Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

I already said this at the start—Pavitra is a slow-burn, emotionally layered story. If you're here for cheap thrills or shallow judgments, get out. This story was never written for your kind.

Before calling Pavitra a ‘slut,’ try imagining this as a mirror. What if it was your mother, your sister, or your wife—trapped in a cold, loveless marriage, begging for one moment of real touch, real love? Would you still throw that word around so casually, or would you finally shut your mouth and feel something?

You slut-shame because it's easier than facing the truth—that women around you are bleeding in silence, just like Pavitra. But I promise you this: this story isn’t here to comfort your fragile morals. It’s here to disturb you. Because some of you need that slap across your hypocrisy.

[DeviKamasutra]

Just the thread I was looking for. A slow burn story always stays even after the read.

[yazhiniram]

The sunlight had climbed halfway up the living room tiles.
She had just wiped the dining table. A few grains of dried sambar rice still clung to the bottom of her fingers. The kids had gone. The elder one without socks, the younger one with a sticker stuck to his hair.
She poured water from the copper jug into a tumbler and sat near the window.
The steel chair was hot. She shifted slightly, letting the back of her nightie unstick from her skin. It clung around her thighs, especially where the sweat had settled while she was wiping the kitchen slab earlier.
She hadn’t changed since morning.
After that moment with Raj… she hadn’t touched her wardrobe.
That accidental bend, the half-open zip, the way he stood near the kitchen door without stepping in—polite, as always. But still, her chest had refused to stay still since.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He didn’t look down. But something in the silence told me… he had already seen.
And chose to look away.
Even now, her nipple felt slightly sore—brushed too hard against the cloth as she’d rushed to zip herself up.

---

She was wiping her face with the end of her nightie when the phone rang.
Not a message. A call.
Kartik.
She picked up.
P: “Haan.”
K: “Lunch?”
P: “Going to. Rasam’s on the stove.”
K: “Hmm. Listen. Arjun’s coming.”
She paused, her hand stopping halfway to adjust her hair.
P: “Where?”
K: “Chennai. Transfer. Same company. New role. Starting next week.”
She stood up slowly, turned off the fan, and walked to the kitchen.
P: “He found a room?”
K: “No, no. I told him to stay with us for now. A few days. Till he figures out hostel or PG.”
She didn’t speak immediately.
The lid on the rasam vessel was shaking. Boil was starting.
Kartik’s voice returned. “It’s okay no, pa? You know him. He’s comfortable here.”
She reached for the ladle.
P: “Yeah.”
K: “He’ll come Saturday. Sent a bag ahead by courier. I’ll bring it home if it reaches office.”
P: “Hmm.”
K: “That’s all. I’ll be in calls till 5. Don’t wait for me.”
P: “Okay.”
Call ended.

---

She didn’t move right away.
Just stared at the rasam bubbling like it had nowhere else to go.
Arjun.
It had been two years. Maybe more.
The last time he visited, he was thinner. Still talking about interviews and Bangalore traffic and his broken shoe lace.
Same crooked smile. A bag of snacks in one hand. T-shirt hanging off his shoulder like he still hadn’t learned how to wear a proper collar.
The boys had jumped on him, called him chithappa like it was a cartoon name.
She had made coffee. He had slurped it like a hostel student.
And now he was coming again.
Not as a guest.
Not for a weekend.
To stay.

---

She opened the fridge, pulled out a lemon, cut it into four, and stared at the juice trickling down her palm.
Why did her breath feel… tight?
It wasn’t fear.
Just something else.
Something that made her press her thighs together without realising.

---

She wiped her hand on the towel, turned the gas off, and let the steam fill the kitchen.
Her mind was quiet.
But somewhere inside, a picture of him stood up.
A boy with long arms.
Hair that always looked like he had just woken up.
Eyes that smiled faster than his mouth.
She exhaled slowly, adjusted her nightie strap, and muttered—
“He's coming…”
As if saying it aloud would make it less real.

[yazhiniram]

The sun was not hot anymore.
It had turned that soft gold colour—where everything on the floor looks warmer than it is. The TV was on. One boy was crying because the other had taken his pencil box. She handed him a Marie biscuit without saying a word.
Kartik had sent a message. “Stuck in call. Eat without me if late.”
She wiped her hands and tied her hair into a loose plait. Checked the fridge.
Two tomatoes. One shrivelled. No onions. No coriander.
The cloth bag was still hanging on the hook near the back door.
She changed into a churidhar. No make-up. No kajal. Just a small red bindi.
Dupatta folded and pinned on one shoulder—not even around the chest fully. She didn’t care.
But the moment she stepped into her slippers…
She remembered Arjun.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Saturday is two days away. That’s it.
One boy is coming to stay. Kartik’s own thambi.
So why am I feeling like I have to change how I walk in my own house?

---

She shut the door gently. The corridor was quiet. Only the sound of vessels from upstairs. Maybe someone cooking fish.
The lift was slow. She didn’t wait.
Took the stairs.
As she walked down past the second floor, her hand touched the railing by habit.
It was warm from sunlight.
By the time she reached the lobby, her steps had settled. Mind slightly quieter.
But when she neared the main gate…
She felt it.
Eyes.
Not imagined.
Watched.

---

The new security guy was standing beside the stool, drinking tea from a paper cup.
Tall. Maybe North Indian. Wheatish. Slim but not skinny. Blue shirt tucked too neatly.
She had noticed him once or twice. That’s all.
But today?
Today, he noticed her.
Head to toe.
Not once.
Twice.
And the second time, his eyes stayed on her chest longer than a second.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Cheap fellow.
Look somewhere else.
She didn’t look at him directly. Just walked.
But her spine straightened.
Her chin lifted slightly.
And her thighs?
They tightened. Almost on their own.

---

Outside, the street had that usual mix of scooter horns, boys playing near the transformer box, and the smell of fried snacks from the shop.
She walked with her head still high.
Not proud.
Just… aware.
The grocer gave her a smile. Usual rate. No coriander today.
She nodded. Took the change. Wiped her palms on her dupatta.
And on the way back…
Her fingers pressed slightly harder against the cloth bag.
Because she knew—
That man’s eyes would be there again.

---

And they were.
This time, he stood a little straighter.
His eyes didn't blink.
And Pavitra…
She didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t frown.
Didn’t cover herself.
She walked straight past him.
And let him see her back.
The curve of her hips. The fall of her dupatta. The quiet rhythm of a woman who had nothing to prove… but something starting to burn.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He looked.
He doesn’t deserve to.
But still…
He looked.
And part of me…
Let him.

[yazhiniram]

The chillness from the vegetables had already faded by the time she entered the lobby.
But her body still held the warmth of that look.
The security guy—new fellow. He had looked at her with that mix of “see once, see again” boldness.
Not a mistake. Not accidental.

You’ve seen breasts before, idiot. Stop acting like it’s news.
She didn’t glare. Just walked. Bag in one hand. Chin held straight.
But the feel of his stare?
It didn’t stay outside.

---

She turned the corner towards the lift.
The door was already open.
And inside—
Radhika akka and Ram.
Radhika was talking, turning toward him with a small laugh. Something about car washing coupons.
Ram just stood there. Calm. Holding his keys. Shirt sleeves folded to elbow. Slight stubble. Nothing flashy. Just… solid.
He looked up when he saw her.
Nodded. Quiet smile.
She stepped in. The plastic bag crinkled as it rubbed against her hip.
Radhika smiled, “Shopping-a?”
“Just quick veggies,” Pavitra replied. “Got some milk too.”
The door closed.

---

The lift hummed upward.
Small silence.
Radhika leaned slightly against the railing.
Ram was beside her—not touching, but near.
Pavitra noticed it now.
The air between them.
Nothing loud.
Nothing romantic.
Just... stillness. Comfort. A kind of closeness that didn't ask permission.
And him?
His presence felt different. Grounded.
Like a tree that had grown two feet taller since last week.

---

She turned slightly, her voice light: “Let’s drink tea and then go home. I just got milk also.”
Radhika laughed. “Aiyyo, not now. Let us come properly one day. Clean and peaceful.”
Pavitra smiled, shaking her head. “One cup only. Fresh milk, full fat.”
Ram looked at Radhika once. Didn’t speak.
Radhika hesitated.
They were thinking.
Not rejecting.
Just… unsure.
The lift slowed.
Bell sound. Her floor.
She stepped out, pausing with one hand on the grill gate.
“Come if you want. I’ll start the kettle anyway.”

---

The lift slowed.
Pavitra pulled open the grill gate with one hand, balancing the warm vegetable bag in the other.
She stepped out first.

Ram stepped out.
No smile. No drama. Just followed Pavitra out like it was the most natural thing.
Pavitra didn’t say anything.
She didn’t even look surprised.
Radhika blinked.
She stood there. A half-second. Then followed.

---

That’s it.
One step forward. And I knew.
This man… he’ll follow.
Not because I pull him.
But because he’s already walking toward me.

---

The front door was open.
Inside, noise.
Slippers scattered.
Pencils on the floor.
The smell of fevicol from some craft project gone wrong.
The boys were shouting from the hall.
“Maaa! Look, rocket drawing!”
“Amma! Tell him don’t touch my sharpener!”
Ram smiled and walked toward them.
“Drawing, ah?” he asked. “Show me. Whose rocket goes higher?”
The boys didn’t know him well.
But they knew energy when they saw it.
They accepted him quickly—talking over each other, waving papers.

---

Pavitra walked into the kitchen.
She opened the fridge, took out the milk packet, and placed the steel vessel on the stove.
Radhika followed, hesitating for a second at the doorway.
“Shall I help?” she asked, eyes scanning the countertop.
Pavitra nodded. “Sugar tin is there. Dabara set is in the top shelf.”
She pulled her dupatta across her chest once and tucked it loosely.
The flame danced under the milk vessel.
Outside, Ram was still talking to the boys.
Asking questions. Not loudly.
But the kind of voice children listen to without knowing why.

---

There are men who ask before entering.
And men who just walk in like they’ve always belonged.
Ram didn’t knock.
And I didn’t stop him.

---

The milk bubbled once. Rose. Settled.
Radhika wiped the counter with a tissue. Pavitra dropped tea powder into the boiling milk.
Her fingers moved normally.
But somewhere behind her spine…
A thread was pulling tight.

[masud93]

thanks for update,,,and my humble request "give A Long Big update,,,,

[AjitKumar]

Very niceee

[yazhiniram]

The milk had just settled into the coffee. The foam rose soft.
Pavitra wiped the side of the dabara set with the towel and placed all three cups on the tray.
“Strong but not bitter,” she murmured.
Radhika nodded. “He likes it that way. I’ll take the cups. You bring the spoons.”
But Pavitra picked up the tray before she could.
“I’ll go. You relax for once,” she said with a smile.
Radhika followed her to the doorway.
Just as Pavitra stepped out—
Radhika blinked. “Aiyyo! Sugar! I forgot completely!”
She turned back toward the kitchen.

---

Pavitra walked out into the hall.
The evening sun had faded now. Tube light buzzed. TV volume is low. Boys arguing over a pencil sharpener.
Ram looked up as she entered. Eyes steady. One leg crossed over the other.
She walked straight to him.
Bend.
Tray forward.
Cup lifted.
Offered.
But—
He didn’t touch the cup.
He touched her hand.
Fingers curled around her palm.
Warm. Firm. Present.
Not tight.
But not letting go.

---

Her Mind:
Fuck.
His hand is holding mine.
Not the cup.
Me.
His thumb rested near the inside of her wrist.
Pulse.
He felt it.
She stared at him.
Face calm. Heart screaming.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t pull away.
Just tilted her head slightly—chin toward the kitchen.
Your wife’s coming, idiot.
Ram didn’t move.
Didn’t smile.
But his thumb… made one small circle over her wrist bone.
Her inner thighs pulsed.
A soft wetness bloomed.
She swallowed once.
Held her breath.
And then—
Footsteps.
Radhika.

---

Ram let go.
Took the cup from her hand like it was nothing.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes already on the coffee.
Pavitra turned and walked back slowly.

---

Her Mind:
He held my hand.
Not in secret.
Not in panic.
But like it was his.
And me?
I didn’t stop him.
Just warned him that time was short.

---

Radhika handed her the sugar tin with a grin. “I always forget something. I’m hopeless.”
Pavitra smiled.
But her hand?
Still warm.
Still tingling.
Still remembering the shape of his fingers.
And her pussy?
Wet.
Not because of what happened.
But because of what almost did.

---

The last sips had gone quiet.
Only the fan moved now, whispering in soft beats above them.
Radhika stood up first, adjusting her kurti.
“Okay, done pa. Let’s go. Your husband might come home and chase us out.”
Pavitra laughed gently. “Let him. I’ll tell him the filter coffee was better than his mood.”
Ram smiled faintly. “I’ll second that.”
Pavitra picked up the tray. One hand steady under it.
Radhika walked toward the door, still talking about weekend plans.
Ram stood up behind her, phone sliding into his pocket.
As he stepped past Pavitra—
His hand brushed her ass.
Light.
Soft.
Not too firm.
But not too far either.

---

Her Mind:
Wait.
Did that just—
Yes.
That was not the tray.
Not the sofa.
That was his fucking palm on my backside.
Was it an accident?
Maybe.
But the way it lingered for that half-second?
That was not innocent.

---

She didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t turn.
She stood like nothing happened.
But inside her body?
A silent explosion.
Her thighs pressed together.
Her pussy throbbed once.
Hard.

---

Ram kept walking.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t speak.
Radhika was already near the lift, calling him.
He joined her.
She turned once. “Thanks for the coffee, Pavi!”
Pavitra smiled. “Come anytime.”
She stood there.
Tray in hand.
Ass is still buzzing from his skin.

---

Her Mind – Me:
That palm knew where it touched.
And it didn’t say sorry.
I didn’t want sorry.
I wanted more.
And now…
So does my pussy.

---

The door clicked shut.
She walked to the sink.
Wash one tumbler.
Then leaned both hands against the steel slab.
The tray clattered softly behind her.
But inside her panties…
a slow, warm wetness spread.
And it had nothing to do with coffee.

[Dumeelkumar]

Lovely update

[Hotyyhard]

i think ram also playing his cards slowly

[yazhiniram]

7:30 AM.
The sun had already slipped through the grill, painting lines across the dining table.
Inside the kitchen, the idli cooker whistled low.
Pavitra moved in rhythm.
Pour. Flip. Wipe. Serve.
Two plates. Two kids. One husband—half-awake, half-scrolling.
“Take it hot,” she said, dropping the last idli on Kartik’s plate.
He nodded, still rubbing his eyes. “You made chutney also?”
“Mmm.”
She placed a cup of tea next to him. “Strong. No sugar.”
“Perfect,” he murmured.
She didn’t reply. She was already filling the kettle.

---

By 8:00, the kitchen was clean.
Lunch prep done halfway. Tamarind soaking. Rice measured. Dabba lids clicked shut.
She stood in front of the mirror, wiping her forehead.
Today’s chudi was a deep green cotton, with white threadwork near the sleeves.
Fitting. Clean. Not flashy.
But her curves?
Still spoke.
She tied her hair into a ponytail. Slipped on her slippers.
Lift key. Wallet. Cloth bag.
Out.

---

The lobby was half-lit.
Newspaper bundles still near the pillar. Someone’s child’s bicycle resting against the wall.
She walked straight across toward the exit.
And then—
That look.
From the corner.
Security cabin.
That same man.
He was sitting on the plastic chair, phone in hand.
But his eyes?
Lifted. Followed her.
Started at her face.
Dropped.
Paused.
Stuck around her chest.
Moved lower.
Stayed near her hips.
Didn’t blink.

---

Pavitra walked past.
Then stopped.
Paused.
Took a breath.
Turned back.
He blinked.
She stepped forward—just two feet.
P: “Don’t do that.”
S: “Uh?”
P: “You heard me.”
S: “Sorry… what madam?”
P: “That staring. Don’t do it.”
He stood up, awkward.
S: “No madam… I wasn’t—”
She didn’t raise her voice.
P: “You were. I walked right past you and you didn’t even look away.”
S: “Sorry madam… I was just sitting here—”
P: “I didn’t say you shouldn’t sit. I said don’t stare like that.”
He rubbed his hand against his pants, looking away.
S: “I didn’t mean it madam… just looked once—”
P: “You looked once. Then again. Then didn’t stop.”
S: “Please madam… not intentional. I respect you.”
She stared.
P: “You think respect means keeping your mouth shut and doing your job, but your eyes can go wherever they want?”
S: “No madam. I’ll be careful.”
She looked at him, calm.
P: “I’m not asking you to be careful. Just be decent.”
He nodded quickly.
P:  “I’ve seen this before. I’m not stupid.”
S: “No no… I won’t repeat.”
P: “Don’t. Because I’m not going to ignore it next time.”
He looked nervous. “Madam… please… don’t tell association…”
She tilted her head.
P: “Then don’t give me a reason to.”
He nodded again.
She turned, walked toward the gate.
Didn’t slam her slippers. Didn’t look back.
But her message?
Clear as glass.

---

Her Mind:
That’s it.
I don’t need to shout.
I just need to stop pretending like I don’t see it.
Let him sit with that.
Let him learn.

---

She stepped out into the sun.
A gentle breeze moved through her hair.
For the first time in weeks…
She didn’t feel watched.
She felt in control.

---

The main road outside was already stirring.
Vendors had started laying out their vegetables.
A boy ran past with a basket of tomatoes.
Pavitra kept walking. Chin up. Cloth bag swaying with each step.
Her green chudi stuck lightly to her lower back. Sunlight warms the back of her neck.
She was four steps from the tea shop corner when she heard it.
The engine.
Smooth.
Low.
Stopping beside her without drama.
She glanced to the side.
Ram.
One hand on the handle. Elbow resting. Calm face. Half smile.
“You’re going somewhere?”
“Yeah. Vegetable shop.”
“Come. I’ll drop you.”
She looked down at the road.
Then at him.
“It’s fine. I can walk.”
“Why walk? Just sit. I’m heading there anyway.”
She hesitated.
Ram didn’t repeat himself.
Just looked at her.
Soft. Sure.

---

She took a breath.
Stepped forward.
Lifted the back of her chudi slightly.
Gripped the side bar of the Unicorn.
And climbed on.
Both legs on either side.
Chudi folding under her thighs.
Seat warm.
Body closer than she meant it to be.

---

Her Mind:
God.
His back is right in front of my face.
If I move even a little, my breasts will press against him.
This seat is snug. My ass feels like it’s touching him already.
Why the fuck is this making me wet?
I’m going to buy tomatoes. Not get fucked.
But my pussy?
It’s acting like I climbed on top of him—not the bike.
My thighs are already warm.
If he brakes hard even once, my whole body’s going to land on his back.
My nipples are tight.
My panties are wet.
And the worst part?
I haven’t even sat properly yet.

---

She adjusted her dupatta.
Sat straight.
Hands on the side rail.
Eyes forward.
The engine purred again.

---

The bike turned past the first curve.
Wind brushing the sides of her cheeks.
Her dupatta fluttered just behind her shoulder.
She didn’t hold him.
She held the side bar.
Knuckles white.
Breath tight.
Then—
Thud. Lift. Drop.
The bike rolled over a speed bump.
And her chest?
Bounced.
Straight into his back.

---

Her Mind:
Shit.
My boobs just slapped his spine.
I didn’t even get a warning.
Fuck. That bounce was full.
I could feel my nipples drag across his shirt.
He didn’t react.
He didn’t shift.
But I know he felt it.
That was full skin-to-shirt contact.
My breasts haven’t touched a man properly in years.
And now?
They just introduced themselves without permission.
My pussy just twitched.
My thighs pressed the seat tighter.
I can’t even look at him now.

---

The bike slowed near the small local veg shop.
Few baskets on the ground. Brinjal. Beans. Curry leaves.
Pavitra looked to the side, ready to get down.
Ram didn’t stop the engine.
He turned his head slightly.
“Two kilometers from here, there's a proper market. Better vegetables. Cleaner stuff.”
She opened her mouth.
“Ram, no need—”
But the bike had already pulled forward.
No waiting.
No question.
Just motion.

---

Her Mind:
He’s not even asking.
He’s taking me.
And I’m not stopping him.
I’m still wet from that bounce.
My boobs are still tingling.
And now I’m riding behind a man who didn’t even flinch when they touched him.
If he hits another bump…
I might just moan.

---

The road stretched ahead.
And she stayed on the seat.
Not because she agreed.
But because her body already had.

---

The market was alive with sound.
Plastic sheets flapping in the breeze.
Crows hopping across crates.
Vendors calling out prices like a song.
Pavitra stepped off the bike.
Her salwar stuck slightly to the back of her thighs.
She adjusted her dupatta—tight across her chest.
Tried to walk ahead like it was just a normal errand.
Ram parked and walked beside her.
No hesitation.
Just like that, he was next to her.
“Ladyfinger for Brinjal?”
“Yeah. Get half kilo.”
He leaned toward the vendor, pointing.
“Half kilo. Put properly. No damaged pieces.”
He picked one. Pressed gently.
“No good. Next.”
He was talking with ease.
Bargaining.
Getting prices down.
Holding her cloth bag like he’d done it every weekend.

---

Her Mind:
He’s acting like this is his job.
Like I’m his wife.
He’s not letting me lift anything.
He’s checking brinjals like he’s feeding his kids.
My husband doesn’t even know how much beans cost.
And this man?
He knows the price, the smell, the weight.
And all the while…
He keeps looking at me.
My neck.
My fingers.
My side when I bend to check onions.
He’s not staring.
He’s watching.
And that’s worse.
Because I feel seen.
I feel… owned.

---

A tomato vendor called him “anna.”
Ram just smiled and asked for two kilos.
Pavitra stood behind, brushing her hair back from her cheek.
The sun had made her skin sticky.
But his gaze?
Made it burn.
He handed the bag to her.
She reached for it.
But he didn’t let go.
Just held it for an extra second.
Their fingers touched.
Only a little.
But the heat from his hand…
stayed.

---

Her Mind:
He’s holding my bag like he holds my place in this market.
Quiet.
But permanent.
People are seeing us together.
And no one’s confused.
They already think we’re a couple.
And me?
I’m not correcting them.

---

They turned the corner toward the coriander stand.
Pavitra looked up.
Ram was already talking to the next vendor.
She followed.
And deep inside her salwar…
Her pussy was pulsing.
Not from his words.
But from the way he behaved like she belonged to him.
And how is her body?
Wasn't resisting.

---

The market was behind them now.
Plastic rustling.
Smell of banana leaves.
Pavitra stood near the bike, one hand wiping her face with the edge of her dupatta.
Ram loaded the final items into the cloth bag.
Full. Round. Heavy.
She tried to lift it.
“Wait,” he said.
Took the bag gently.
Placed it near the petrol tank.
Between his legs.
“You hold it. Won’t slip.”
She looked at the space.
Then at him.
Her mind is already tightening.
But she climbed on.
Softly.
Sat.
And this time—
There was no gap.
Her knees touched the back of his thighs.
Her hands reached forward, around the bag.
And her chest?
Pressed softly, fully—
against his back.

---

Her Mind:
Fuck.
My boobs are fully smashed against him.
There’s no bra that can hide this.
He can feel it.
He has to.
How can he not?
I can feel the shape of his spine against my nipples.
They’re hard already.
The bag is pressing against my stomach.
My pussy is heating again.
I’m holding the bag like a seatbelt.
But really?
I’m hugging him.
I didn’t mean to.
But this is a full, slow hug from behind.
My breasts are saying sorry and thank you at the same time.
If he moves even a little—
My nipples will drag across his back like fingers.
God help me if there’s another speed bump.

---

Ram didn’t speak.
He just leaned slightly forward.
Started the engine.
The bike shook gently under her.
And Pavitra?
Stayed there.
Pressed.
Wet.
Alive.

---

The road curved past a half-closed mechanic shop.
Dust blew across their path.
Pavitra was holding the cloth bag tight.
Her hands curved around it like a brace.
The bike turned.
Wobbled.
And hit a rough patch—
Two bumps back-to-back.
Her body lifted.
Thudded forward.
Her chest crashed into his back.
And one hand slipped off the bag.
Fell forward.
Palm-first—
Right over the curve of his pants.
Right over his cock.

---

Her Mind:
Oh fuck.
Oh god.
That’s his cock.
That’s his actual cock under my palm.
I can feel the shape of it.
Soft… but not small.
Firm enough to know exactly what I touched.
And my breasts?
They’re not just touching his back now—
They’re fucking glued to it.
My nipples just flattened against his spine like they belong there.
And my hand…
My hand is still on him.
Why am I not pulling it back?
Why is my pussy throbbing like it just got kissed?

---

She pulled her hand back slowly.
Hold the bag again.
Didn’t say a word.
Ram didn’t turn.
Didn’t react.
Just said, soft—
“Careful.”

---

Her Mind:
Careful?
That's all?
I just touched your cock by mistake and you say be careful?
What if I did it on purpose next time?
What if my fingers don’t slip…
But curl?

---

The engine hummed again.
The bike moved smoothly.
And behind him?
Pavitra was sitting in full silence.
But inside?
Her mind was fingering itself.

---

The road behind them faded.
The familiar curve of the apartment gate appeared.
The watchman looked up.
Saw them together.
Two people. One bike.
Her chest pressed against his back.
Bag tight between their bodies.
The watchman blinked.
But he looked down.
Didn’t say a word.

---

Her Mind:
He saw.
He saw how I’m sitting.
How close I am.
Maybe he saw my breasts pressed into Ram’s back.
Good.
Let him see.
Let someone know what it feels like to ride behind a man who knows how to hold space.

---

The bike slowed into the parking lot.
Corner spot. Shadowed.
The engine went silent.
Pavitra took a breath.
Hold the bag with both hands.
Started to slide off.
But as she leaned forward to dismount—
Her breast dragged across his back again.
This time, heavier.
Longer.
She couldn’t stop it.
And then—
his hand moved.
Reflex?
Or not?
Either way—his palm brushed across her breast.
Warm.
Full.
A gentle press.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

---

Her Mind – Me:
Aiyo.
That’s my boob.
That’s his hand.
That’s not fabric. That’s skin.
He touched it.
Maybe he didn’t mean to.
Maybe he did.
But fuck…
My nipple felt his lifeline.
I want to stop breathing.
Or start moaning.
My pussy is not just wet.
It’s slippery.
One more second and I would’ve grabbed him.

---

She stepped back.
Steady feet.
He didn’t turn.
Didn’t apologize.
Just got off.
Lifted the bag like nothing happened.
And started walking toward the lift.
No words.
No look.
Just quiet masculinity.
And Pavitra?
She followed.

---

Her Mind:
He’s carrying the weight.
I’m carrying the sin.
And both feel light.

---

The parking was quiet.
Not even the hum of a second bike.
Ram walked ahead.
Pressed the lift button.
The door opened.
He stood aside.
Pavitra stepped in.
He followed.
Placed the heavy vegetable bag down near his feet.
Then—
He lifted both arms.
Stretched his shoulders.
Slow.
Quiet.
His shirt lifted just enough to show a line of skin near his hip.
She looked once.
Then looked away.

---

Her Mind:
Don’t look.
Don’t stare.
But fuck… that stretch…
That forearm…
That side curve…
I could fuck that bone with my eyes.
Why is my pussy acting like it’s standing in water?

---

He exhaled once. Casual.
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Lift moved.
No words.
Just silence.
And breath.
Then—
He looked at her.
Straight.
She looked back.
For half a second.
Too long.
Too open.
Too full of what they didn’t say in the parking lot.

---

Ding.
The lift stopped.
His floor.
He didn’t move.
She glanced at him.
He didn’t even blink.
Just wait.
Doors closed again.

---

Her Mind:
He didn’t get down.
He’s staying with me.
For what?
For the bag?
Or for something else?
My nipples are tight again.
There’s nothing innocent about this ride.

---

Her floor came.
She stepped forward.
Bent slightly to lift the bag.
Pulled.
Nothing moved.
She tried again.
He stopped her hand.
Held it.
Warm fingers over her wrist.
“Don’t. I’ll bring it.”
She looked at him.
He didn’t smile.
Didn’t flirt.
Just lifted the bag.
As if it was nothing.
“Go.”
She stepped out.
Walked forward.
And behind her—
His eyes didn’t leave.

---

Her Mind – Me:
He’s watching my ass.
I know it.
I can feel it.
The heat from his stare is moving up my spine like slow fingers.
Let him look.
Let him stand there and swallow me with his eyes.
Because my panties?
Are soaked with everything I didn’t say in that lift.

---

The main door clicked open with a soft squeak.
The flat was still cool from the morning shade.
A half-filled tumbler of tea stood on the center table.
Kartik, in his faded navy T-shirt and shorts, lay reclined on the sofa, one leg up, phone in hand.
The muted sounds of a YouTube video played from his screen.
He didn’t look up immediately.
But Pavitra had already entered.
She stepped to the side, letting the door swing wider.
Behind her—Ram.
Carrying the full cloth bag of vegetables with one hand, balanced, easy.
No strain.
No noise.
Kartik finally glanced up, blinking out of screen-world.
“Oh—Ram anna?”
Ram gave a gentle smile.
“Good morning.”
“Hey… good morning. You both went together?”
Pavitra, setting her slippers on the rack, just nodded once. “We met outside.”
“I was heading out,” Ram added, “and saw her walking. Thought I’d drop her.”
Kartik sat up straighter, rubbing his neck.
“You didn’t have to carry the bag all the way up though…”
Ram moved past the hall gently.
“Not a problem. It’s heavy today. Better I carry it than make her struggle.”
He turned, looked at Pavitra for a brief moment, then turned to Kartik.
“Where should I keep it?”
Pavitra spoke for the first time since entering.
“Kitchen counter.”
Ram nodded.
Walked in.
His slippers made almost no sound.
Kartik turned to her. “You really went far? What did you get?”
Pavitra moved to the fridge, pulled the door open halfway. “Normal stuff. The usual place was too crowded.”
He hummed. “Even then… next time just take the car, no?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Still… I would’ve dropped you.”
From the kitchen, Ram’s voice came, soft.
“There’s good stock today. Got some nice green chillies, and the tomatoes are firm.”
Kartik smiled faintly. “You know how to shop ah, anna?”
Ram returned from the kitchen, wiping his palm lightly on his pants.
“I lived alone for four years. Chennai’s vegetable rates will make anyone smart.”
Kartik chuckled. “True. That’s why I survive on zomato. Easier to tap than bargain.”
They shared a brief laugh.
Pavitra walked to the dining table, took a glass of water.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood.
Listening.
Watching.

---

Her Mind:
He’s speaking with so much calm.
That same mouth said only one word to me: Careful.
And now it’s chatting with my husband like nothing ever happened.
I touched his cock in the during bike ride.
He felt my breast press into his back.
And now he’s standing near my fridge like it never happened.
God, the control of that man.
And me?
My salwar is still wet between the legs.

---

Kartik leaned forward. “Sit, anna. You just came from outside. I’ll ask Pavi to make tea.”
Ram raised a palm.
“No no… it’s okay. I have to step out again. Just wanted to drop the bag.”
“At least sit for two minutes.”
“I’ll come properly one day. Today, I’ve got something to handle at home.”
Pavitra glanced at him once.
A second too long.
Ram didn’t meet her eyes.
Kartik gave a friendly shrug. “Alright. But next time you’re not escaping tea.”
Ram smiled. “Promise.”
He turned to Pavitra. Nodded gently.
“Thanks for the ride back.”
She nodded.
No smile.
Just a soft blink.
As if to say, I’m not done feeling you yet.

---

Ram walked to the door.
Opened it.
Then paused.
Looked back at Kartik.
“Tell me if you need anything else, okay?”
“Of course, anna. Thank you.”
And he left.
The door clicked shut.

---

Kartik flopped back into the sofa.
Yawning.
Pavitra stood near the fridge.
Opened it.
Pulled out coriander, tomatoes.
Started washing quietly.
Her back to her husband.
Her hand on the tap.
Her thighs pressing together slightly under her salwar.

---

Her Mind:
I felt his cock.
I felt the heat of it.
I felt how natural it was to have him behind me, under me, around me.
And now I’m standing here…
cutting tomatoes.
Like I’m normal.
Like I’m untouched.
But my breasts still remember the stretch of his back.
My fingers still ache to grab what they accidentally grazed.
And my pussy?
It knows this is just the start.

---

The steel tumbler clinked as Pavitra rinsed it in the sink.
Kartik leaned against the fridge, arms folded.
“You could’ve called me, Pavi,” he said mildly. “I’d have dropped you.”
She wiped her fingers on the towel, didn’t turn fully.
“Ram was already outside. It just happened naturally.”
Kartik nodded slowly.
Didn’t argue.
“Hmm. Anyway, next time just tell me. That road’s not great for walking.”
“Mmm.”
Quiet.
Fan whirred.
A few birds chirped near the balcony grill.

---

Evening slipped in like a soft cloth being pulled across the floor.
By 6:15, the flat felt dimmer.
Ceiling lights are still off.
TV on low volume.
Kids on the carpet, playing with Beyblades and bursting into laughter.
“Is Chithappa coming today-aa?” one of them asked.
Pavitra smiled, folding a towel. “Yes. He’s coming with Appa.”
“He’s going to stay with us?”
“Just for a few days, kanna. Until he settles down.”
They nodded like they understood—though their minds were already on whether he’d bring chocolates.

---

7:10 PM.
The sound of the lift arriving.
Then voices outside.
Laughter.
Kartik’s familiar tone:
“Come, come… keep your bag inside. You’ll get used to the heat.”
And then—
The lock turned.
The door opened.
And Arjun stepped in.

---

Taller than Kartik by a bit.
Half-sleeve shirt, tucked loose over jeans.
Hair slightly longer than usual—college-boy style not fully gone.
He held two bags—one backpack, one trolley-style.
His smile was wide.
“Hi anni.”
Pavitra nodded, matching his smile.
“Welcome home.”
He walked in.
Set the bags down near the sofa.
The kids ran up.
“Chithappa! Chithappaaa!”
He crouched down, arms open.
Lifted one, hugged the other.
“They’ve grown, huh!”
“They missed you,” Kartik said, locking the door behind him. “I told them no chocolates until you unpack.”
“I brought something lah. Let me settle.”
He stood up, brushed his palms on his jeans.
Then looked at Pavitra again.
Not in any special way.
Just… warmly.

---

Her Mind:
He’s not a stranger.
We’ve spoken on calls.
He stayed with us during Kartik’s wedding.
We’ve had laughs, silly jokes, quick hellos.
But now?
He’s grown up.
And the way he fills this space…
Something tells me he’s not just here for now.

---

Pavitra turned toward the kitchen.
Put water to boil.
But her eyes kept glancing through the shelf gap.
At the bags.
At the new pair of shoes near the entrance.
And at the boy—
Who had suddenly become a man.

[Hotyyhard]

wow extraordinary update

[Dumeelkumar]

Superb, three men in queue now.

[zulfique]

what a lovely updates

[chellaporukki]

excellent narration friend

[Hotyyhard]

update please

[Nandhu4]

Superrrrrr

[Rangabaashyam]

very good going.the useless husband deserves to be a cuck to see his wife well fucked by many men.

[masud93]

Thanks for update,,,yet not read fully,, but i think It's going be seductive way,,,
slowly seduce karna mujhe jiyada accha lagta hai

[yazhiniram]

The rasam was ready. Idiyappam was steamed and covered. Chutney in the fridge, just to keep it cool.
She stirred the kurma once more.
Kartik peeked in. “Dinner is almost ready?”
“Just need to serve,” she said. “Ask him to freshen up.”
“Arjun, wash up and come. Use the kids’ towel near the bathroom.”
Arjun smiled. “Two minutes. I’m starving.”

---

Dinner was quiet, but warm.
They sat on the floor, simple mat spread. Arjun sat cross-legged near the edge. The kids between him and Kartik. Pavitra sat nearest the kitchen door.
Plates clinked softly. Coconut milk was poured. The smell of ghee drifted faintly from the idiyappam.
Arjun took a bite. “Anni… this chutney tastes exactly like amma prepared.”
She looked up. “Amma’s recipe. Coconut, roasted chillies, little ginger.”
“Brings back memories. I haven’t tasted like this in years.”
The younger boy wiped chutney on his brother’s shirt. Pavitra reached over, pulling his hand away gently. “Eat properly. Don’t start now.”
Kartik was already on his phone. Messaging some team group. Eating with one hand.
“Idiyappam soft today,” he said absently.
Pavitra just nodded. “Made fresh.”
Arjun smiled, watching the small interactions. “You all have your rhythm here, no?”
She looked at him for a second, then down at her plate. “It comes with routine.”

---

After dinner, the boys went to brush, still giggling about something. Arjun helped clear the plates.
“You sit,” she said, taking the tumbler from his hand.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and moved toward his bag, which was still unopened near the sofa.
Kartik stretched on the floor, scrolling through some cricket stats.
Pavitra wiped the counter slowly. Her hands moved, but her ears stayed tuned to the sounds behind her.
Zips opening. Fabric rustling. The soft weight of a towel being unfolded.
She glanced once, through the shelf mirror.
Arjun had changed into a plain white T-shirt and tracks. He was sitting on the floor, folding his used clothes back into the bag.
Her eyes dropped, for just a second.
The way the fabric moved across his shoulder. The shape of his arm as he lifted a rolled-up jeans.
Her Mind:
That’s still Arjun.
Same boy who once broke our soap dish during Pongal.
But now…
He’s not a boy.
And I need to stop looking like I’ve forgotten that.

---

He stood up, scratching the back of his head. “Anni, should I sleep in the hall or take that mattress to the kids’ room?”
“The hall is cooler,” she replied. “And they’ll kick you all night.”
He laughed. “True. They don’t sleep, they wrestle.”
She walked toward the shelf, took out a folded sheet, and handed it to him.
“Use this for now. Pillow’s there near the corner.”
Their fingers brushed lightly as he took it.
No tension. No lingering. Just a passing moment.
But she still felt it.
Her Mind:
He didn’t flinch.
Neither did I.
But there’s something about contact that the body remembers.
Even if it’s small.

---

The house was quiet by 10:30.
Kids asleep. TV on low volume. Kartik dozing in and out of whatever was playing.
Arjun lay back on the mat, one hand behind his head. The fan stirred the air slowly.
Pavitra wiped the final tumbler. Her nightie clung slightly near her waist. She didn’t adjust it. Just folded the towel, hung it neatly.
Her eyes drifted.
Arjun was half-asleep. T-shirt rumpled at the stomach. Track pants riding up slightly above the ankle.
He turned once, adjusting his arm. His chest lifted softly with each breath.
Her Mind:
He’s sleeping like a student who hasn’t had a proper bed in weeks.
There’s no guard in his body. No stiffness.
He’s real. Human. Close.
And just a few feet from my room.
She turned off the kitchen light. Moved slowly into the bedroom.
Kartik had shifted to his side. His breath was even, light.
She pulled the blanket. Lay down gently. One child turned in his sleep beside her.
The fan hummed.
She stared at the ceiling.

---

And then…
That morning.
The bike ride.
Ram’s back under her chest.
Her breasts pressed into him.
And that bump.
Her hand—landing right where it shouldn’t have.
Her Mind:
His cock.
The way it felt under my palm.
That size. That shape.
Even though it was soft, I could feel the weight of it.
That wasn’t imagination.
And now…
I’m lying here.
My breasts are still sensitive.
My cunt still remembers.
And just one wall away—Arjun.
Younger. Familiar.
But suddenly… a man.
I didn’t ask for this heat.
But now that it’s here…
My thighs won’t stay still.

---

She shifted slightly. Pressed her legs together.
Kartik murmured something in his sleep.
She turned to the other side.
Back facing him.
Eyes still open.
Her Mind:
This house was mine.
This bed. This silence.
But now the silence isn’t quiet.
It’s holding too much.
A man I shouldn’t be thinking about…
And another I never thought I’d notice.
Tomorrow will come.
But tonight?
I’m lying between what I touched…
And what I don’t dare to.

---

It's morning again, 6:30 am,
It was still early.
Sunday silence.
No traffic noise. No college van horn. Just the fan moving slow and the smell of milk catching the bottom of the vessel.

My eyes were sticky. I didn’t even wash my face. Just tied my hair into a bun, pulled the nightie under my breasts properly, and switched on the stove. Tea time.
Two tumblers. One for me. One for Kartik. Strong, no sugar.

Kids were inside the room, dead asleep.
One was sleeping sideways with his mouth open. The other had pulled the blanket over his own face.
I checked once, didn’t bother again.

Kartik came out, scratching his chest like usual.

I didn’t even look up from the stove.

“Go get mutton. Shop will be crowded if you go late.”

He didn’t reply. Still yawning. Still in his shorts. Moving like some cow.

“Don’t come back with old meat. Go now. Take wallet.”

He nodded like a mute goat, took his purse and stepped out. Forgot his tea too.

Door closed. That soft, sweet silence. Only the fan and the tea bubbling in the background.

I stood there, holding the spoon inside the vessel, letting the steam hit my face.

Then I turned slightly.

And I saw him.

Arjun.

Sleeping in the hall. On the mattress near the TV. One pillow under his head. One leg outside the blanket.

Hair messy. Chest moving slow. One hand on his stomach. The other behind his head.

And the blanket?

Up.

Like a full tent.

I didn’t blink.

I knew what it was.

That cock.

That morning cock.

Pushing up the cloth like it had a job to do.

The trackpants were soft. That light cotton type. Grey colour. The cloth was hugging the shape of it. I could see the full outline. From the root to the tip.

That thing wasn’t small.

That thing wasn’t soft either.

It was big. Thick. Standing. Ready.

I stood there for one second.

Then two.

Then three.

I wasn’t blinking. My breath slowed. My nightie was stuck between my thighs. I didn’t even care.

His cock moved once. A slight twitch.

My nipples rubbed against the inside of my cloth.

I pressed my thighs together. Tight.

That shape. That curve. That pulse.

God. That’s a real cock. Not like the one that slips in and finishes before I even warm up.

Arjun shifted a little. His hip moved.

The blanket moved too.

The cock shape came clearer. That print was not hiding anything.

The mouth was open. He was still asleep. But his body was full-on awake.

I leaned against the corner wall. One hand on my waist. The other hanging loose.

Just watching.

No shame.

Just heat.

There was a small spot of wetness near the top of his pants. Maybe precum. Maybe sweat. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

My cunt gave one slow throb.

It was awake.

I was breathing like I had climbed three floors.

I wanted to stay there. Watch it twitch again. Maybe move a little closer.

But he moved.

Hand scratching his chest. Face turned a little.

One eye opened.

Shit.

I stepped back. Fast but silent.

Back into the kitchen.

Stove was still on. Tea bubbling.

I stirred it once. My hand was shaking slightly.

I wiped my palm on the side of my nightie.

Tried to breathe normal.

I didn’t look back.

Then I picked up the tumbler. Poured the tea. Wiped the bottom. Placed the spoon inside it.

Waited.

Then walked again.

This time with the tumbler in my hand.

Soft steps.

I stood at the edge of the hall.

He was awake now.

Sitting up. Hands rubbing his eyes. Hair still messy.

T-shirt half pulled up. Trackpant loose on his hip.

That cock? Not standing anymore.

But still there.

Still big.

Soft now. But fat.

It sat heavy inside that cloth. Not hidden. Just… resting.

My eyes went down once. Then back up.

His face looked at me.

I pretended like I hadn’t seen anything.

Like I didn’t just stand near the kitchen wall for five minutes staring at his cock like a pervert.

I held the tumbler steady.

Looked him in the eye.

And said—

“Tea?”

---

He looked up at me, still blinking.

“Do you want tea?” I asked.

He rubbed his face once, cleared his throat. “Yes anni... I’ll brush first.”

His voice was soft. That respectful, careful tone. Like he wasn’t sure if he could even say yes.

He stood up slowly.

And I noticed it again.

He tried to keep the t-shirt hanging low, pulling it slightly forward while walking. I knew why.

That cock.

It was still half-hard. Not like before. But not gone either.

It sat inside his pants like a thick tube, heavy and full, probably still warm from sleep. The cloth clung. The shape was clear. He adjusted once, casually. Not bold. Just subtle.

But I saw it.

And I didn’t react. Didn’t look directly.

I stayed by the sofa, holding the tumbler like I didn’t notice anything.

He walked to the bathroom. Quiet steps. Door clicked shut.

Water sound. Tap on. Toothbrush. Gargle. Spit.

I sat down. Sofa cushion warm from the fan.

I took a sip.

My thighs were still tight. Not from shame. Just that pulsing awareness that something real had passed through this room.

My mind was full. Full of the picture I had just seen. That blanket. That cock under it. The way he tried to hide it now. Like I hadn’t already stared at it full view few minutes back.

My Mind:

So respectful outside. But that thing inside your pants has no manners.

I smiled into the tumbler.

He came back.

Face washed. Hair dripping. Small trail of water near his neck. T-shirt still crushed from sleep.

He didn’t sit beside me.

He sat at the other end of the sofa. Like the sofa had a line in the middle. His corner. My corner.

He sat slow. Calm.

Didn’t speak first.

Didn’t stretch.

Didn’t slouch.

Just folded one leg under the other and looked down at the floor.

I was still holding the tumbler. Not sipping now.

Then I leaned forward a little and offered it.

“Here. Hot.”

He looked up once.

Then again.

Then took it with both hands.

“Thanks, anni.”

That word again. Made my spine tickle.

Anni.

But the way he said it.

Soft.

Careful.

Like he respected me... but was still seeing something he hadn’t seen before.

He took a sip.

Then held the tumbler near his mouth.

Didn’t drink more.

Just holding it.

His eyes weren’t looking at me directly. But once, just once, they dropped.

To my lap.

My nightie had folded slightly at the side when I sat. The cloth had stuck to my thigh. Fan was blowing lightly.

He saw.

Then looked away.

Fast.

Like he’d touched something by mistake.

But I saw that one second.

That drop in his eyes.

He saw skin.

Maybe the curve under my nightie. Maybe the dip near my chest.

But he didn’t stare.

And I didn’t pull my cloth.

Let him see.

Respect doesn’t mean blindness.

And curiosity is not a crime.

I took one more sip from my cup.

Then I asked, casual tone, eyes on the floor—

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes anni... very well. Mattress was soft. I didn’t even hear the clock strike.”

“You didn’t snore.”

“Hope I didn’t move too much.”

“You were lying like a statue.”

He smiled. Looked down again.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Why would you disturb me?”

He shook his head. “Just... new place. I slept too deep.”

“Good. You needed that.”

Pause.

Just fan sound now.

He looked at his tumbler.

I looked at his fingers.

Veins showing slightly.

Strong hands.

Maybe from gym. Or just youth.

Then he said—

“Tea is really nice, anni. Better than anything I’ve had in months.”

I smiled without showing teeth.

“No sugar.”

“I like it like that.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Sips.

Silence.

Then I said—

“You know where your office is?”

“Yes anni. I checked last night. I saved it in Maps also.”

“First day tomorrow?”

“Yes. 8:30. But they asked me to come by 8.”

“You have all your documents?”

“Yes anni. I kept the folder inside my bag.”

“Dress code?”

“Formal shirt. Tucked. Black pants. Shoes. All packed.”

“Good. You seem ready.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

He looked at me.

Proper this time.

And said—

“You make this place feel easy. Like I can settle without trying too hard.”

I didn’t answer.

That line sat somewhere under my ribcage.

And I didn’t want to break it.

He sipped again. Then placed the tumbler on the table. Still half full.

He leaned back slightly. But not relaxed.

Hands on knees.

Eyes forward.

Safe boy pose.

But once again... his eyes dropped.

To my leg.

Then back up.

Quick.

He didn’t even mean to do it.

But his eyes were searching.

I let them.

I didn’t cross my legs.

Didn’t fold my arms.

I stayed as I was.

Because I wanted to be seen.

Then—

“Mummyyyyyyyyy!”

Voice from the bedroom.

Loud.

Next one followed immediately—

“Mummyyyyyy where are you?”

Feet hitting floor.

One boy crying.

Other one shouting.

“Mummy I want milk!”

I stood up.

“Coming!”

---

The kids came running.

Hair like birds, eyes half-closed, one sock each, both shouting different things at once.

“Mummy I want milk! Hungry “

“Mummy where is my sharpener!”

I handled both.

Lifted the smaller one onto my lap, wiped his face with my nightie end. Pulled out the crayon box from under the cot. Gave one Marie biscuit each.

Morning circus, like always.

I didn’t look at Arjun during that time.

He got up, took his tumbler, walked to the sink, washed it without being told.

Didn’t talk too much. Just smiled once when the younger one bumped into him.

“Sorry chithappa,” the kid said.

He laughed and patted his head.

“Be careful. You’ll fall.”

Respectful tone.

Not forcing himself into the scene.

Just... there.

Kartik came back with the mutton packet.

Sweating. Shirt sticking near the armpits.

“You came on time,” I said.

He dropped the bag on the counter. “All good pieces. Thala curry also.”

I opened the packet, checked the cut. Good.

I started prepping.

Chopped onion. Tomato. Ginger garlic paste. Arjun passed the turmeric when I asked. Didn’t say anything extra.

Kartik sat with the newspaper. Kids were drawing rockets on the floor with their crayons.

Just like any Sunday.

Only difference—one extra person.

But it didn’t feel crowded.

It didn’t feel awkward.

Arjun didn’t behave like a guest. But also didn’t act like owner. He found a balance.

He even helped set the table when I asked.

“Take the plates,” I said.

He nodded, “Okay anni.”

That voice. That word.

Every time he said it, something in my stomach tightened. Not romantic. Just real.

Like he was placing me in a position without even trying.

Lunch came and went.

Good curry smell filled the house.

Sweat ran down my back while cooking, but I didn’t mind. I liked the routine.

After lunch, everyone settled.

Kartik lay down inside with the fan on full speed.

Kids were watching some cartoon.

Arjun was on his phone, scrolling something with his leg stretched on the hall mattress.

I wiped the kitchen counter, checked the rice box, and refilled the sugar tin.

I walked past him once.

He didn’t look up.

Or maybe he did when I wasn’t looking.

Evening passed slow.

TV shows.

One ad after another.

I sat on the corner of the sofa, peeled carrots for next day.

Kids were fighting about one pen cap.

Arjun helped the younger one find it under the sofa.

He looked at me once.

I looked back.

Just two seconds.

No smile.

No stare.

Just… existing.

After dinner, same thing.

Kartik burped and switched off the kitchen light. Kids brushed and fell asleep quickly.

Arjun washed his plate, wiped it.

Didn’t leave anything for me to scold him about.

I changed into my nightie.

Didn’t wear a bra.

Didn’t fold my dupatta.

Didn’t care.

I checked on the kids one last time, turned the fan to low, kissed both on the forehead.

Kartik was already half snoring.

I lay down.

Pulled the blanket up to my chest.

Eyes were open.

My body was still. But my mind?

Was somewhere in the hall.

On that mattress.

On that cock I saw in the morning.

I didn’t touch myself.

I just stayed still.

Monday morning came fast.

Fan still spinning.

Kids rubbing eyes. One shoe missing. Kartik had already left. Early branch meeting.

He kissed my forehead lightly before going.

Didn’t touch anywhere else.

I packed lunch.

Boiled eggs.

One for each boy. One for Arjun.

He came out in full formal shirt and pants.

Black belt. Hair set neatly. Watch on wrist.

He looked… adult.

Not boy.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes anni. If there’s time.”

I poured. He drank. Standing near the sink.

“You look ready,” I said.

He smiled. “Let’s see if the job is ready for me.”

I handed him the bag. Gave him the ID envelope Kartik had kept on the shelf.

“Don’t miss the bus.”

“I’ll drop the kids on the way.”

“Be careful. No speeding.”

He nodded. “I’ll message once I reach.”

I nodded back.

The boys came out, one still dragging the other’s bag.

“Mummyyy he took my sticker book!”

“Take your bottle,” I said. “And don’t fight in the van.”

Arjun took the bag from the younger one’s hand and held it.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He looked at me one last time.

“Bye anni.”

I nodded. “All the best.”

He left.

I stood near the door for a second.

Then walked back inside.

Stillness again.

I washed one tumbler.

Sat down.

Took a slow breath.

And somewhere near the gate, behind the grill...

The security guy was watching.

Eyes low. Chin lifted slightly. Just that quiet stare.

I didn’t see him.

But he was watching.