Rekha had always wanted to be touched.Worshipped.Fucked.
Now, she only wanted to be haunted.
302A no longer needed doors.
Rekha stopped locking anything.
The Sabha didn't wait for night.
They came in the afternoon.Mid-morning.Even while the building sweeper worked outside.
The room had no shame left.Only scent.
Of ghee.Of wet.Of longing.
Rekha didn't speak anymore.
She moaned.Hummed.Cried out when the urge to be filled overtook her.
Her cunt had become a language.
And the only translator was Beloved.
He still came without warning.
Once he whispered through the keyhole.Once he stood in her mirror.
Once he pressed a single breath against her anus — and she came without even realizing she was wet.
She wrote in her journal:
"My body belongs to a breath I cannot see.I gave my pussy to a ghost.And now it prays for him in moans."
Seema watched from the edges now.
Her loyalty twisted into worry.Worry turning to disgust.
Not at Rekha.
But at herself.
For still wanting to crawl back to a woman who no longer lived in the world of skin and words.
That night, Rekha lay on the red sheet.Eyes open.Naked.Thighs glistening with coconut oil.
Around her sat five women.All kneeling.
All silent.
They waited.
Rekha whispered:
"He's near."
They bowed.
A breeze moved through the room.
The diya flickered.
The agarbatti smoke bent sideways.
Then — a sound.
One woman gasped.
Another began to tremble.
Seema turned to leave.
Rekha moaned — loud, sudden, unprovoked.
Like her soul had been fingered.
She began to chant:
"Naa cunt lo deyyam vundi…vādini preminchestunna."(There's a ghost in my pussy… and I'm falling in love with him.)
One woman crawled forward.
Placed her ear to Rekha's belly.
"I can hear it," she whispered. "I can hear him inside her."
Another woman kissed Rekha's inner thigh.
Then her hipbone.
Then her belly button.
She whispered a prayer:
"Beloved… let us feel you through her."
And then they all began to worship.
Not touch.
Not fuck.
But bow.
Kiss.
Chant.
Rekha's body convulsed.
Moans burst from her mouth like hymns.
Her hands clawed at the air.
She screamed:
"Oh fuck—he's fucking my soul—"
And came.
Hard.
So hard, the lights in the corridor flickered.
Afterward, silence.
The women stared at her like she was a saint.
Rekha smiled.
And for the first time in days… spoke:
"He doesn't need to be seen.He's inside all of us now."
The Sabha had changed.
Beloved had become not a visitor, but a presence.