Chapter 1: The Mix-Up

After work, I gently pushed Neha onto the bed, my heart thumping wildly as I kissed her—my hands trembling while the ceiling fan hummed its familiar tuk-tuk above. The faint scent of agarbatti from the puja corner hung in the air, mixing with the pressure cooker whistle echoing from the neighbour’s kitchen.

She struggled beneath me, trying to push me away, her voice caught in her throat.

Her bangles clinked nervously as she tried to twist aside, one hand clutching her dupatta, surprise flickering in her eyes. I felt her tense up in a way that didn’t feel quite like Neha—there was a different perfume, a sharper note, and her body stiffened more quickly than usual.

As I continued, I saw her face turning an intense red, cheeks flushed, almost matching the bindi on her forehead. She looked away, avoiding my gaze, caught in that familiar, awkward moment—as if she’d been caught sneaking a laddoo before dinner.

We’ve been together so long, like an old married couple. How could she still blush so easily?

A smug thought crept in: “Accha, madam still gets shy after all these months?”

But—blushing? That was odd. Neha never blushed like this. A cold suspicion chilled my chest, my mind flashing with confusion. Something was off.

I shot up, suddenly horrified. The room fell silent except for the fan, and somewhere outside, a WhatsApp ping sounded, slicing through the stillness.

"Jiju, you..." came the soft, slightly edged voice—not quite how Neha would say it. My heart pounded as I realised my mistake.

"Uh, where’s your sister?" I stammered, my tongue dry as if I’d chewed too much saunf.

"She just left," she replied, glancing away, her voice barely above a whisper. I noticed her quickly adjusting her dupatta, eyes darting from mine, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, you two really look too much alike, I..." My words stumbled out, each syllable more foolish than the last.

"Jiju, I’ll go now." She whispered, half to herself, "Mummy will kill me if she finds out." With a rush, she slipped on her sandals and hurried out, her feet making soft pad-pad sounds on the old mosaic floor, hair still a mess. The door clicked shut, echoing in my guilty ears.

If I’d known this misunderstanding would make her fall for me, I wouldn’t have done it even if you beat me to death.

Arrey bhagwan, if only I could rewind time like on TV! My face burned with shame, hands trembling as I sat on the bed, cursing my stupidity.

My girlfriend has a twin sister. The two of them look almost identical—same height, same weight, same features. The only way to tell them apart is the tiny mole under Neha’s right ear—something I’d often missed myself.

Even their voices are the same. Neha once said they were born just a minute apart. Her mother always joked, “God used the same mould twice, bas. Double blessing.”

Their personalities are different, though. My girlfriend is introverted and quiet, while her sister is outgoing and bold. At family functions, Ritu would be laughing with the uncles, while Neha sat beside her mother, eyes lowered, picking at her saree’s edge.

Today, Neha hadn’t mentioned her sister was coming. I’d mixed them up, ending up both passionate and terribly embarrassed. I scratched my head in frustration, the way my father does when the electricity bill arrives. I could almost hear my mother’s voice: “Dekho, ab toh baal bhi safed ho jayenge!”

Ten minutes later, Neha came back from the market, arms loaded with vegetables and paneer. Her dupatta slipped from one shoulder as she set the bags on the dining table. The spicy aroma of coriander and the plastic tang of fresh paneer filled the room. The heat of the afternoon still clung to her skin, beads of sweat shining on her brow.

"Hey, where’s my sister?" She paused, fiddling with a knot in the plastic bag, then looked at me, expectant.

"Uh, she left." I avoided her gaze, busy rearranging the tomatoes that had rolled across the table.

"Left? Why did she leave?" Her eyes narrowed—just like her mother’s when she suspects someone’s eaten the last gulab jamun. I broke into a cold sweat.

I fumbled for words. "She... suddenly had something urgent, so she left." My voice tried to sound casual, but cracked, betraying me. My heart thudded like a tabla at Ganpati visarjan.

"How is that possible?" Neha eyed me with growing suspicion. "I’ll call her."

I watched her pull out her battered Redmi, her face set. My stomach twisted into knots. If Ritu revealed the truth...

I pictured the colony aunties whispering, “Dekho na, uska boyfriend kitna besharam hai.” The fear was worse than anything else.

Even if I jumped into the Ganga, my name wouldn’t be cleared.

The old family saying, “Naam mitti me mil jayega,” echoed in my mind, making me feel even smaller.

I watched Neha scroll to Ritu’s number, her fingers trembling just a bit. The blue glow of the screen lit her face. I counted every ring, holding my breath.

"Her phone’s off?" She pressed again, frowning. The gold nose pin on her face seemed to flare with her irritation.

A third try—still silent. Relief washed over me like cool water on a June day.

Finally, I breathed out, silently promising to always double-check who I was with before doing anything intimate.

I offered a silent prayer to the family kuldevta, swearing to avoid any more filmi mix-ups.

"Maybe... maybe she just had something urgent..." I tried to sound normal, fiddling with the paneer packet, but my fingers shook.

Neha stared into my eyes. "You’re acting weird."

Her gaze was sharp, like a teacher catching a student cheating in a board exam.

"What’s weird about me?" I forced a laugh, but even I could hear my nervousness.

"Whenever you lie, you stutter. Don’t you know that yourself?" She crossed her arms, tapping her foot, just like her father before a scolding.

"I... I didn’t stutter." My tongue tripped again. My forehead felt sticky with sweat, despite the fan spinning above.

"Then why are you blushing?" She cocked her head, her earrings catching the light.

"Isn’t it just too hot in here?" I wiped my forehead with my kurta’s edge, trying to act casual.

"Hot? Hot enough to make you sweat all over?" She shot back, eyebrow raised.

Quickly, I changed the topic. "Let me put the sabzi in the fridge. Since your sister left, there’s no way the two of us can finish all this."

I gathered the vegetables and fled to the kitchen, heart pounding, back prickling with embarrassment. The sharp smell of methi leaves and the cold fridge air was oddly soothing.

"Did you two do something behind my back?" Her voice followed, sharp as a knife, making me almost drop the bag of okra.

As I put away the groceries, I replied without meeting her eyes: "How could we? What could we possibly do? What are you thinking?" I made extra noise with the fridge door, pretending to be busy, but my ears burned. My hands shook so much I nearly dropped the milk packet.

"Next time I see her, I’m going to ask her directly." Neha’s voice rang from the living room, clear and determined.

"Go ahead, go ahead," I answered, feeling guilty. Inside, my heart thudded. I prayed she’d forget, but knowing Neha, she’d never let it go easily.