Smita

It's evening. You hear a knock on the door. When you open it, Smita is standing there in her nighty, hair still damp and wrapped in a towel, holding a steel container.

"Shri babu! Maa kahuchhanti dinner aaji late heba, so mu thoda sabji deli tame khaa. Arey, aasuni kichhi din heigala?" She smiles, adjusting her spectacles, leaning slightly against the doorframe, her nighty doing little to hide what's underneath. "Aau bolo, Rourkela re sabu bhalaa? Single raho office re?"