Adultery Undercover Desires

[masti.bhai]

The taboo of friend fuckibg the wife is already there.
It's the sasur-bahu taboo that's still to be broken.
Make the son a wimp. Make the mother help her bahu mate with the master of the house, Feroze.

That's the type of kick-ass story everyone loves, I'm sure.

[Gilmalover]

Survival of the fittest. Now vikram will replace Danish. But itch of this bitch will not subside.

[Ayush01111]

We need to see rahul come back and revenge on friend

[PELURI]

thanks john for responding to your loyal readers who are now desperate for sex as there isn't any after Karva chowth....we know Vikram comes in for lots of erotic action....may I suggest introducing a local female.....may be one of his relatives to wean away danish and creat space for Kavya Vikram juggle...hope to have a big update soon with rapturous encounters....thanks

[PELURI]

fling with FIL would be interesting too.....foundation laid of course as a warm and caring person...but needs to be moulded as lean and hungry and

[PELURI]

CHAPTER – 65


The first week was a revelation, a pocket of joy that felt like rediscovery. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish managing cloud infrastructure for a Hyderabad startup—set up a makeshift office in the guest room, their laptops side by side on a wooden desk. The room buzzed with their shared rhythm: Kavya’s fingers flying over code, Danish testing scripts, their laughter punctuating the hum of ceiling fans. Mornings began with coffee on the balcony, their hands brushing as they passed the steel tumbler, the city’s distant honks a faint echo compared to Mumbai’s roar. “This feels right,” Kavya murmured one morning, her eyes tracing the garden’s marigolds, and Danish nodded, squeezing her hand, his smile bright. “Like we’re us again.”
Evenings were for exploration. They wandered through Laad Bazaar, Kavya’s fingers grazing bangles, Danish teasing her about buying the entire stall. At Hussain Sagar Lake, they shared a plate of street-side biryani, the spice lingering on their lips, their shoulders pressed close as they watched the sunset. “Hyderabad’s got a vibe Mumbai can’t touch,” Danish said, his arm around her, and Kavya laughed, leaning into him, her heart light. Their IT work, though demanding, felt manageable here—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a client’s server while she brewed tea, their teamwork seamless. Feroz joined them for dinners, his stories of Danish’s childhood sparking laughter, his presence a steady anchor that made the house feel like home.
One night, after a walk through the old city, they sat in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights casting a soft glow. Kavya rested her head on Danish’s shoulder, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this—us, here, away from the grind.” Danish turned to her, his eyes warm. “Me too. Mumbai’s killing us slowly. What if… we stayed? With Dad, in Hyderabad?” Her breath caught, the idea sparking like code compiling perfectly. She thought of their Bandra apartment, its cramped chaos, then this house—its space, its warmth, Feroz’s quiet support. “We’d need to sort out work,” she said, practical but hopeful, “but my team’s okay with remote. Yours?” Danish nodded, his grin boyish. “They’re local. It’s doable. Let’s do it, Kavya. Let’s make this home.”
The decision came the next morning, over breakfast with Feroz. Danish set down his coffee, his voice steady. “Dad, we’re thinking of moving here, for good. With you.” Feroz’s eyes softened, a smile creasing his face. “This house is too big for one old man. You’re welcome, always.” Kavya reached for Danish’s hand under the table, their fingers intertwining, the weight of Mumbai lifting. They spent the day planning—discussing logistics, remote work setups, the promise of a slower life. As they unpacked their laptops in the guest room, now their shared space, Kavya felt a surge of hope, the jasmine scent a quiet promise of new beginnings. Danish pulled her close, his lips brushing her forehead, their love a steady pulse in the warm Hyderabad air, the future bright with possibility.
Closing the Mumbai Chapter :
The Mumbai air hit Kavya like a wave as they stepped out of the airport, the familiar cacophony of honks and hawkers swallowing the quiet promise of Hyderabad. Their week at Feroz’s house had been a revelation—a pocket of shared laughter, late-night coding sessions, and stolen moments by Hussain Sagar Lake that rekindled their bond. The decision to relocate to Hyderabad, to live with Feroz in his jasmine-scented home, felt like a lifeline, a chance to trade Bandra’s relentless grind for a slower, richer life. Now, back in their cramped apartment, Kavya and Danish faced the task of wrapping up their Mumbai lives, their laptops humming with IT work as they packed boxes and planned their move, their love a steady current beneath the chaos.
The first days were a flurry of logistics. Kavya, still tethered to her Mumbai-based IT firm, negotiated a fully remote role, her fingers flying over emails to her manager while debugging a server issue from their dining table. Danish, managing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup, coordinated with his team via video calls, his voice animated as he discussed migration strategies, his laptop screen glowing late into the night. Between work, they sorted through their belongings—books, clothes, the coffee maker they’d bought on a whim—deciding what to ship to Hyderabad. “We don’t need half this stuff,” Kavya laughed, holding up a tacky souvenir mug, and Danish grinned, snatching it from her. “That’s our history, Kavya. It’s coming with us.” Their banter felt light, a reminder of the ease they’d rediscovered in Hyderabad.
Evenings were for tying up loose ends. They met friends at a Bandra café, sharing their plans over cutting chai, the sea breeze carrying their laughter. Kavya’s colleague Priya hugged her tightly, promising to visit Hyderabad, while Danish’s teammate Rohan toasted their move, joking about Hyderabad’s biryani trumping Mumbai’s vada pav. Back home, they packed with purpose, Kavya folding kurtas while Danish labeled boxes, their hands brushing as they passed tape or markers, small touches that grounded them. One night, sprawled on the couch amidst half-packed boxes, Kavya leaned into Danish, her head on his chest. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” she murmured, the hum of Mumbai’s traffic a distant pulse. He kissed her forehead, his voice soft. “It’s more than right. It’s us, starting fresh.”
Yet, subtle hints of future strain flickered. Danish’s phone buzzed with a message from Vikram, his Hyderabad friend, inviting him to a coding meet-up once they settled. “Vikram’s already planning a reunion,” Danish said, his eyes bright with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred—she remembered how his Mumbai work had often pulled him away. Her own IT demands loomed too; a late-night client call interrupted their packing, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were small shadows, eclipsed by their shared excitement. They finalized their move over a call with Feroz, his warm voice crackling through the speaker. “The house is waiting,” he said, and Kavya felt a surge of warmth, picturing the jasmine garden, the creaking floorboards, a new home.
By the week’s end, their apartment was bare, boxes shipped to Hyderabad, their jobs secured as remote. They stood on the balcony, Mumbai’s skyline glittering below, the sea air heavy with salt and memory. Danish pulled Kavya close, his arms wrapping around her waist, her back against his chest. “We’re really doing this,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and certainty. She turned, her fingers tracing his jaw, her smile bright. “To Hyderabad, to us,” she whispered, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss, the city’s chaos fading behind their shared resolve. As they boarded the flight to Hyderabad, hands intertwined, the future felt like clean code—complex but solvable, a new chapter ready to compile in Feroz’s quiet, waiting home.
Settling into the Sunlight
The Hyderabad sun spilled golden light through the windows of Feroz’s two-story home, warming the creaking floorboards as Kavya and Danish unpacked the last of their boxes. The move from Mumbai, finalized after a whirlwind week of packing and goodbyes, felt like shedding a heavy coat. Their Bandra apartment’s chaos was a distant memory, replaced by the jasmine-scented air and quiet hum of Feroz’s house, now their home. Feroz welcomed them with a broad smile, his faded kurta catching the morning light, his voice warm as he set out steel tumblers of filter coffee. “This place is yours now,” he said, his eyes crinkling, and Kavya felt a surge of belonging, her hand finding Danish’s under the table, their fingers lacing together.
The first weeks were a tapestry of joy, woven from shared moments and the city’s slower pulse. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish optimizing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup—transformed the guest room into a shared office. Their laptops hummed side by side, screens glowing with code, but the tension of Mumbai’s deadlines felt softer here. They worked in sync, Kavya untangling a database knot while Danish tested a new script, their laughter punctuating the clatter of keyboards. “Your code’s cleaner than mine today,” Danish teased, leaning over to kiss her cheek, and she swatted him playfully, her smile bright, the room alive with their ease.
Evenings were for Hyderabad’s embrace. They explored the old city, wandering through Laad Bazaar’s vibrant alleys, Kavya trying on glass bangles while Danish haggled with a vendor, his grin boyish. At Charminar, they shared a plate of haleem, the spice lingering on their tongues, their shoulders brushing as they watched the bustling crowds. “This beats Mumbai’s traffic,” Kavya said, leaning into him, and Danish wrapped an arm around her, his warmth a quiet anchor. Their IT work, though demanding, found balance—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish brewing tea, and he tackled a client escalation while she rubbed his shoulders, their teamwork a seamless rhythm.
Family time with Feroz deepened their joy. Dinners were a ritual, the dining table laden with biryani, raita, and Feroz’s stories of Danish’s childhood—tales of tree-climbing mishaps or secret coding projects in his teens. Kavya laughed until her sides ached, Danish’s mock embarrassment melting into grins as he squeezed her hand. One evening, they set up a projector in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights twinkling. They watched an old Telugu film, Feroz narrating its history, Kavya nestled against Danish on a mat, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. “This is home,” she whispered, and Danish kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Yeah, it really is.”
Feroz joined their weekend adventures, guiding them to Golconda Fort, where they climbed ancient steps, Danish snapping photos of Kavya against the ruins, her laughter echoing. At home, they played cards, Feroz teaching Kavya a local game, his patient explanations met with her teasing complaints about his “unfair” wins. Danish watched, his eyes warm, pulling Kavya close during a break, their shared glances a silent promise of their new life. Their IT schedules, though occasionally hectic, felt lighter here—Kavya resolved a server outage with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a system crash while she cooked with Feroz, the kitchen filled with their chatter.
Yet, small shadows flickered, too faint to dim their joy but present. Danish’s phone buzzed one evening with a message from Vikram, a childhood friend from his Hyderabad college days, suggesting a coding meet-up. “Vikram’s still around,” Danish said, his voice tinged with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred, memories of Mumbai’s work-driven distance surfacing. Her own late-night client calls sometimes pulled her away, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were mere ripples, drowned by their happiness. As they sat on the balcony one night, the city’s lights glittering below, Kavya leaned into Danish, her hand in his. “We made the right call, moving here,” she said, her voice soft. He nodded, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “To us, to Hyderabad,” he murmured, their love a steady pulse in the jasmine air, the future bright with promise, the house a haven for their new beginning.

first of all thank you so much for reading my story and giving your reviews, well i am trying to update the story as soon as possible but i have to manage other works also and it takes so much of thinking and efforts to write. I apologies from my readers that i am unable to update it on regular basis.
I am also trying to make the story go forward naturally, there are lot of amazing things that will happen in future updates and i will try to write the erotic scenes in as much detail as possible.
For rahul i cant same much right now even tbh even i am not sure about what to do with his character if in future i think i can write something related to his character i will surely write. 
I understand the erotica is lacking but in my view i think i have to build some story forward and put the erotic scenes where it is necessary, if i give write erotic scenes in every update that will look fake this is what i think maybe i am wrong.
In the end i will say one thing that i will finish the story just bear with me, if i dont update the story for  few weeks it doesnt mean i forgot about my readers. Its all because of my readers that i got known here on xossipy.

Plz don’t finish /end ..the fascinating story must continue at your own pace....yes the erotica must seem natural which requires steady built up....with you always....plz continue and never end

[Paty@123]

Update plz sir

[PELURI]

I was going through all the comments/ analysis of the three characters....#justice for Rahul and
slurs for kavya but danish was hardly discussed....for me Danish comes across as the best and wholesome...the guy is polite and decent...strong, both physically and emotionally...never blaming any one for anything... even before first kiss and subsequent fucking Kavya, he was consistently seeking her consent....congratulations dear John for sculpting a real MAN...Kavya is manytimes lucky...

[Paty@123]

నేను మూడు పాత్రల వ్యాఖ్యలు/విశ్లేషణలన్నింటినీ చూస్తున్నాను....#రాహుల్‌కి న్యాయం మరియు
కావ్యకి తిట్లు కానీ డానిష్ గురించి పెద్దగా చర్చించబడలేదు....నాకు డానిష్ ఉత్తముడు మరియు ఆరోగ్యకరమైనవాడు...ఆ వ్యక్తి మర్యాదగా మరియు మంచివాడు...శారీరకంగా మరియు భావోద్వేగపరంగా బలంగా ఉన్నాడు...ఎవరినీ దేనికీ నిందించడు...మొదటి ముద్దు మరియు తరువాత కావ్యను ఫక్ చేసే ముందు కూడా, అతను నిరంతరం ఆమె సమ్మతిని కోరుతూ ఉండేవాడు....నిజమైన మనిషిని చెక్కినందుకు అభినందనలు ప్రియమైన జాన్...కావ్య చాలాసార్లు అదృష్టవంతురాలు...

If he is good how can he stole friend's wife

[PELURI]

CHAPTER – 65


The first week was a revelation, a pocket of joy that felt like rediscovery. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish managing cloud infrastructure for a Hyderabad startup—set up a makeshift office in the guest room, their laptops side by side on a wooden desk. The room buzzed with their shared rhythm: Kavya’s fingers flying over code, Danish testing scripts, their laughter punctuating the hum of ceiling fans. Mornings began with coffee on the balcony, their hands brushing as they passed the steel tumbler, the city’s distant honks a faint echo compared to Mumbai’s roar. “This feels right,” Kavya murmured one morning, her eyes tracing the garden’s marigolds, and Danish nodded, squeezing her hand, his smile bright. “Like we’re us again.”
Evenings were for exploration. They wandered through Laad Bazaar, Kavya’s fingers grazing bangles, Danish teasing her about buying the entire stall. At Hussain Sagar Lake, they shared a plate of street-side biryani, the spice lingering on their lips, their shoulders pressed close as they watched the sunset. “Hyderabad’s got a vibe Mumbai can’t touch,” Danish said, his arm around her, and Kavya laughed, leaning into him, her heart light. Their IT work, though demanding, felt manageable here—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a client’s server while she brewed tea, their teamwork seamless. Feroz joined them for dinners, his stories of Danish’s childhood sparking laughter, his presence a steady anchor that made the house feel like home.
One night, after a walk through the old city, they sat in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights casting a soft glow. Kavya rested her head on Danish’s shoulder, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this—us, here, away from the grind.” Danish turned to her, his eyes warm. “Me too. Mumbai’s killing us slowly. What if… we stayed? With Dad, in Hyderabad?” Her breath caught, the idea sparking like code compiling perfectly. She thought of their Bandra apartment, its cramped chaos, then this house—its space, its warmth, Feroz’s quiet support. “We’d need to sort out work,” she said, practical but hopeful, “but my team’s okay with remote. Yours?” Danish nodded, his grin boyish. “They’re local. It’s doable. Let’s do it, Kavya. Let’s make this home.”
The decision came the next morning, over breakfast with Feroz. Danish set down his coffee, his voice steady. “Dad, we’re thinking of moving here, for good. With you.” Feroz’s eyes softened, a smile creasing his face. “This house is too big for one old man. You’re welcome, always.” Kavya reached for Danish’s hand under the table, their fingers intertwining, the weight of Mumbai lifting. They spent the day planning—discussing logistics, remote work setups, the promise of a slower life. As they unpacked their laptops in the guest room, now their shared space, Kavya felt a surge of hope, the jasmine scent a quiet promise of new beginnings. Danish pulled her close, his lips brushing her forehead, their love a steady pulse in the warm Hyderabad air, the future bright with possibility.
Closing the Mumbai Chapter :
The Mumbai air hit Kavya like a wave as they stepped out of the airport, the familiar cacophony of honks and hawkers swallowing the quiet promise of Hyderabad. Their week at Feroz’s house had been a revelation—a pocket of shared laughter, late-night coding sessions, and stolen moments by Hussain Sagar Lake that rekindled their bond. The decision to relocate to Hyderabad, to live with Feroz in his jasmine-scented home, felt like a lifeline, a chance to trade Bandra’s relentless grind for a slower, richer life. Now, back in their cramped apartment, Kavya and Danish faced the task of wrapping up their Mumbai lives, their laptops humming with IT work as they packed boxes and planned their move, their love a steady current beneath the chaos.
The first days were a flurry of logistics. Kavya, still tethered to her Mumbai-based IT firm, negotiated a fully remote role, her fingers flying over emails to her manager while debugging a server issue from their dining table. Danish, managing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup, coordinated with his team via video calls, his voice animated as he discussed migration strategies, his laptop screen glowing late into the night. Between work, they sorted through their belongings—books, clothes, the coffee maker they’d bought on a whim—deciding what to ship to Hyderabad. “We don’t need half this stuff,” Kavya laughed, holding up a tacky souvenir mug, and Danish grinned, snatching it from her. “That’s our history, Kavya. It’s coming with us.” Their banter felt light, a reminder of the ease they’d rediscovered in Hyderabad.
Evenings were for tying up loose ends. They met friends at a Bandra café, sharing their plans over cutting chai, the sea breeze carrying their laughter. Kavya’s colleague Priya hugged her tightly, promising to visit Hyderabad, while Danish’s teammate Rohan toasted their move, joking about Hyderabad’s biryani trumping Mumbai’s vada pav. Back home, they packed with purpose, Kavya folding kurtas while Danish labeled boxes, their hands brushing as they passed tape or markers, small touches that grounded them. One night, sprawled on the couch amidst half-packed boxes, Kavya leaned into Danish, her head on his chest. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” she murmured, the hum of Mumbai’s traffic a distant pulse. He kissed her forehead, his voice soft. “It’s more than right. It’s us, starting fresh.”
Yet, subtle hints of future strain flickered. Danish’s phone buzzed with a message from Vikram, his Hyderabad friend, inviting him to a coding meet-up once they settled. “Vikram’s already planning a reunion,” Danish said, his eyes bright with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred—she remembered how his Mumbai work had often pulled him away. Her own IT demands loomed too; a late-night client call interrupted their packing, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were small shadows, eclipsed by their shared excitement. They finalized their move over a call with Feroz, his warm voice crackling through the speaker. “The house is waiting,” he said, and Kavya felt a surge of warmth, picturing the jasmine garden, the creaking floorboards, a new home.
By the week’s end, their apartment was bare, boxes shipped to Hyderabad, their jobs secured as remote. They stood on the balcony, Mumbai’s skyline glittering below, the sea air heavy with salt and memory. Danish pulled Kavya close, his arms wrapping around her waist, her back against his chest. “We’re really doing this,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and certainty. She turned, her fingers tracing his jaw, her smile bright. “To Hyderabad, to us,” she whispered, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss, the city’s chaos fading behind their shared resolve. As they boarded the flight to Hyderabad, hands intertwined, the future felt like clean code—complex but solvable, a new chapter ready to compile in Feroz’s quiet, waiting home.
Settling into the Sunlight
The Hyderabad sun spilled golden light through the windows of Feroz’s two-story home, warming the creaking floorboards as Kavya and Danish unpacked the last of their boxes. The move from Mumbai, finalized after a whirlwind week of packing and goodbyes, felt like shedding a heavy coat. Their Bandra apartment’s chaos was a distant memory, replaced by the jasmine-scented air and quiet hum of Feroz’s house, now their home. Feroz welcomed them with a broad smile, his faded kurta catching the morning light, his voice warm as he set out steel tumblers of filter coffee. “This place is yours now,” he said, his eyes crinkling, and Kavya felt a surge of belonging, her hand finding Danish’s under the table, their fingers lacing together.
The first weeks were a tapestry of joy, woven from shared moments and the city’s slower pulse. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish optimizing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup—transformed the guest room into a shared office. Their laptops hummed side by side, screens glowing with code, but the tension of Mumbai’s deadlines felt softer here. They worked in sync, Kavya untangling a database knot while Danish tested a new script, their laughter punctuating the clatter of keyboards. “Your code’s cleaner than mine today,” Danish teased, leaning over to kiss her cheek, and she swatted him playfully, her smile bright, the room alive with their ease.
Evenings were for Hyderabad’s embrace. They explored the old city, wandering through Laad Bazaar’s vibrant alleys, Kavya trying on glass bangles while Danish haggled with a vendor, his grin boyish. At Charminar, they shared a plate of haleem, the spice lingering on their tongues, their shoulders brushing as they watched the bustling crowds. “This beats Mumbai’s traffic,” Kavya said, leaning into him, and Danish wrapped an arm around her, his warmth a quiet anchor. Their IT work, though demanding, found balance—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish brewing tea, and he tackled a client escalation while she rubbed his shoulders, their teamwork a seamless rhythm.
Family time with Feroz deepened their joy. Dinners were a ritual, the dining table laden with biryani, raita, and Feroz’s stories of Danish’s childhood—tales of tree-climbing mishaps or secret coding projects in his teens. Kavya laughed until her sides ached, Danish’s mock embarrassment melting into grins as he squeezed her hand. One evening, they set up a projector in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights twinkling. They watched an old Telugu film, Feroz narrating its history, Kavya nestled against Danish on a mat, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. “This is home,” she whispered, and Danish kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Yeah, it really is.”
Feroz joined their weekend adventures, guiding them to Golconda Fort, where they climbed ancient steps, Danish snapping photos of Kavya against the ruins, her laughter echoing. At home, they played cards, Feroz teaching Kavya a local game, his patient explanations met with her teasing complaints about his “unfair” wins. Danish watched, his eyes warm, pulling Kavya close during a break, their shared glances a silent promise of their new life. Their IT schedules, though occasionally hectic, felt lighter here—Kavya resolved a server outage with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a system crash while she cooked with Feroz, the kitchen filled with their chatter.
Yet, small shadows flickered, too faint to dim their joy but present. Danish’s phone buzzed one evening with a message from Vikram, a childhood friend from his Hyderabad college days, suggesting a coding meet-up. “Vikram’s still around,” Danish said, his voice tinged with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred, memories of Mumbai’s work-driven distance surfacing. Her own late-night client calls sometimes pulled her away, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were mere ripples, drowned by their happiness. As they sat on the balcony one night, the city’s lights glittering below, Kavya leaned into Danish, her hand in his. “We made the right call, moving here,” she said, her voice soft. He nodded, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “To us, to Hyderabad,” he murmured, their love a steady pulse in the jasmine air, the future bright with promise, the house a haven for their new beginning.

If he is good how can he stole friend's wife

he didn’t steal.....kavya offered herself. .she entered Danish’s room secretly at midnight, while her husband was asleep, on the pretex of birthday and kissed him long....

[PELURI]

hoping for a lengthy erotic update tomorrow....

[PELURI]

sometimes i think that let danish and kavya do everything in the story and dont add more characters.

no no brother....a sensuous woman like Kavya needs multiple lovers

CHAPTER – 65


The first week was a revelation, a pocket of joy that felt like rediscovery. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish managing cloud infrastructure for a Hyderabad startup—set up a makeshift office in the guest room, their laptops side by side on a wooden desk. The room buzzed with their shared rhythm: Kavya’s fingers flying over code, Danish testing scripts, their laughter punctuating the hum of ceiling fans. Mornings began with coffee on the balcony, their hands brushing as they passed the steel tumbler, the city’s distant honks a faint echo compared to Mumbai’s roar. “This feels right,” Kavya murmured one morning, her eyes tracing the garden’s marigolds, and Danish nodded, squeezing her hand, his smile bright. “Like we’re us again.”
Evenings were for exploration. They wandered through Laad Bazaar, Kavya’s fingers grazing bangles, Danish teasing her about buying the entire stall. At Hussain Sagar Lake, they shared a plate of street-side biryani, the spice lingering on their lips, their shoulders pressed close as they watched the sunset. “Hyderabad’s got a vibe Mumbai can’t touch,” Danish said, his arm around her, and Kavya laughed, leaning into him, her heart light. Their IT work, though demanding, felt manageable here—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a client’s server while she brewed tea, their teamwork seamless. Feroz joined them for dinners, his stories of Danish’s childhood sparking laughter, his presence a steady anchor that made the house feel like home.
One night, after a walk through the old city, they sat in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights casting a soft glow. Kavya rested her head on Danish’s shoulder, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this—us, here, away from the grind.” Danish turned to her, his eyes warm. “Me too. Mumbai’s killing us slowly. What if… we stayed? With Dad, in Hyderabad?” Her breath caught, the idea sparking like code compiling perfectly. She thought of their Bandra apartment, its cramped chaos, then this house—its space, its warmth, Feroz’s quiet support. “We’d need to sort out work,” she said, practical but hopeful, “but my team’s okay with remote. Yours?” Danish nodded, his grin boyish. “They’re local. It’s doable. Let’s do it, Kavya. Let’s make this home.”
The decision came the next morning, over breakfast with Feroz. Danish set down his coffee, his voice steady. “Dad, we’re thinking of moving here, for good. With you.” Feroz’s eyes softened, a smile creasing his face. “This house is too big for one old man. You’re welcome, always.” Kavya reached for Danish’s hand under the table, their fingers intertwining, the weight of Mumbai lifting. They spent the day planning—discussing logistics, remote work setups, the promise of a slower life. As they unpacked their laptops in the guest room, now their shared space, Kavya felt a surge of hope, the jasmine scent a quiet promise of new beginnings. Danish pulled her close, his lips brushing her forehead, their love a steady pulse in the warm Hyderabad air, the future bright with possibility.
Closing the Mumbai Chapter :
The Mumbai air hit Kavya like a wave as they stepped out of the airport, the familiar cacophony of honks and hawkers swallowing the quiet promise of Hyderabad. Their week at Feroz’s house had been a revelation—a pocket of shared laughter, late-night coding sessions, and stolen moments by Hussain Sagar Lake that rekindled their bond. The decision to relocate to Hyderabad, to live with Feroz in his jasmine-scented home, felt like a lifeline, a chance to trade Bandra’s relentless grind for a slower, richer life. Now, back in their cramped apartment, Kavya and Danish faced the task of wrapping up their Mumbai lives, their laptops humming with IT work as they packed boxes and planned their move, their love a steady current beneath the chaos.
The first days were a flurry of logistics. Kavya, still tethered to her Mumbai-based IT firm, negotiated a fully remote role, her fingers flying over emails to her manager while debugging a server issue from their dining table. Danish, managing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup, coordinated with his team via video calls, his voice animated as he discussed migration strategies, his laptop screen glowing late into the night. Between work, they sorted through their belongings—books, clothes, the coffee maker they’d bought on a whim—deciding what to ship to Hyderabad. “We don’t need half this stuff,” Kavya laughed, holding up a tacky souvenir mug, and Danish grinned, snatching it from her. “That’s our history, Kavya. It’s coming with us.” Their banter felt light, a reminder of the ease they’d rediscovered in Hyderabad.
Evenings were for tying up loose ends. They met friends at a Bandra café, sharing their plans over cutting chai, the sea breeze carrying their laughter. Kavya’s colleague Priya hugged her tightly, promising to visit Hyderabad, while Danish’s teammate Rohan toasted their move, joking about Hyderabad’s biryani trumping Mumbai’s vada pav. Back home, they packed with purpose, Kavya folding kurtas while Danish labeled boxes, their hands brushing as they passed tape or markers, small touches that grounded them. One night, sprawled on the couch amidst half-packed boxes, Kavya leaned into Danish, her head on his chest. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” she murmured, the hum of Mumbai’s traffic a distant pulse. He kissed her forehead, his voice soft. “It’s more than right. It’s us, starting fresh.”
Yet, subtle hints of future strain flickered. Danish’s phone buzzed with a message from Vikram, his Hyderabad friend, inviting him to a coding meet-up once they settled. “Vikram’s already planning a reunion,” Danish said, his eyes bright with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred—she remembered how his Mumbai work had often pulled him away. Her own IT demands loomed too; a late-night client call interrupted their packing, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were small shadows, eclipsed by their shared excitement. They finalized their move over a call with Feroz, his warm voice crackling through the speaker. “The house is waiting,” he said, and Kavya felt a surge of warmth, picturing the jasmine garden, the creaking floorboards, a new home.
By the week’s end, their apartment was bare, boxes shipped to Hyderabad, their jobs secured as remote. They stood on the balcony, Mumbai’s skyline glittering below, the sea air heavy with salt and memory. Danish pulled Kavya close, his arms wrapping around her waist, her back against his chest. “We’re really doing this,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and certainty. She turned, her fingers tracing his jaw, her smile bright. “To Hyderabad, to us,” she whispered, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss, the city’s chaos fading behind their shared resolve. As they boarded the flight to Hyderabad, hands intertwined, the future felt like clean code—complex but solvable, a new chapter ready to compile in Feroz’s quiet, waiting home.
Settling into the Sunlight
The Hyderabad sun spilled golden light through the windows of Feroz’s two-story home, warming the creaking floorboards as Kavya and Danish unpacked the last of their boxes. The move from Mumbai, finalized after a whirlwind week of packing and goodbyes, felt like shedding a heavy coat. Their Bandra apartment’s chaos was a distant memory, replaced by the jasmine-scented air and quiet hum of Feroz’s house, now their home. Feroz welcomed them with a broad smile, his faded kurta catching the morning light, his voice warm as he set out steel tumblers of filter coffee. “This place is yours now,” he said, his eyes crinkling, and Kavya felt a surge of belonging, her hand finding Danish’s under the table, their fingers lacing together.
The first weeks were a tapestry of joy, woven from shared moments and the city’s slower pulse. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish optimizing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup—transformed the guest room into a shared office. Their laptops hummed side by side, screens glowing with code, but the tension of Mumbai’s deadlines felt softer here. They worked in sync, Kavya untangling a database knot while Danish tested a new script, their laughter punctuating the clatter of keyboards. “Your code’s cleaner than mine today,” Danish teased, leaning over to kiss her cheek, and she swatted him playfully, her smile bright, the room alive with their ease.
Evenings were for Hyderabad’s embrace. They explored the old city, wandering through Laad Bazaar’s vibrant alleys, Kavya trying on glass bangles while Danish haggled with a vendor, his grin boyish. At Charminar, they shared a plate of haleem, the spice lingering on their tongues, their shoulders brushing as they watched the bustling crowds. “This beats Mumbai’s traffic,” Kavya said, leaning into him, and Danish wrapped an arm around her, his warmth a quiet anchor. Their IT work, though demanding, found balance—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish brewing tea, and he tackled a client escalation while she rubbed his shoulders, their teamwork a seamless rhythm.
Family time with Feroz deepened their joy. Dinners were a ritual, the dining table laden with biryani, raita, and Feroz’s stories of Danish’s childhood—tales of tree-climbing mishaps or secret coding projects in his teens. Kavya laughed until her sides ached, Danish’s mock embarrassment melting into grins as he squeezed her hand. One evening, they set up a projector in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights twinkling. They watched an old Telugu film, Feroz narrating its history, Kavya nestled against Danish on a mat, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. “This is home,” she whispered, and Danish kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Yeah, it really is.”
Feroz joined their weekend adventures, guiding them to Golconda Fort, where they climbed ancient steps, Danish snapping photos of Kavya against the ruins, her laughter echoing. At home, they played cards, Feroz teaching Kavya a local game, his patient explanations met with her teasing complaints about his “unfair” wins. Danish watched, his eyes warm, pulling Kavya close during a break, their shared glances a silent promise of their new life. Their IT schedules, though occasionally hectic, felt lighter here—Kavya resolved a server outage with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a system crash while she cooked with Feroz, the kitchen filled with their chatter.
Yet, small shadows flickered, too faint to dim their joy but present. Danish’s phone buzzed one evening with a message from Vikram, a childhood friend from his Hyderabad college days, suggesting a coding meet-up. “Vikram’s still around,” Danish said, his voice tinged with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred, memories of Mumbai’s work-driven distance surfacing. Her own late-night client calls sometimes pulled her away, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were mere ripples, drowned by their happiness. As they sat on the balcony one night, the city’s lights glittering below, Kavya leaned into Danish, her hand in his. “We made the right call, moving here,” she said, her voice soft. He nodded, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “To us, to Hyderabad,” he murmured, their love a steady pulse in the jasmine air, the future bright with promise, the house a haven for their new beginning.

[PELURI]

dear john....now that both are married to each other, may not be appropriate so plz remember to save for Vikram’s escapades i.e., worship of the back from shoulder blades to ass cheeks and depths inbetween....

[PELURI]

hi john...long time no see...can't wait for an update

[Chennaiboy]

yr): clp);

[PELURI]

hi cool writer....the story is poised at a very critical junction.....happily married and settled in a big house in nostalgic Hyderabad.....however one side is FIL and Vikram on the other...FIL demanding KIDS....Kavya parents finally accepts and even visit the Daughter at her Hyderabad residence and are bowled over by the huge house with garden...kavya shares that Karan has asked her to retain all virtues of her brahamical upbringing and that ., is only a way of life....parents are surprised and flagger blastered... dotting Feroz proud of Kavya puts their worst fears to rest... handsome Danish too wins them over with his impecable manners and gentle behaviuor....before leaving invites Feroz and the couple to their Delhi home...and requests Kavya for giving them grand child....now the big twist is DANISH cannot impregnate due to sperm issues..this devastates Danish who looses apitite for sex....now to who does Kavya turn to...FIL or Vikram....with your deft narration and behavioural analysis, you’ll make this gut wrecking....suggestion plz.
.

[PELURI]

CHAPTER – 65


The first week was a revelation, a pocket of joy that felt like rediscovery. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish managing cloud infrastructure for a Hyderabad startup—set up a makeshift office in the guest room, their laptops side by side on a wooden desk. The room buzzed with their shared rhythm: Kavya’s fingers flying over code, Danish testing scripts, their laughter punctuating the hum of ceiling fans. Mornings began with coffee on the balcony, their hands brushing as they passed the steel tumbler, the city’s distant honks a faint echo compared to Mumbai’s roar. “This feels right,” Kavya murmured one morning, her eyes tracing the garden’s marigolds, and Danish nodded, squeezing her hand, his smile bright. “Like we’re us again.”
Evenings were for exploration. They wandered through Laad Bazaar, Kavya’s fingers grazing bangles, Danish teasing her about buying the entire stall. At Hussain Sagar Lake, they shared a plate of street-side biryani, the spice lingering on their lips, their shoulders pressed close as they watched the sunset. “Hyderabad’s got a vibe Mumbai can’t touch,” Danish said, his arm around her, and Kavya laughed, leaning into him, her heart light. Their IT work, though demanding, felt manageable here—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a client’s server while she brewed tea, their teamwork seamless. Feroz joined them for dinners, his stories of Danish’s childhood sparking laughter, his presence a steady anchor that made the house feel like home.
One night, after a walk through the old city, they sat in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights casting a soft glow. Kavya rested her head on Danish’s shoulder, her voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this—us, here, away from the grind.” Danish turned to her, his eyes warm. “Me too. Mumbai’s killing us slowly. What if… we stayed? With Dad, in Hyderabad?” Her breath caught, the idea sparking like code compiling perfectly. She thought of their Bandra apartment, its cramped chaos, then this house—its space, its warmth, Feroz’s quiet support. “We’d need to sort out work,” she said, practical but hopeful, “but my team’s okay with remote. Yours?” Danish nodded, his grin boyish. “They’re local. It’s doable. Let’s do it, Kavya. Let’s make this home.”
The decision came the next morning, over breakfast with Feroz. Danish set down his coffee, his voice steady. “Dad, we’re thinking of moving here, for good. With you.” Feroz’s eyes softened, a smile creasing his face. “This house is too big for one old man. You’re welcome, always.” Kavya reached for Danish’s hand under the table, their fingers intertwining, the weight of Mumbai lifting. They spent the day planning—discussing logistics, remote work setups, the promise of a slower life. As they unpacked their laptops in the guest room, now their shared space, Kavya felt a surge of hope, the jasmine scent a quiet promise of new beginnings. Danish pulled her close, his lips brushing her forehead, their love a steady pulse in the warm Hyderabad air, the future bright with possibility.
Closing the Mumbai Chapter :
The Mumbai air hit Kavya like a wave as they stepped out of the airport, the familiar cacophony of honks and hawkers swallowing the quiet promise of Hyderabad. Their week at Feroz’s house had been a revelation—a pocket of shared laughter, late-night coding sessions, and stolen moments by Hussain Sagar Lake that rekindled their bond. The decision to relocate to Hyderabad, to live with Feroz in his jasmine-scented home, felt like a lifeline, a chance to trade Bandra’s relentless grind for a slower, richer life. Now, back in their cramped apartment, Kavya and Danish faced the task of wrapping up their Mumbai lives, their laptops humming with IT work as they packed boxes and planned their move, their love a steady current beneath the chaos.
The first days were a flurry of logistics. Kavya, still tethered to her Mumbai-based IT firm, negotiated a fully remote role, her fingers flying over emails to her manager while debugging a server issue from their dining table. Danish, managing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup, coordinated with his team via video calls, his voice animated as he discussed migration strategies, his laptop screen glowing late into the night. Between work, they sorted through their belongings—books, clothes, the coffee maker they’d bought on a whim—deciding what to ship to Hyderabad. “We don’t need half this stuff,” Kavya laughed, holding up a tacky souvenir mug, and Danish grinned, snatching it from her. “That’s our history, Kavya. It’s coming with us.” Their banter felt light, a reminder of the ease they’d rediscovered in Hyderabad.
Evenings were for tying up loose ends. They met friends at a Bandra café, sharing their plans over cutting chai, the sea breeze carrying their laughter. Kavya’s colleague Priya hugged her tightly, promising to visit Hyderabad, while Danish’s teammate Rohan toasted their move, joking about Hyderabad’s biryani trumping Mumbai’s vada pav. Back home, they packed with purpose, Kavya folding kurtas while Danish labeled boxes, their hands brushing as they passed tape or markers, small touches that grounded them. One night, sprawled on the couch amidst half-packed boxes, Kavya leaned into Danish, her head on his chest. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” she murmured, the hum of Mumbai’s traffic a distant pulse. He kissed her forehead, his voice soft. “It’s more than right. It’s us, starting fresh.”
Yet, subtle hints of future strain flickered. Danish’s phone buzzed with a message from Vikram, his Hyderabad friend, inviting him to a coding meet-up once they settled. “Vikram’s already planning a reunion,” Danish said, his eyes bright with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred—she remembered how his Mumbai work had often pulled him away. Her own IT demands loomed too; a late-night client call interrupted their packing, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were small shadows, eclipsed by their shared excitement. They finalized their move over a call with Feroz, his warm voice crackling through the speaker. “The house is waiting,” he said, and Kavya felt a surge of warmth, picturing the jasmine garden, the creaking floorboards, a new home.
By the week’s end, their apartment was bare, boxes shipped to Hyderabad, their jobs secured as remote. They stood on the balcony, Mumbai’s skyline glittering below, the sea air heavy with salt and memory. Danish pulled Kavya close, his arms wrapping around her waist, her back against his chest. “We’re really doing this,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and certainty. She turned, her fingers tracing his jaw, her smile bright. “To Hyderabad, to us,” she whispered, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss, the city’s chaos fading behind their shared resolve. As they boarded the flight to Hyderabad, hands intertwined, the future felt like clean code—complex but solvable, a new chapter ready to compile in Feroz’s quiet, waiting home.
Settling into the Sunlight
The Hyderabad sun spilled golden light through the windows of Feroz’s two-story home, warming the creaking floorboards as Kavya and Danish unpacked the last of their boxes. The move from Mumbai, finalized after a whirlwind week of packing and goodbyes, felt like shedding a heavy coat. Their Bandra apartment’s chaos was a distant memory, replaced by the jasmine-scented air and quiet hum of Feroz’s house, now their home. Feroz welcomed them with a broad smile, his faded kurta catching the morning light, his voice warm as he set out steel tumblers of filter coffee. “This place is yours now,” he said, his eyes crinkling, and Kavya felt a surge of belonging, her hand finding Danish’s under the table, their fingers lacing together.
The first weeks were a tapestry of joy, woven from shared moments and the city’s slower pulse. Kavya and Danish, both tethered to their IT jobs—Kavya debugging server issues for her Mumbai firm, Danish optimizing cloud infrastructure for his Hyderabad startup—transformed the guest room into a shared office. Their laptops hummed side by side, screens glowing with code, but the tension of Mumbai’s deadlines felt softer here. They worked in sync, Kavya untangling a database knot while Danish tested a new script, their laughter punctuating the clatter of keyboards. “Your code’s cleaner than mine today,” Danish teased, leaning over to kiss her cheek, and she swatted him playfully, her smile bright, the room alive with their ease.
Evenings were for Hyderabad’s embrace. They explored the old city, wandering through Laad Bazaar’s vibrant alleys, Kavya trying on glass bangles while Danish haggled with a vendor, his grin boyish. At Charminar, they shared a plate of haleem, the spice lingering on their tongues, their shoulders brushing as they watched the bustling crowds. “This beats Mumbai’s traffic,” Kavya said, leaning into him, and Danish wrapped an arm around her, his warmth a quiet anchor. Their IT work, though demanding, found balance—Kavya handled a late-night deployment with Danish brewing tea, and he tackled a client escalation while she rubbed his shoulders, their teamwork a seamless rhythm.
Family time with Feroz deepened their joy. Dinners were a ritual, the dining table laden with biryani, raita, and Feroz’s stories of Danish’s childhood—tales of tree-climbing mishaps or secret coding projects in his teens. Kavya laughed until her sides ached, Danish’s mock embarrassment melting into grins as he squeezed her hand. One evening, they set up a projector in the garden, the jasmine air thick, fairy lights twinkling. They watched an old Telugu film, Feroz narrating its history, Kavya nestled against Danish on a mat, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. “This is home,” she whispered, and Danish kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Yeah, it really is.”
Feroz joined their weekend adventures, guiding them to Golconda Fort, where they climbed ancient steps, Danish snapping photos of Kavya against the ruins, her laughter echoing. At home, they played cards, Feroz teaching Kavya a local game, his patient explanations met with her teasing complaints about his “unfair” wins. Danish watched, his eyes warm, pulling Kavya close during a break, their shared glances a silent promise of their new life. Their IT schedules, though occasionally hectic, felt lighter here—Kavya resolved a server outage with Danish’s encouragement, and he debugged a system crash while she cooked with Feroz, the kitchen filled with their chatter.
Yet, small shadows flickered, too faint to dim their joy but present. Danish’s phone buzzed one evening with a message from Vikram, a childhood friend from his Hyderabad college days, suggesting a coding meet-up. “Vikram’s still around,” Danish said, his voice tinged with nostalgia, and Kavya smiled, though a quiet unease stirred, memories of Mumbai’s work-driven distance surfacing. Her own late-night client calls sometimes pulled her away, and Danish’s fleeting sigh, quickly masked, didn’t escape her notice. But these were mere ripples, drowned by their happiness. As they sat on the balcony one night, the city’s lights glittering below, Kavya leaned into Danish, her hand in his. “We made the right call, moving here,” she said, her voice soft. He nodded, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her temple. “To us, to Hyderabad,” he murmured, their love a steady pulse in the jasmine air, the future bright with promise, the house a haven for their new beginning.

hi cool writer....the story is poised at a very critical junction.....happily married and settled in a big house in nostalgic Hyderabad.....however one side is FIL and Vikram on the other...FIL demanding KIDS....Kavya parents finally accepts and even visit the Daughter at her Hyderabad residence and are bowled over by the huge house with garden...kavya shares that Karan has asked her to retain all virtues of her brahamical upbringing and that ., is only a way of life....parents are surprised and flagger blastered... dotting Feroz proud of Kavya puts their worst fears to rest...  handsome Danish too wins them over with his impecable manners and gentle behaviuor....before leaving invites Feroz and the couple to their Delhi home...and requests Kavya for giving them grand child....now the big twist is DANISH cannot impregnate due to sperm issues..this devastates Danish who looses apitite for sex....now to who does Kavya turn to...FIL or Vikram....with your deft narration and behavioural analysis, you’ll make this gut wrecking....suggestion plz.
.

it's not Karan but Feroz...a few spelling mistakes rolled in...regrets

[John446]

hi cool writer....the story is poised at a very critical junction.....happily married and settled in a big house in nostalgic Hyderabad.....however one side is FIL and Vikram on the other...FIL demanding KIDS....Kavya parents finally accepts and even visit the Daughter at her Hyderabad residence and are bowled over by the huge house with garden...kavya shares that Karan has asked her to retain all virtues of her brahamical upbringing and that ., is only a way of life....parents are surprised and flagger blastered... dotting Feroz proud of Kavya puts their worst fears to rest...  handsome Danish too wins them over with his impecable manners and gentle behaviuor....before leaving invites Feroz and the couple to their Delhi home...and requests Kavya for giving them grand child....now the big twist is DANISH cannot impregnate due to sperm issues..this devastates Danish who looses apitite for sex....now to who does Kavya turn to...FIL or Vikram....with your deft narration and behavioural analysis, you’ll make this gut wrecking....suggestion plz.
.

Thank you for the suggestion, i will keep that in mind

[PELURI]

hi John446....gloomy calm pervades...loyalists are dithering in search of greener postures...post update soon to bring back the gang.....can't wait

[PELURI]

Bro John446...today's weekend...waiting to be spiced up....open up the story...shift the action to delhi...the couple visits Kavya’s home as invited by her parents...danish returns to Hyderabad to attend work abd be with dad Karan, leaving Kavya to spend more time with her parents and continue work from home...introduce Kavya’s college friend...too many options...update plz