The contrast was obvious to Binita. Every single time her husband Pritam drew her into his arms, she could feel those arms as being lean and non --muscular; the arms of a pen-pusher in a city office. As she ground chillies in the kitchen assisting her mother-in-law, she extended that thought even to the young men she had encountered in the city who were regular gym goers. Their muscles were bulging and hard, yes, but there something artificial about it.

There was something far more appealing about the muscle and tone of the body of a man who had achieved that from working on the farm and handling rough things. And that man was Thakur. The contrast between how he felt, and how his son felt was so very obvious. The muscle and the strength of the older man's arms matched the roughness and calluses on his hands. That roughness brought an electric friction to the caressing of her soft skin. It was like a flint to match, setting her alight.