The Murderer Vanished, The Widow Lied
Chapter 15: The Lipstick’s Secret
That lipstick was brought by Kunal, Jitendra’s site friend—char sau pachaas ka, subtle shade, not too bold, but chamakdaar, making Anjali look zinda.
In gaon, such cheezein are rare; most women use narial tel and kajal. But Anjali liked choti city waali cheezein, even if she scolded about the daam.
She fussed, “Kya zaroorat thi? Dupatta mil jaata, itne mein toh achha khaasaa.”
Jitendra waited as Anjali took the lipstick, black case, wine-red stick, applied it upper, then lower, pressed lips, pouted: “Achha lag raha hai?”
He grinned, nodded. TV in the next kamra played old film song, the only other awaaz.
“Bilkul mast.” Before the words were out, Jitendra kissed her hard.
Lipstick was really something—no wonder sheher ki auratein use karti hain. Kissing lips with lipstick—naya ehsaas. Earlier, Anjali’s lips were always dry, sometimes chhil chhil. Now, smooth and fragrant.
Jitendra felt like he was floating in lipstick ki khushboo.
Later, he’d say, "Us raat ki khushboo aaj tak yaad hai."
