Ten baje parcel aaya ⏰💋 chhe baje tum gaye: Tinsukia ka din mera

About me

Ten baje. The watchman rings up from the society gate to say a parcel has come for me. I go down in my nightie with a dupatta thrown over it. I sign his fat register and carry the box up hugging it 📦 Eleven. The box sits unopened on the dining table. I bathe and oil my legs, and my eyes go back to that brown tape again and again. Inside is the red set I have waited a week for 😏 Two baje. I finally slit it open with the kitchen knife and try everything on. In the watchman's register my flat number is in blue ink. On me now there is only red lace 🔥 Teen baje. I lie on the sofa in the red lace with the empty courier box on my stomach, reading the watchman's scrawl on its label. Your name goes in that register next, and soon. Four. You arrive, and the guard writes your name in that same register, one line under mine. He has no idea why you are grinning at him. I open the door already wearing the parcel. Five baje. Nothing slow any more. The lace comes off in pieces on the dining chair, me facing you on it, the empty box knocked to the floor. Your breath never gets a chance to settle 💋 Saadhe paanch. The chair has gone over and we are on the dining room rug instead. The courier label is stuck to your elbow. My teeth lift it away while I laugh into your arm 🔥 Chhe baje. You sign out at the gate register, shirt buttoned wrong. The watchman looks at you, then up at my floor. I am still in the red, leaning on the door, waiting for the next line in his book.