The sun scorched my face and arms. Sweat flowed like a rivulet. I raced barefoot under the shadows of trees and bushes. At the end of the mud path, I slipped on the wet clay and slid down to the edge of the women-only part of the river.
There were only two guys in the distance. The water was clear. Black veins streaked through the fine brown sand, and sunlight glinted off mother-of-pearl fragments. The water sparkled, the gentle ripples intoxicated. Dried leaves and flower bunches from prayer offerings bobbed in the inlet. I peeled off my dress, waded in, and lay back. Just like matka water, cooled by the surrounding red hibiscus bushes, whose flowers women plucked constantly, and coconut tree fronds swishing and shuddering in the wind.
I couldn’t doze. I might die if I forgot to stay awake. So I dreamt of cousin’s friend Cute Guy. Strong white hairy legs, t-shirt clinging to his lean chest. Cousin said Cute Guy’s girlfriend in Mumbai was gorgeous. This was summer holidays. There were things like... Voices! I lifted my head. Shallow footsteps splashed towards me. I lowered my head below the water and shut my eyes. The footsteps stopped and then walked over slowly, some of the water slopping over my face. My heartbeat felt like a dinner gong beaten by an irate kitchen worker.
A shadow crouched. Ripples flooded my ears. A finger tickled my arm. The face came closer and blew on my nose. Fear coursed through me.
Eventually, he stood. My eyes flew open. Cute Guy! Grinning! He reached out a hand to help me up. I shook my head, my barely-clothed body tingling with embarrassment. He gave me a thumbs up.
My cousin shouted. Cute Guy hurried over, and their voices began to recede.
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