They did not dare wear clothes.
Shirts stayed on the floor. Jeans stayed inside out. Bras and panties stayed in the basket like evidence. The bolt stayed on the main door. Skin stayed the only uniform.
Sleep took them in pieces.
Sanjay and Puja on the bed, her back to his chest, his limp cock against her ass, not asking for anything.
Raja on the outer side of the same mattress, Sonam half on him, hair stuck to his mouth.
Vivek on the sofa because there was no room, Akriti on top of him like a claim, one leg hanging to the tiles, her breast on his arm.
No covering. No performance of shame.
In the dark, every mole was already counted. Every birthmark. The scar on Akriti’s ribs. The mark on Sonam’s hip. The bite on Puja’s shoulder from last night. The shape of three sisters. The shape of three brothers. Nothing left to discover by accident in a bathroom steam.
The day ended.
What started as a booking, a park, a packed dinner, a bottle game, a cable film at 3 a.m., had burned the last curtain.
A new chapter in the brother-sister relationship sat on the furniture with them: not hidden, not holy, not a clip on a phone. Known. Named. Used. Asleep without cloth, because there was no point in cloth when there was nothing left on the body that the others had not already seen, tasted, slapped, or been told about in the light.
Outside, the lane went quiet.
Inside, six people slept as they were.
