Fantasy Devika, a rich high class housewife, with angel heart

[Thilka]

Extraordinary

[tamannanav]

Wtf did i just read
Hottest episode in this story
Continue this momentum
Just so erotic and composed
Best writer here at present

[Sage_69]

One talk from Saradha and Devika went from zero to hundred. Those events were incredible. Specially loved to part of Devika and Seenu. Controlling teenagers through lust is easy but old men are very clever, one mistake and she will become the one to be controlled. Hope she learns as time passes and become the only queen of her men. She will also need to understand the scheme of the father and son and try to reverse control them in their own game.

[Mahesh]

Nice going

[Sarran Raj]

SUPER UPDATE. SOON THREE VISHNU, SEENU AND PATHAN WILL TOGETHER SHOVE THEIR DICKS IN THE HOLES OF DEVIKA

[sexycharan]

Very good update.

She is playing with fire without knowing it is going destroy her life.

[StoryReader1]

Pl cont

[jaksa]

Man that's one hell of an update and the story going fire
Don't stop please continue with same pace explore devika more slowly and make all men fuk her hole and fill it with their cums

She deserves more diks

[White Walker]

Update please

[Mahesh]

Please update

[Namard pati]

https://xossipy.com/thread-66981-page-15.html



पूरे इंटरनेट की सबसे डिटेल बढ़िया मस्त interfaith based cuckold story

[Kartikjessie]

Hope her husband will die soon in some accident.

[jaksa]

Waiting for wonderful update of the best ever story

[jaksa]

Any possibility on update guys?
What's ur guess?

[White Walker]

Update

[prady12191]

"It's done," Vishnu announced, setting his phone on the cluttered table. "She's coming tomorrow."

Dattu's weathered face split into a broad grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He clapped his calloused hands together once, the sound sharp in their small kitchen.

Dattu: "She agreed just like that? To come to a stranger's house?"

"Just like I told you she would," Vishnu said, unable to hide his satisfaction. "She's concerned about my education, my future." He emphasized the last word with a knowing smirk.

Dattu reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey, pouring a celebratory measure into his glass. The amber liquid caught the dim light as he raised it in a mock toast.

Dattu: "To concerned teachers who go beyond the call of duty."

Vishnu watched his father drink, calculating their next steps. "Remember everything I told you. You need to look... broken. Not drunk, but like a man fighting his demons. She responds to vulnerability."

Dattu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded solemnly.

Dattu: "I know how to play my part. Been broken enough times for real." He squinted at his son. "What about you? Where will you be?"

"I'll make myself scarce," Vishnu replied. "She needs to focus on you, not me. I'll say I'm going to the garage to finish a job, so she thinks I'm still working instead of studying."

Dattu leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he imagined the coming encounter.

Dattu: "What time will she come?"

"Early evening, probably. After her classes end." Vishnu paused, studying his father's eager expression. "She'll be wearing a saree. Probably a dark blue one—she wears that for Friday classes. The blouse is cut low in the back."

Dattu's eyes darkened with desire. He ran his tongue across his lower lip, a gesture Vishnu had seen countless times when his father spotted an attractive woman on the street.

Dattu: "You've watched her closely."

"I've seen everything there is to see," Vishnu replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "And touched what you're hoping to touch."

Something shifted in Dattu's expression—a flash of jealousy, quickly masked. He straightened in his chair.

Dattu: "From tomorrow, this is my game to play. I know how to handle women. Even educated ones."

Vishnu nodded, though a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. His father's heavy-handed approach with women had caused problems before. But Devika was different—she was already compromised, already participating in a dangerous game with her students.

"Just remember," Vishnu cautioned, "she needs to trust you first. She's not some woman at a toddy shop. She's a professor. Respect first, then desire."

Dattu waved his hand dismissively.

Dattu: "I know, I know. Play the sad widower. Let her feel sorry for me. Make her think helping me was her own idea." He took another swig from his glass. "I've lived longer than you, boy. I know a thing or two about what makes a woman tick."

"Then you know patience is key," Vishnu pressed. "Don't rush her."

Dattu's eyes narrowed slightly.

Dattu: "You seem very concerned about how I treat her. Getting possessive of your teacher?"

Vishnu felt a flush creep up his neck. The question hit closer to home than he cared to admit. Despite engineering this situation, the thought of his father with Devika stirred complicated emotions.

"I just don't want anything to interfere with my grades," he said carefully. "If she gets upset with you, she might take it out on me in class."

Dattu studied his son's face, then nodded slowly.

Dattu: "Don't worry. I'll be gentle with your precious professor." His lips curled into a knowing smile. "At first."

Vishnu stood up, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "I should go. Need to pick up some extra shifts at the garage if people are going to believe I'm working instead of studying."

Dattu: "Go ahead. Leave everything here to me." He gestured around their modest apartment. "I'll clean up a bit. Not too much—she needs to see some struggle, some hardship. But enough that she doesn't turn around and walk straight out."

Vishnu gathered his jacket, pausing at the door. "One more thing. When you talk about Amma, make it real. Talk about how Devika's eyes remind you of her. How seeing a beautiful, educated woman in our home brings back memories."

Dattu nodded, his expression softening at the mention of his late wife.

Dattu: "That part won't be difficult. Your mother was the only woman who ever saw something in me worth saving." He looked down at his glass, swirling the remaining liquor. "Maybe this Kerala teacher will too."

The vulnerability in his father's voice caught Vishnu off guard. For a moment, he glimpsed the wounded man beneath the rough exterior—the man Devika would need to see.

"Just follow the plan," Vishnu said, his hand on the doorknob. "I'll stay away until the weekend. By then, you should have established some connection with her."

Dattu: "And if I succeed? If she responds to me the way she responded to you?"

Vishnu hesitated, the question hanging heavy between them.

"Then you'll have your moment with her," he said finally. "But remember—she's still my teacher."

Dattu raised his glass in acknowledgment.

Dattu: "To shared secrets, then. Father and son."

Vishnu nodded curtly and stepped out into the evening air, closing the door behind him. He stood still for a moment, listening to his father's movements inside—the clink of the glass being set down, the scbang of the chair as he rose.

Tomorrow, Devika would walk into their carefully laid trap, her concern for his education the perfect bait. Vishnu imagined her face when she realized she'd been manipulated, when she found herself alone with his father's hungry eyes and practiced vulnerability.

A mix of anticipation and unease settled in his stomach as he walked away from the apartment. He had set events in motion that he could no longer control, unleashing his father's desires on the woman who had awakened his own.

[prady12191]

The next evening, as dusk settled over the small housing colony, Devika found herself standing before a shabby apartment building on the outskirts of Pune. The concrete structure was weathered, paint peeling from its exterior walls, but maintained with what dignity poverty allowed. She checked the address once more, confirming she had the right place, then climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor.

Standing before apartment 204, Devika smoothed her dark blue saree and adjusted her pallu over her shoulder. She had come directly from college, her leather bag still heavy with unmarked assignments. Taking a deep breath, she knocked firmly on the door.

Inside, she heard sudden movement—a chair scbanging against the floor, hurried footsteps. The door swung open to reveal Dattu, his weathered face lighting up with recognition.

Dattu: "Professor! What a surprise!"

His eyes traveled quickly over her form, lingering on the curves of her waist visible beneath the finely dbangd saree, before returning to her face with practiced casualness. Devika noticed the half-empty bottle on the table behind him, alongside a dirty glass.

Devika: "Good evening. I hope I'm not intruding. I came to speak with you about Vishnu."

Dattu stepped back, gesturing for her to enter with a sweep of his arm that was both deferential and eager.

Dattu: "No intrusion at all! Please, please come inside. It's a great honor to have Vishnu's teacher visit our humble home."

Devika stepped inside, immediately struck by the cramped quarters—a combined living room and kitchen, with two doors presumably leading to bedrooms. Despite the limited space, she noted the room was tidier than she'd expected, though the scent of alcohol hung in the air.

Devika: "Is Vishnu here? I need to speak with him about his absence from classes."

Dattu's expression fell, a shadow crossing his features.

Dattu: "No, madam. He's at the garage, working late. He's been working instead of studying these days."

Devika set her bag down carefully on a chair, noting how Dattu's eyes followed her movements, his breathing slightly quicker than normal. She recalled seeing him at college days earlier—his intense gaze had reminded her of Vishnu's, though there was something more raw, more unfiltered in the father's stare.

Devika: "That's precisely why I'm here. Vishnu has been making excellent progress in his studies. His absence now is concerning, especially with exams approaching."

Dattu rubbed his neck, appearing uncomfortable.

Dattu: "Please sit, madam. Let me make you some tea."

Devika settled onto the worn sofa as Dattu busied himself in the kitchen area, setting a kettle to boil. She noticed his hands trembling slightly as he worked, his movements betraying a nervous energy.

Devika: "Mr. Dattu, I understand Vishnu has been helping at your garage. While I appreciate family responsibilities, his education must be a priority."

Dattu returned with two cups of steaming tea, offering one to Devika with a slight bow. His fingers brushed against hers during the exchange, lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Dattu: "You're right, of course. An educated woman like you would understand the importance of studies."

He sat across from her, his eyes never leaving her face. There was something hungry in his gaze that made Devika instinctively tighten her grip on the cup.

Devika: "Vishnu has shown remarkable improvement recently. His grasp of biology concepts has strengthened considerably. He's one of the students I'm personally supervising for the upcoming practical examinations."

Dattu's face brightened, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Dattu: "You're supervising him personally? That's wonderful news! My boy is lucky to have such a dedicated teacher."

Devika sipped her tea, formulating her next words carefully.

Devika: "Which is why I'm concerned about his absence. Vishnu mentioned you've been... struggling lately. That you've returned to drinking."

Dattu's expression darkened. He glanced at the bottle on the table, then back to Devika, shame and defiance warring on his face.

Dattu: "It's not easy being alone, madam. Not easy at all."

Devika set her cup down, leaning forward slightly.

Devika: "Vishnu told me about his mother. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Dattu: "Twenty years now. Twenty years she's been gone. I raised that boy alone, worked these hands to the bone to put food in his mouth and clothes on his back."

His calloused fingers gripped his teacup tightly, knuckles whitening. Devika noticed the tremor in his hands, the way his eyes darted occasionally to the bottle of liquor.

Devika: "He said you'd been doing better until recently. What changed?"

Dattu hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he looked up again, vulnerability had softened his weathered features.

Dattu: "I don't know if I should say, madam. It might sound strange to you."

Devika: "Please, Mr. Dattu. If understanding can help Vishnu return to his studies, I'd like to know."

Dattu set his cup down, running a hand through his thinning hair.

Dattu: "It's... it's because of you, madam."

Devika blinked, taken aback. "Me? I don't understand."

Dattu's eyes met hers, raw emotion visible in their depths.

Dattu: "When I saw you at the college that day... you reminded me so much of my Lalita. Not your face exactly, but something in your eyes, the way you carry yourself. The way you dbang your saree..."

His voice trailed off, gaze dropping to where Devika's saree curved around her waist. She resisted the urge to adjust her pallu, instead folding her hands in her lap.

Dattu: "Seeing you brought it all back—all the memories, all the pain. I thought I'd buried those feelings years ago, but they came rushing back like a flood."

Devika sat perfectly still, unsure how to respond. Compassion warred with caution inside her.

Devika: "I'm sorry if my presence caused you distress, but Vishnu's education can't suffer because of it."

Dattu: "You're right, of course." He reached for the bottle on the table, then stopped himself, hand hovering in midair. "It's just been so hard, madam. The loneliness eats at you year after year."

Moved by his evident struggle, Devika rose and crossed to sit beside him. She hesitantly placed her hand over his rough one, feeling the calluses beneath her fingers.

Devika: "Mr. Dattu, I understand loneliness all too well."

She thought of her empty apartment, of Rajeevan's betrayals, of the hollow space in her life that had led her to such dangerous waters with her students.

Dattu's breathing quickened at her touch, his pulse visibly jumping at his throat.

Dattu: "You do? A beautiful, educated woman like you?"

Devika: "Even beautiful, educated women get lonely, Mr. Dattu."

She squeezed his hand gently, offering comfort the way she would to any parent concerned about their child. But as Dattu turned his palm upward, his fingers curling around hers, she felt the shift—the moment when comfort became something more charged, more dangerous.

Devika: "Vishnu needs to return to his studies. The practical exams are crucial for his final grades."

Dattu nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on their joined hands.

Dattu: "I know I should let him go back. I know the drinking isn't helping anyone. But some days... some days it's the only thing that dulls the pain."

Saradha's words echoed in Devika's mind—about taking control, about using men's desires rather than being used by them. An idea formed, tenuous but possible.

Devika: "What if we made a deal, Mr. Dattu?"

His eyes lifted to meet hers, curiosity kindling. "What kind of deal, madam?"

Devika: "You allow Vishnu to return to college, to focus on his studies. In exchange..." She took a deep breath, scarcely believing what she was about to suggest. "In exchange, I could visit you on weekends. When Vishnu isn't here."

Dattu's eyes widened, hope and disbelief warring on his face.

Dattu: "You would do that? Visit me here?"

Devika: "Yes, but only if you promise to stop drinking during the week. Save it for weekends only, when I'm here."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flash of triumph he quickly masked.

Dattu: "You would come here... and drink with me?"

Devika stiffened, withdrawing her hand.

Devika: "No. I don't drink. But I would... keep you company. Talk with you. Serve your drink to you, if you insist on having one. The point is to reduce your drinking, not encourage it."

Dattu's disappointment was visible, but he nodded quickly.

Dattu: "Of course, of course. Just your company would be... more than I could hope for."

Devika stood, creating distance between them.

Devika: "This arrangement would be strictly about helping Vishnu succeed. About giving you someone to talk to, so you're not drowning your memories in alcohol every night."

Dattu rose as well, his eyes bright with barely contained excitement.

Dattu: "I understand completely, madam. And I promise, Vishnu will be in class tomorrow morning. No more garage work on college days."

Devika nodded, retrieving her bag from the chair.

Dattu: "And... you'll come this weekend? Saturday evening, perhaps?"

Devika: "Saturday evening," she confirmed, moving toward the door. "And if you maintain our agreement—if Vishnu attends all his classes and you limit your drinking—perhaps there could be... special considerations."

The words left her mouth before she fully processed them, an echo of the bargains she'd made with Vishnu and Pathan. Dattu's sharp intake of breath told her he'd understood the implication, however vague.

Dattu: "Special considerations?"

Devika paused at the doorway, her hand on the frame.

Devika: "Let's start with what I've suggested and see how it goes."

Dattu nodded eagerly, his eyes following the curve of her back as she stepped into the hallway.

Dattu: "Until Saturday then, madam. And thank you—for caring about my son's future."

Devika offered a small smile. "That's my job, Mr. Dattu. Goodnight."

As she descended the stairs, Devika's heart raced with confusion and the stirrings of something darker. She had come to help a student and found herself making another dangerous bargain, another compromise of her already fractured moral boundaries.

What had Saradha's advice done to her? What had Kerala's modest biology teacher become in the months since arriving in Pune?

The evening air felt cool against her flushed skin as she walked toward the bus stop. Behind her, in the small apartment, Dattu stood at the window watching her retreating figure, his weathered face split in a triumphant smile.

[prady12191]

Dattu watched from the window until Devika's slender figure disappeared around the corner. His weathered face split into a triumphant grin as he turned from the window, the evening shadows lengthening across the small apartment. He reached for the bottle on the table, pouring himself a celebratory drink with hands that trembled slightly from excitement rather than alcohol.

The scbang of a key in the lock interrupted his reverie. Vishnu entered, his eyes immediately scanning the room for signs of Devika's visit – the two teacups on the table, the slight impression on the sofa where she had sat.

Dattu: "She was here! Just like you said she would be."

Vishnu set down his bag, his expression carefully neutral despite the curiosity burning within.

Vishnu: "How did it go? What did she say about me?"

Dattu chuckled, the sound rough and self-satisfied. He gestured for Vishnu to sit, savoring his moment of triumph.

Dattu: "You were right about everything. The way she sits, the way she speaks – so soft, so proper. And when she looked at me with those big eyes full of concern..." He whistled low. "No wonder you're so obsessed with her."

Vishnu leaned forward, impatient for details.

Vishnu: "Did she believe you? About why I haven't been attending classes?"

Dattu's eyes gleamed with pride as he took another sip of his drink.

Dattu: "Of course she believed me. I played my part perfectly – the grieving widower driven to drink by memories of his dead wife." He thumped his chest dramatically. "I even managed to squeeze out a few tears when I told her how she reminds me of your mother."

Vishnu: "And? What did she say?"

Dattu set down his glass, satisfaction radiating from his weathered face.

Dattu: "Better than we could have hoped. She's agreed to visit me on weekends – can you believe it? She suggested it herself!" His voice dropped to an awed whisper. "Said she'd keep me company so I wouldn't drink so much during the week."

Vishnu's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected Devika to offer herself as a solution so quickly.

Vishnu: "She's coming back? When?"

Dattu: "Saturday evening." Dattu ran a hand through his thinning hair, excitement making him look younger. "And there's more. She hinted at 'special considerations' if I keep our agreement about your collegeing and my drinking."

A muscle twitched in Vishnu's jaw. The plan was working even better than anticipated, yet he felt an unexpected flare of possessiveness.

Vishnu: "What exactly did she say about these 'special considerations'?"

Dattu shrugged, missing the edge in his son's voice.

Dattu: "She didn't spell it out. Just suggested we'd see how things go." He leaned back, satisfaction oozing from every pore. "But the way she looked at me when she said it... I know that look. Women don't make promises like that unless they're willing to follow through."

Vishnu stood abruptly and paced the small room, processing this information. His plan had succeeded – perhaps too well. He had wanted his father to gain Devika's sympathy, to create another avenue of control over her. But the speed with which she had offered herself as a solution unsettled him.

Dattu: "What's wrong? Isn't this exactly what we wanted?"

Vishnu turned, composing his features.

Vishnu: "Yes, of course. It's perfect. I just didn't expect her to be so... forward."

Dattu laughed, a knowing sound that grated on Vishnu's nerves.

Dattu: "These Kerala women – proper on the outside, fire underneath. Just like your mother was." He raised his glass in a toast. "To your brilliant plan, son. By this time next week, I'll have tasted what you've already had."

Vishnu nodded stiffly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. The thought of his father enjoying Devika's attentions – attentions he had worked so hard to earn – left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he had engineered this very situation, manipulating both Devika and his father for his own complex purposes.

Vishnu: "Remember, I'll be back in class tomorrow. She'll expect to see me there, fully committed to my studies."

Dattu: "Yes, yes. I'll be the model of reform. Limited drinking, full support for your education." He winked conspiratorially. "And she'll be so pleased with my progress that by Saturday night..."

Vishnu turned away, unable to bear the hungry anticipation in his father's eyes. He had opened Pandora's box, and now he would have to live with the consequences.

Vishnu: "I'm going to my room. I need to review the material I've missed."

As he walked away, Dattu called after him, voice thick with victory and alcohol.

Dattu: "Don't worry about your teacher, son. I'll take good care of her while you're busy with your biology books."

In the privacy of his small bedroom, Vishnu sat heavily on his bed, conflicting emotions warring within him. The trap had been set and Devika had walked right into it – yet somehow, he felt like the one who had been caught.

Saturday evening arrived with an unexpected heaviness. Devika stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her choice of attire with unusual deliberation. For the first time since arriving in Pune, she found herself consciously selecting a saree not for professional propriety but for its effect—a deep maroon cotton with a simple gold border, traditional enough to maintain dignity yet dbangd to accentuate her form.

The bus journey to Dattu's neighborhood felt interminable. Each stop brought a new wave of doubt, a fresh opportunity to turn back. Yet she remained seated, watching the city transform from gleaming shopping complexes to humble settlements, the weight of her decision pressing against her chest like a stone.

When she finally stood before apartment 204, the sun had already begun its descent, painting the crumbling building facade in shades of amber. She knocked, her knuckles barely making contact with the weathered wood.

The door swung open immediately, as though Dattu had been waiting just behind it.

"Madam! You came!" His face lit up with undisguised pleasure, eyes traveling swiftly over her form before settling on her face. "Please, please come in."

The apartment had undergone a transformation since her last visit. The usual clutter had been cleared away, surfaces wiped clean. A small vase with two marigolds stood on the center table, a touch of brightness amid the faded furnishings.

"I wasn't sure you would come," Dattu admitted, closing the door behind her. He wore a freshly pressed shirt, his hair combed neatly, the scent of cheap cologne hanging around him.

"I made a promise," Devika said simply, setting her small handbag on the table. "And Vishnu has attended all his classes this week, as you promised he would."

Dattu beamed with pride, as though his son's attendance was a personal achievement. "Yes, yes. He is very serious now about his studies. He left this morning to study with friends at the library."

Devika nodded, pleased that at least part of her bargain was bearing fruit. She glanced around the modest living room, noting the bottle of whiskey and two glasses set out on the side table.

"I see you've prepared for the evening," she observed, her tone carefully neutral.

Dattu followed her gaze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his weathered features. "Just one drink, madam. As we agreed." He hesitated, then added hopefully, "Perhaps you would join me? Just one small one?"

Devika shook her head, her expression gentle but firm. "No, thank you. But I'm happy to serve you, if you like."

Relief flooded Dattu's face. He settled into his chair, watching eagerly as Devika moved toward the small side table where the bottle waited.

She leaned forward to pour the amber liquid, aware of Dattu's gaze fixed on the curve of her waist where her saree dipped slightly. The cotton fabric clung to her form as she bent, revealing the subtle fold of her hip. When she straightened and turned to hand him the glass, she caught the heat in his eyes, quickly masked behind a veneer of gratitude.

"Thank you, madam." His fingers brushed against hers as he accepted the drink, the contact lingering a moment longer than necessary. "Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable."

Devika settled onto the worn sofa across from him, arranging her saree carefully around her legs. "How has your week been, Mr. Dattu? Have you managed to reduce your drinking as we discussed?"

He took a slow sip, savoring both the liquor and her attention. "Yes, madam. Only two small drinks all week. Sleeping has been difficult without it, but..." He gestured toward her with his glass. "The thought of your visit kept me strong."

An awkward silence settled between them. Devika glanced toward the small kitchen alcove, searching for a diversion.

"Have you eaten dinner? I could prepare something simple, if you'd like."

Dattu's face brightened. "You would cook for me? There's not much in the kitchen, I'm afraid. Some rice, dal..."

"Let me see what I can find." Devika rose, grateful for the activity. The kitchen was barely large enough to turn around in, its shelves sparsely stocked with basic staples. She located a pot, some rice, and half a bottle of mustard oil.

As she worked, measuring rice and setting water to boil, she felt rather than saw Dattu's presence at the kitchen doorway. His eyes never left her as she moved about the small space, each bend and stretch offering him new angles to admire. When she reached for spices on a high shelf, her saree rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist. Dattu's sharp intake of breath was audible even over the bubbling pot.

"You remind me so much of her," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Lalita used to cook like this, her hands moving so gracefully." He took another sip of his drink, larger this time. "She wore her saree just like you do, low on the hips, proper but still..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning hung in the air between them.

Devika turned to face him, spatula in hand. "Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Dattu. I'll bring the food when it's ready."

He nodded, reluctantly returning to his chair while she finished preparing the simple meal. When she emerged with a plate of rice and lightly spiced dal, Dattu had already refilled his glass.

"It's not much," she apologized, setting the plate before him.

"You cooked it with your own hands. That makes it a feast." He looked up at her, eyes bright with something between gratitude and desire. "Would you..." He hesitated, then continued in a rush. "Would you feed me? Just one bite. Like a blessing."

Devika stiffened, the request catching her off guard. She remembered feeding Seenu in his office, the power she had felt in that moment. This felt different somehow—more vulnerable, more honest in its need.

After a moment's hesitation, she sat beside Dattu and took the plate onto her lap. She scooped a small portion of rice and dal, cupping her hand beneath to catch any drips, and brought it to his lips. Dattu closed his eyes as he accepted the food from her fingers, a look of pure contentment washing over his weathered features.

"Thank you," he whispered, opening his eyes to look directly into hers. "Such kindness for a broken old man."

Devika set the plate aside. "You're not broken, Mr. Dattu. Just lonely. There's a difference."

He nodded solemnly, finishing his second drink in one swallow. As Devika rose to return the plate to the kitchen, Dattu caught her wrist, his rough fingers gentle against her skin.

"Would you pour me one more? The last one, I promise."

Devika hesitated, then nodded. "One more. Then I should go."

She leaned to pour the drink, acutely aware of how the position offered Dattu a clear side view of her form. The fabric of her saree stretched across her curves as she bent forward, and she heard his breathing quicken.

When she handed him the glass, he didn't immediately take it, his eyes fixed on her face.

"You know," he said slowly, "when a man has been alone as long as I have, he forgets what it's like to simply touch another person." His voice dropped lower. "To feel the warmth of skin beneath his fingers."

Devika remained still, the glass extended between them.

"May I..." He swallowed hard. "May I touch your cheek? Just once. To remember what it feels like."

The request hung in the air, charged with unspoken longing. Devika thought of refusing, of setting down the glass and walking out. Yet something in his eyes—a raw vulnerability beneath the desire—made her hesitate.

"Just my cheek," she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Dattu nodded, taking the glass and setting it aside. He rose unsteadily to his feet, standing before her. With trembling fingers, he reached out, gently brushing her cheek with calloused fingertips. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent.

"So soft," he murmured, his fingers trailing down to her jawline, then lower to the curve of her neck.

Devika stepped back, breaking the contact. "That's enough."

Dattu's hand fell to his side, but satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "Thank you," he said simply. "For that small kindness."

The clock on the wall showed nearly nine. "I should go," Devika said, gathering her bag. "It's getting late."

Dattu nodded, making no move to stop her. "Will you come again? Next Saturday?"

She paused at the door, weighing her answer. "If Vishnu continues attending his classes, yes."

Relief washed over his face. "He will. I promise you."

An awkward moment stretched between them—Devika poised to leave, Dattu clearly reluctant to see her go. On impulse, she leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his weathered cheek.

"Goodnight, Mr. Dattu."

The surprise on his face melted into a smile that transformed his entire countenance. "Goodnight, madam. Until next week."

As Devika walked toward the bus stop, the evening air cool against her skin, she found herself troubled not by what had transpired, but by how easily she had stepped into this new role—the merciful goddess, dispensing small intimacies like blessings to those who worshipped at her altar.

What was she becoming? And more disturbingly, why didn't she feel more conflicted about it?

[prady12191]

The rain pattered against Devika's window, each drop a reminder of how life had changed since she arrived in Pune. She sat on her bed, staring at her phone as it lit up with Rajeevan's name. After weeks of ignored messages and missed calls, he was finally contacting her. Her heart quickened as she answered.

"Hello?" Her voice betrayed more eagerness than she intended.

Rajeevan's voice came through, honey-sweet as always when he wanted something. "Devika, how are you, my love? I've missed hearing your voice."

Something inside her softened. Despite everything—the video, the fights, the distance—she still responded to his tenderness. "I've missed you too," she admitted, curling her feet beneath her. "I'm sorry about our last conversation. I shouldn't have accused you without—"

"It's forgotten," he interrupted. "We both said things we didn't mean."

Devika closed her eyes, relief washing over her. "I've been thinking, Rajeevan... maybe I should come to Dubai. We could be together again, start fresh."

There was a pause on the line.

"That would be wonderful," he said, his tone shifting subtly. "But first, we need to discuss something important."

Devika sat up straighter. "What is it?"

"The hotel project is facing some financial challenges," Rajeevan explained, clearing his throat. "I've had to cover some significant expenses personally. Twenty-five lakhs, to be precise."

"Twenty-five lakhs?" Devika repeated, disbelief creeping into her voice.

"I need you to transfer the money from our joint account," he continued. "It's urgent, Devika. My position here depends on it."

The softness in her heart hardened. "You're calling after all this time to ask for money?"

"This isn't just for me," Rajeevan's voice took on an edge. "This is our future. Don't you want us to succeed?"

Devika stood up, pacing the small room. "What happened to the money you've been earning? What about the savings you claimed to be setting aside?"

"Don't question me like this," he snapped. "I'm your husband. If you won't support me, I'll have no choice but to take legal action to access the funds."

"Legal action? Against your wife?" Devika's voice rose. "Is that what our marriage has become?"

"Be reasonable, Devika. Twenty-five lakhs isn't much considering what's at stake."

Her grip tightened around the phone. "You won't get a single rupee from me, Rajeevan. Not one. Do whatever you want—go to court, hire lawyers. I don't care anymore."

A cold laugh came through the speaker. "You think you're so strong now, teaching in that college, living independently. Let's see how brave you are when everyone knows about your little adventures in Pune."

Devika froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't have friends there? People talk, Devika. They see things."

Before she could respond, the screen changed. Rajeevan had switched to video call. His face appeared, smiling cruelly, and then the camera panned to show a woman sitting beside him—young, beautiful, with a confident smile.

"Meet Priya," Rajeevan said, turning to the woman. "She's been keeping me company while you've been so... busy."

Devika watched in horror as Rajeevan pulled Priya close, kissing her deeply while keeping his eyes fixed on the camera, on Devika. The woman's arms wrapped around his neck, their kiss becoming more passionate as Rajeevan's hand slid down her back.

"Stop it!" Devika shouted, tears blurring her vision. "What kind of monster have you become?"

Rajeevan broke the kiss, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Transfer the money by tomorrow, or the divorce papers will be on their way—along with some interesting stories about Professor Devika's extracurricular activities."

"We're finished," Devika said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Don't call me again. Don't contact me. You're dead to me, Rajeevan."

She ended the call before he could respond, flinging the phone onto the bed as if it had burned her. For several minutes, she stood motionless, the rain outside matching the storm within her. Then slowly, she sank to her knees beside the bed, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Hours passed, the room growing dark as evening settled in. Devika hadn't moved from her position on the floor, her mind replaying Rajeevan's betrayal over and over. The kiss, the threats, the demands—all of it confirmed what she had suspected but refused to accept: her marriage had been a lie.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the mattress roused her. With weary resignation, she reached for it, expecting another message from Rajeevan. Instead, it was Vishnu.

"Madam, my father is asking when you will visit again. He has not taken a drink since you promised."

Devika stared at the message, remembering her agreement with Dattu. In the midst of her own crisis, she had forgotten about their arrangement. She typed a brief reply: "I'll come tomorrow afternoon."

Putting the phone down, Devika moved to the window, watching raindrops trail down the glass. She thought of Rajeevan and Priya, of the masked stranger in the courtyard, of Milind's fingers on her waist, of Dattu's weathered hand touching her cheek, and of the way Vishnu looked at her in class.

All these men, each wanting something from her, each taking pieces of her. But something had changed tonight. As Rajeevan revealed his true self, something inside Devika had broken free. The last chains of loyalty, of obligation, had been severed.

"If he wants war," she whispered to her reflection in the rain-streaked window, "then he'll have it."

No more tears, no more guilt. Tomorrow she would visit Dattu, not as a dutiful teacher concerned for her student, but as a woman stepping boldly into the power she was only beginning to understand.

The next morning, Devika stood before her mirror, deliberately selecting a sleeveless blouse in deep crimson silk that left her arms bare. The cut was lower than she typically wore, the fabric thin enough that each breath made it shift against her skin. She paired it with a forest green saree, dbanging it carefully to accentuate her waist while leaving her midriff exposed.

This wasn't the Devika who had arrived in Pune months ago. That woman would have worried about propriety, about the implications of every inch of skin revealed. Today's Devika thought only of Rajeevan's betrayal and the strange freedom it had granted her.

"Let them look," she whispered to her reflection as she traced kohl around her eyes. "Let them want."

She locked her apartment and headed toward the stairwell. The building was quiet on Sunday morning, most residents still in bed or at temple. Devika moved quickly, eager to reach Dattu's home before her resolve wavered.

"Devika-ji!"

She froze at the familiar voice. Seenu stood at the foot of the stairs, his eyes widening as they traveled over her bare arms and the hint of her waist visible beneath the saree's loose dbang.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, suddenly conscious of how different she looked from her usual professional attire.

Seenu's gaze lingered on her shoulders. "You look... different today. Very beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, attempting to move past him.

"Where are you headed so early?" His hand brushed her arm, stopping her.

Devika hesitated. She couldn't reveal she was visiting Vishnu's father—Seenu would ask too many questions, might even disapprove of a teacher making home visits to students.

"Just some shopping," she improvised. "I need a new saree."

Seenu's face brightened. "Shopping? On your own? I know all the best shops in Pune."

"That's kind, but I can manage."

"I insist." His hand moved from her arm to the small of her back, the touch proprietary. "It's my duty to show our Kerala jewel the finest Pune has to offer."

Devika's thoughts raced. Dattu would be waiting for her, expecting their arrangement to begin today. But refusing Seenu now would raise suspicions.

"I really shouldn't take up your Sunday," she tried again.

"Nonsense," Seenu said, already steering her toward the parking lot. "I know a shop owned by an old friend of mine. Quality fabrics, best prices in the city."

Twenty minutes later, Seenu parked his car in front of a narrow storefront wedged between newer buildings. Faded gold letters spelling "Desai Silks" hung above the entrance. Inside, bolts of fabric lined the walls from floor to ceiling, creating a kaleidoscope of colors and textures.

Behind a worn wooden counter stood an older man, tall and lean with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw. His hands moved precisely over a length of silk, measuring and noting dimensions in a tattered ledger.

"Laxman!" Seenu called out. "Look who I've brought to lighten your pockets!"

The man looked up, his deep-set eyes narrowing briefly before recognition dawned. "Seenuvasan! It's been too long."

The two men embraced, slipping into rapid Marathi that Devika couldn't follow. She checked her phone discreetly—three missed calls from Vishnu. Guilt gnawed at her as she imagined Dattu waiting, perhaps thinking she'd broken her promise.

"And who is this vision?" Laxman's gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts.

Seenu placed his hand on Devika's shoulder, presenting her like a prized acquisition. "This is Devika-ji, our new biology professor from Kerala. I'm showing her Pune's finest establishments."

Laxman's gaze was different from Seenu's—not merely appreciative but assessing, as if cataloging every detail of her appearance. His eyes lingered on the curve where her neck met her shoulder, then traveled to her waist.

"Kerala," he repeated softly, moving from behind the counter. "Not like our Pune women at all." He circled her slowly, his scarred face unreadable. "They don't make them like this here."

"I told you," Seenu said proudly, as if he'd personally imported her. "Different altogether, isn't she?"

"Kerala women have a certain..." Laxman paused, searching for the right word, "...texture. Like the silk of Kanchipuram but softer, more yielding to the touch." He reached out but stopped just short of touching her arm.

"Perhaps you could show Devika-ji some of your special collection," Seenu suggested, his tone implying something beyond simple fabric.

"For a Kerala beauty?" Laxman's thin lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I have materials she won't find anywhere else in Pune."

As Laxman disappeared into the back of the shop, Devika felt a chill despite the morning heat. Her phone vibrated again in her hand—another call from Vishnu.

She was trapped between Seenu's expectations and Dattu's waiting, between the life she'd planned and the one taking shape around her with each decision, each compromise.

Devika shifted uncomfortably on the small wooden stool, trying to focus on the sarees Laxman had spread before her rather than the urgent vibration of her phone. Four missed calls from Vishnu now. The silk merchant had laid out a dazzling array of fabrics—emerald greens with gold borders, crimson with intricate silver work, midnight blues embellished with delicate beadwork.

"This one would complement your complexion beautifully," Laxman said, unfolding a deep purple saree with copper thread woven through it.

Devika nodded politely, leaning forward to examine the craftsmanship. As she bent, she felt Seenu's gaze on her back, lingering where her blouse met her saree, where her waist curved into her hips. The weight of his attention made her skin prickle.

"I really shouldn't take too much time," she said, straightening. "Perhaps I could come back another day."

"Nonsense," Seenu replied, settling more comfortably into the cushioned chair behind her. "Sunday is for leisure, Devika-ji. What's your hurry?"

Laxman moved closer, holding a peacock-blue fabric against her arm. "See how it catches the light? Like water on your skin."

His fingers brushed against her forearm as he dbangd the fabric, his touch lingering a moment too long. The scar on his face twisted slightly as he smiled.

"Beautiful," he murmured, though his eyes had left the saree to travel the length of her neck.

Devika reached for a rose-gold saree from the pile, holding it up to distract from the tension building in the small shop. She stood and moved toward a tarnished mirror in the corner, holding the fabric across her shoulders.

Laxman was beside her instantly, adjusting the dbang with practiced hands. "Allow me."

He positioned himself behind her, close enough that she could smell the faint aroma of clove cigarettes on his breath. His fingers skimmed her shoulder as he arranged the fabric, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection.

"I have more exclusive pieces," he said, voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "Sarees you won't find displayed. Special collections."

"Perhaps another day," Devika replied, stepping away from his proximity. "I should really—"

"At least try this one properly," Laxman insisted, taking the rose-gold saree from her hands. "See how it falls, how it moves with you."

Seenu leaned forward in his chair. "Yes, Devika-ji. What's the harm in trying one?"

Caught between them, Devika felt her options narrowing. Her phone vibrated again in her purse—Vishnu's fifth call.

"It would be better if you wore it," Laxman continued, "to appreciate the full effect."

"I couldn't possibly change here," Devika protested.

"Why not?" Laxman gestured toward a faded curtain at the back of the shop. "I have a fitting room. Not fancy, but private."

Before she could object further, he was guiding her toward the small cubicle, saree in hand. Devika hesitated at the entrance—the space was barely large enough to turn around in, with peeling paint on the walls and a single bare bulb overhead.

"This won't take long," Laxman assured her, pushing the fabric into her hands. "Then you'll see why my customers come from as far as Mumbai."

Finding herself suddenly alone in the cramped changing space, Devika took a deep breath. She just needed to get through this quickly, then make her excuses and leave. She began unwrapping her current saree, the green silk pooling around her feet.

Outside, Laxman returned to where Seenu sat watching the curtained doorway.

"What's her story?" Laxman asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the changing room.

"New professor at my college," Seenu replied with a smug smile. "From Kerala. Husband in Dubai."

"Married woman alone in Pune?" Laxman raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Seenu leaned closer. "Her husband's cheating on her. Found out recently. She's... vulnerable."

"And you've been comforting her?" Laxman's scarred face twisted into a knowing grin.

Seenu laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet shop. "You could say that."

"How far?" Laxman asked, voice dropping lower.

"What do you think?" Seenu's expression was triumphant. "Not only have I touched her, I've kissed those full lips, shared sweet payasam mouth to mouth."

Laxman's eyes widened. "You're making this up."

"I've fed her payasam and licked it from her navel," Seenu boasted, voice thick with remembered pleasure. "Her skin tastes like honey and cardamom."

"You lucky bastard," Laxman breathed, glancing toward the changing room. "I can barely resist the sight of her on that stool. The way her curves filled it..."

"The things I want to do to her," Seenu muttered, shifting in his seat.

"I'd take her right against the wall," Laxman agreed, his voice hardening with desire. "Hard enough to make her forget her husband's name."

Inside the changing room, Devika struggled with the limited space. There was nowhere to lay her carefully folded saree without it touching the dusty floor. She looked around desperately, holding the bundled green silk against her chest, clad only in her blouse and petticoat.

With no alternative, she cracked open the door slightly, keeping her body hidden behind it.

"Excuse me," she called softly. "There's no place to put my saree. It's too dirty in here."

Laxman appeared almost instantly. "Yes, I apologize for the condition. The room is rarely used. Would you like me to hold it for you?"

Devika hesitated, weighing her limited options. "Is there no other solution?"

"I'm afraid not," Laxman replied, his expression carefully neutral despite the racing of his pulse. "Unless you prefer not to try the new one."

Devika sighed. "Very well."

She carefully passed her folded saree through the narrow opening in the door, then quickly secured the lock. The small click seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet shop.

Laxman returned to Seenu, triumphantly holding Devika's saree. Without hesitation, he brought the silk to his face, inhaling deeply.

"Gods," he groaned, eyes closing in appreciation. "Her scent."

He passed the fabric to Seenu, who buried his nose in the folds, drawing in the perfume of jasmine and the subtle musk of Devika's skin.

"Divine," Seenu murmured, reluctantly returning the saree.

Laxman clutched the fabric against his chest, then ran it slowly across his face. "I can't wait to smell this directly from her skin," he whispered, voice rough with desire.

Minutes later, the curtain rustled as Devika emerged, dbangd in the rose-gold saree. The fabric clung to her curves, the golden thread catching the light with each movement. Despite the shabby surroundings, she looked regal, uncomfortable but undeniably beautiful.

Both men stared, momentarily speechless.

"Exquisite," Laxman finally managed, circling her with professional scrutiny layered over hungry appreciation. "Though the blouse doesn't quite match the tone."

Devika nodded, eager to end this uncomfortable scenario. "Yes, I'd need to stitch a matching one. Perhaps I should change back now."

"Actually," Laxman said, moving toward a drawer behind the counter, "I have several readymade blouses. One might complement this perfectly."

Devika glanced at her watch, tension visible in the set of her shoulders. "That's very kind, but I really should be going."

"Just one more moment," Laxman insisted, already pulling out a selection of blouses in varying shades of gold and copper. "After coming all this way, you deserve to see the complete effect."

Trapped between Laxman's insistence and Seenu's expectant gaze, Devika felt the walls of the small shop closing in around her. Somewhere across the city, Dattu and Vishnu were waiting, their patience surely wearing thin.

Her phone vibrated again in her purse—a sixth call from Vishnu, a summons she could not answer, a promise she could not keep.

Devika glanced at her phone again, anxiety gnawing at her. Four missed calls from Vishnu now. She needed to leave, to explain why she'd broken her promise to visit Dattu. But with Seenu hovering nearby, watching her every move like a hawk tracking prey, escape seemed impossible.

The rose-gold saree dbangd elegantly over Devika's frame, but Laxman shook his head, his critical eye finding fault where there was none.

"The color complements your skin beautifully, but your current blouse—it disrupts the harmony." He turned to a drawer behind the counter, pulling it open with practiced efficiency. "I have the perfect match."

Laxman extracted a blouse in burnished copper with delicate gold thread work along its edges. The material caught the light, shimmer dancing across its surface.

"This will complete the look," he declared, holding it out to her. "You must try it."

Devika's eyes darted to her phone. Six missed calls from Vishnu. Her stomach tightened with frustration.

"I really shouldn't take more of your time," she protested weakly.

Seenu leaned forward in his chair. "Nonsense! We're in no hurry. The full effect is important, isn't it, Laxman?"

The silk merchant nodded, pressing the blouse into her reluctant hands. "The trail room is ready for you."

Devika accepted the garment with a tight smile and retreated behind the faded curtain. The cramped space felt even smaller now, the walls closing in as she carefully removed her crimson blouse. The copper replacement slipped cool against her skin as she eased her arms through its sleeves.

The fabric clung to her curves—too tightly. She twisted, reaching for the hooks at the back, but her fingers fumbled uselessly. The blouse was at least one size too small, pressing against her ribcage, refusing to close.

"Damn it," she muttered, contorting her body in the narrow space. Her arms ached from the awkward angle. What had possessed her to agree to this charade? She should be at Dattu's home by now, not trapped in this dusty cubicle struggling with an ill-fitting blouse.

Frustration welled up inside her—at Seenu for bringing her here, at Rajeevan for his betrayal, at herself for the web of complications she'd spun around her life. She gave the hooks one last futile attempt before surrendering. With careful movements, she removed the copper blouse and slipped back into her original crimson one.

When she emerged, both men's expectant expressions fell.

"It doesn't fit," she explained, holding out the copper blouse. "The hooks are too tight. I couldn't fasten them."

Laxman took the garment, frowning. "Impossible. This should fit perfectly." He examined the blouse, turning it in his hands. "Perhaps you weren't hooking it correctly."

"I know how to hook a blouse," Devika replied, an edge creeping into her voice.

"Do you have another size?" Seenu asked, disappointment evident in his tone.

Laxman shook his head. "This is custom work. I don't keep multiple sizes." He looked at Devika appraisingly. "I should check the fit myself."

Devika stiffened. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I could come into the trail room with you," Laxman replied smoothly. "See where the problem lies."

"Absolutely not!" Devika's cheeks flushed with indignation.

Laxman raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No offense intended. Then perhaps you could show me how tight it is?"

"Show you?" Devika echoed, disbelief coloring her words.

"Yes," Seenu chimed in, eyes bright with anticipation. "Just so we can see the issue."

Devika looked between the two men, their eager expressions barely masking their intentions. She'd encountered similar looks from Vishnu, from Pathan, from Seenu himself in his office. Men who wanted to see, to possess with their eyes what they couldn't touch.

"Fine," she said abruptly, snatching the blouse back. "I'll show you the problem."

She disappeared behind the curtain again, heart pounding. What was she doing? This wasn't like her—and yet, lately, so little of her behavior felt familiar. She removed her crimson blouse once more and slipped on the copper one, her movements quick and agitated.

As expected, the hooks refused to meet. She struggled for several minutes, twisting her arms backward until they ached, but the gap remained unbridgeable. The blouse hugged her front tightly, the neckline dipping lower than she preferred, while the back remained obstinately open.

Devika stood motionless, weighing her options. She couldn't hook it herself. She couldn't walk out with an open blouse. And she couldn't waste any more time—Dattu would be waiting, perhaps growing angry, perhaps reaching for the bottle she'd asked him to abandon.

With a deep breath, she cracked open the curtain just enough to peek through.

"Mr. Laxman," she called, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need... assistance."

Laxman moved quickly across the shop, his heart hammering against his ribs. He parted the curtain just enough to slip through, then closed it behind him. The small space became impossibly smaller with his presence.

Devika stood with her back to him, one arm holding the front of her blouse closed. "The hooks," she said simply, her voice tight. "I can't manage them."

Laxman stared, momentarily frozen by the sight before him. The saree's pallu had fallen away, leaving her shoulders bare except for thin bra straps. Her back, exposed by the open blouse, gleamed copper-gold in the dim light.

"Sometimes these hooks need support," he managed, his voice rougher than before. His gaze traveled over her exposed skin, from the nape of her neck down to where the saree hugged her waist. "You have such clean, beautiful skin."

Devika tensed. "What did you say?"

"You look good," he amended, moving closer. "Very good."

His fingers reached for the edges of the blouse, tugging them toward each other. Devika felt his breath hot against her neck as he worked, each exhalation sending shivers down her spine. The hooks slowly fastened under his experienced hands, one by one from bottom to top.

"There," he murmured, but didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the small, tarnished mirror. His eyes lingered on the shadow between her breasts visible in the blouse's low neckline.

Devika felt him shift behind her, his body moving closer until the front of his trousers pressed against her. The contact made her breath catch. She stood frozen, hyperaware of his proximity, of the heat radiating from him, of the hard pressure against the curve of her buttocks.

"Perfect fit after all," Laxman whispered, his mouth inches from her ear. "Worth the effort, don't you think?"

Outside the curtain, Seenu waited, straining to hear the muffled conversation within the trail room. His imagination supplied vivid images of what might be happening behind that thin fabric barrier, fueling a jealousy that surprised him with its intensity.

Inside, Devika remained motionless, caught between disgust and a strange, detached curiosity. How had she arrived at this moment? Standing in a dusty changing room with a stranger pressed against her, while across town, another man waited for her promised visit, while somewhere in Dubai, her husband celebrated his betrayal with another woman.

Time seemed suspended, stretched taut like a thread about to snap. Then Devika's phone vibrated again in her purse hanging from the hook on the wall—Vishnu's seventh call, a reality check piercing the strange bubble of the moment.

"Thank you," she said firmly, stepping forward and away from Laxman's unwelcome pressure. "That will be all."

[prady12191]

Laxman stepped back reluctantly, his eyes never leaving Devika's reflection. He watched as she adjusted the front of the blouse, smoothing the fabric over her curves with trembling hands.

"We should rejoin Seenu," Devika said, gathering her composure. "He'll wonder what's taking so long."

A thin smile crossed Laxman's scarred face. "Let him wonder."

Nevertheless, he moved toward the curtain, parting it with a dramatic flourish. "Behold," he announced to Seenu, "a transformation complete."

Devika stepped out, the copper blouse gleaming against her skin, complementing the rose-gold saree perfectly. Despite her discomfort, she cut an impressive figure—elegant, poised, every inch the Kerala beauty both men had been fantasizing about.

Seenu rose from his chair, eyes drinking in the sight. "Magnificent," he breathed, circling Devika as Laxman had done earlier. "Worth every minute of waiting."

"I really must change back now," Devika insisted, already moving toward the changing room. "It's getting late."

"Of course," Laxman agreed, though disappointment flickered across his features. "Though you wear it beautifully."

Once back in her original saree, Devika emerged with the rose-gold fabric carefully folded over her arm. She placed it on the counter. "Thank you for showing me your collection, but I don't think I'll be making a purchase today."

Laxman nodded, having expected as much. He reached into a drawer beneath the counter and extracted a small business card, its edges worn and slightly yellowed. "For when you change your mind," he said, pressing it into her palm. "I'm not just a merchant—I'm also a tailor. If you ever need something... custom-fitted, I can accommodate all your measurements."

His emphasis on the word "all" wasn't subtle. Devika accepted the card without comment, sliding it into her purse beside her vibrating phone.

"I also make house calls," Laxman added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "For special customers."

Seenu watched this exchange with narrowed eyes, recognizing the silent communication passing between them. A territorial tension stretched across his features.

"We should go, Devika-ji," he said abruptly. "You mentioned you had other errands."

Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on Pune's streets, the heat intensified after the air-conditioned shop. Seenu guided Devika to his car with a hand placed possessively at the small of her back.

"Did you enjoy meeting my old friend?" he asked as they pulled away from the curb.

Devika gazed out the window, watching the buildings blur past. "He's very... attentive to detail."

"What happened in the changing room?" Seenu's question was direct, probing.

"He helped me with the hooks," she answered, purposely vague. "The blouse was too small."

Seenu's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "He took his time about it."

They drove in tense silence until Devika spotted an intersection she recognized. "You can drop me here," she said. "My friend's house is nearby."

"Friend?" Seenu's brow furrowed. "You didn't mention visiting anyone."

"It was a last-minute plan," Devika improvised. "She called while I was changing."

Seenu pulled to the curb but didn't unlock the doors. "Before you go," he said, turning to face her, "I'd like something in return for the morning."

"In return?" Devika echoed, her hand already on the door handle.

"A kiss," he said, leaning toward her. "Just a small token of appreciation."

"I can't," she protested. "Not here, in public—"

"No one can see through the tinted windows." His hand covered hers on the handle. "Just one kiss, Devika-ji. Then you're free to go."

Devika glanced at her phone—eight missed calls from Vishnu now. She needed to leave, to explain herself to Dattu, to salvage what remained of her promise. A kiss seemed a small price for freedom.

"Fine," she whispered, turning toward him.

Seenu didn't wait for further invitation. He pressed forward, capturing her lips with surprising gentleness that quickly gave way to hunger. His hands rose to cradle her face, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance.

Devika surrendered, matching his intensity with her own, determined to make the kiss satisfying enough to end this encounter quickly. For nearly a minute, they remained locked together, breath mingling, until Devika finally pulled away.

"Satisfied?" she asked, slightly breathless.

Seenu's eyes had darkened with desire. "For now."

The car locks clicked open. Devika stepped out into the heat, closing the door firmly behind her. As Seenu's car pulled away, she extracted her phone and dialed Dattu's number.

"Hello?" Dattu's voice was rough, accusatory. "You forgot about our agreement already?"

"I'm so sorry," Devika said, flagging down an approaching auto-rickshaw. "There was an emergency at college. I couldn't get away."

"You promised," Dattu replied, his tone shifting to wounded disappointment. "I've been waiting all morning. Even refused a drink when my friends came by."

"I'm on my way now," she assured him, climbing into the rickshaw and giving the driver directions. "Please, Dattu-ji, don't be upset. I'll make it up to you."