sent a jolt straight to my groin. “It’s too late for you boys to head home now—streets are empty, and this rain’s picking up. Stay the night.” Her voice was warm, maternal, but her gaze lingered on us a beat too long, perhaps sensing the electric hum in the room. Ajay and Sanjay exchanged grins—”Twist our arms, Aunty”—and we all agreed, crashing onto the living room sofas with fresh blankets she fetched, her saree whispering against her thighs as she moved.
No one was sleepy, though—the adrenaline from the party lingered like a buzz. Sanjay sat up first. “Boring to just lie here. Let’s play truth or dare—old school style.” Ajay whooped; I hesitated, but Mummy surprised us all by plopping down cross-legged on the rug, saree pooling around her like silk waves. “Why not? I played this in college. But keep it fun, na?”
The game started light, circles of laughter rippling through the dim lamplight. Ajay dared Sanjay to do ten push-ups while singing a love song—off-key and breathless, we howled. Sanjay truth-asked me my most embarrassing Mummyent: admitting I’d once peed my pants in third grade during a school play. Mummy’s turn: truth from Ajay—”Who’s your celebrity crush?” He blushed, mumbling “Deepika Padukone.” Then dare for her: Sanjay challenged her to imitate a Bollywood dance move. She stood gracefully, hips swaying in a slow, sensual circle to an imaginary beat, saree fabric clinging to her curves, breasts jiggling softly—the boys’ eyes widened, breaths hitching, while I fought the jealous heat pooling in my gut.