Bought by Love, Trapped by Hunger

[zeus90]

Chapter 4: The House After Sunset

Simran had started getting used to the house.

Not because she liked it.

Because every day was too full to think properly.

Morning tea. Breakfast. Lunch. Cleaning. Washing. Evening tea. Dinner. Then sometimes tea again. Sometimes snacks. Sometimes dishes after guests. Sometimes extra sweeping because Billa had walked mud into the corridor and nobody asked how it came there.

The new suits had become part of her routine too.

At first, Simran had felt awkward wearing them. The neck felt too open, the shoulders too visible, the fabric too light. She used to keep pulling the dupatta up again and again, her fingers nervous, her face warm with shame.

But work had a way of tiring shame.

After a few weeks, she stopped adjusting the dupatta every minute. Not because she became comfortable. Because her hands were always busy.

One hand on the stove.

One hand in the sink.

One hand holding a tray.

One hand wiping the floor.

Her body learned to move before her mind could ask questions.

Arvind noticed this change.

He did not say anything.

He only started appearing more often wherever she worked.

If she was in the kitchen, he came for water.

If she was cleaning the dining table, he came to check some file.

If she was wiping the drawing room floor, he sat with a newspaper.

If she went to the back corridor, his voice came from behind.

“Simran, ek chai bana dogi?”
[Simran, will you make one tea?]

She would turn quickly.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

 

His voice was always soft. That made everything harder to understand.

He never shouted.

He never looked like a villain.

He looked like help.

And slowly, Simran started trusting him inside the house. Not fully. Not with happiness. But with the tired trust of someone who had no other steady person around.

Ravi was mostly gone at night now.

He left around six in the evening for the farm work and returned after eight in the morning, tired, smelling of milk, sweat, and damp cow shed air. He ate whatever Simran served him, complained about body pain, and slept through the day.

Their conversations became small.

A plate of food.

A tired answer.

A half-open eye.

Then silence.

One morning, Simran placed tea near him.

“Kaam zyada mushkil hai?”
[Is the work very difficult?]

Ravi rubbed his neck.

“Raat bhar doodh ke cans uthao, truck mein rakho, phir subah tak khade raho. Aasaan thodi hai.”
[All night, lift milk cans, put them in trucks, then stand until morning. It’s not easy.]

“Par seekh rahe ho na?”
[But you are learning, right?]

“Seekh raha hoon,” he said, irritated. “Par tumhe kya pata raat bhar jagna kya hota hai.”
[I am learning. But what do you know about staying awake all night?]

Simran lowered her eyes.

“Main bas poochh rahi thi.”
[I was only asking.]

Ravi turned to the wall.

“Sone do.”
[Let me sleep.]

She picked up the empty glass from yesterday and left quietly.

Billa Steps Back

Billa had changed his game.

He no longer came too close to Simran like before. He had understood that she avoided him now. If he stood near the kitchen door, she moved away. If he joked, she answered only with silence. If he watched, she lowered her face and left.

So Billa stepped back.

But he did not stop.

He turned toward Ravi.

One evening, before Ravi left for the farm, Billa found him near the side gate.

“Kaise chal raha hai night kaam?”
[How is the night work going?]

Ravi shrugged. “Theek hai. Thak jaata hoon.”
[It’s okay. I get tired.]

Billa smiled slowly.

“Thakna toh padega. Biwi ke liye aadmi sab karta hai.”
[A man has to get tired. A man does everything for his wife.]

Ravi looked at him.

“Matlab?”
[What do you mean?]

“Matlab kuch nahi. Bas soch raha tha, tu raat bhar bahar, aur madam ji yahan bade ghar mein.”
[Nothing. I was just thinking, you are outside all night, and madam is here in this big house.]

Ravi frowned.

“Seedha bol.”
[Speak clearly.]

Billa lifted his hands.

“Arre bhai, gussa kyun? Main toh tera dost hoon. Bas duniya dekhi hai. Rich aadmi free mein help nahi karte.”
[Brother, why are you angry? I am your friend. I have just seen the world. Rich men do not help for free.]

Ravi’s jaw tightened.

“Sir ne job dilayi hai. Help ki hai.”
[Sir got me the job. He helped.]

Billa nodded.

“Haan. Tujhe job dilayi. Teri biwi ko kapde dilaye. Room diya. Khana diya. Bahut help ki.”
[Yes. He got you a job. Bought your wife clothes. Gave a room. Gave food. Helped a lot.]

He paused.

“Bas kabhi socha, itni help ka hisaab kaun dega?”
[But did you ever think who will pay the account for so much help?]

Ravi stared at him.

Billa smiled and walked away.

The words stayed.

Small.

Dirty.

Alive.

More Work

Simran’s workload kept increasing.

At first, she had energy. She worked fast, trying to prove she was useful. She cleaned properly, cooked carefully, folded napkins, arranged cups, learned where everything belonged.

But now the house seemed to grow more work every day.

 

The drawing room needed cleaning twice.

The kitchen shelves had to be wiped.

Arvind’s study tea had to be made separately.

Guest glasses had to shine.

Dinner had to be served hot.

Snacks had to be ready “just in case.”

Arvind never ordered harshly.

He always made it sound small.

“Simran, bas yeh tray rakh do.”
[Simran, just keep this tray.]

“Simran, bas study mein chai de do.”
[Simran, just give tea in the study.]

“Simran, bas floor thoda sa clean kar do.”
[Simran, just clean the floor a little.]

“Bas.”

That word became heavy.

Because “just this” was never just one thing.

By evening, her feet hurt. Her back felt stiff. Her face lost its playfulness. The shy smile remained, but now it came late, like a tired lamp trying to light.

She did as she was told.

Not because she agreed.

Because there was no space left in the day to disagree.

Arvind’s Friends

One Friday evening, Arvind invited two friends.

Rajeev Sharma and Mahesh Verma.

Both were in their late forties. Well-dressed. Rich voices. Men who laughed loudly because nobody in the room could tell them to lower it.

Simran was in the kitchen when they arrived.

Arvind called out from the drawing room.

“Simran, chai aur snacks le aao.”
[Simran, bring tea and snacks.]

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

She arranged the tray with tea cups, biscuits, and fried snacks.

Her hands were tired, but she carried the tray carefully.

When she entered, the three men were sitting in the drawing room. Arvind in his white kurta-pajama, Rajeev in a blue shirt, Mahesh in a dark waistcoat.

Their conversation stopped for a second.

Simran kept her eyes lowered and placed the tray on the center table.

Rajeev looked at Arvind with a half-smile.

“Arvind, ghar ka standard toh badh gaya.”
[Arvind, the standard of your house has gone up.]

Mahesh laughed.

“Chai bhi ab presentation ke saath aati hai.”
[Now tea also comes with presentation.]

 

Simran did not understand fully, but she felt their eyes.

She smiled faintly because she did not know what else to do.

“Sugar alag rakhi hai, sir,” she said softly.
[I kept sugar separately, sir.]

Arvind leaned back.

“Good, Simran. Serve them.”
[Good, Simran. Serve them.]

She served cups one by one.

Rajeev took his cup and said, “Naam kya hai tumhara?”
[What is your name?]

“Simran,” she answered.

“Punjab se?”
[From Punjab?]

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

Mahesh smiled.

“Isliye chai mein mitti ki khushboo hai.”
[That is why the tea has the scent of the soil.]

Rajeev laughed.

Simran gave a confused little smile and stepped back.

“Main dinner dekh loon, sir?”
[Should I check dinner, sir?]

Arvind nodded.

“Haan, jao.”
[Yes, go.]

She left quickly.

The room stayed quiet until her footsteps disappeared.

Then Rajeev leaned closer to Arvind.

“Yeh kahan se mili?”
[Where did you find her?]

Arvind picked up his tea calmly.

“Punjab side se. Couple hai. Ladka mere contact ke farm par kaam karta hai.”
[From Punjab side. They are a couple. The boy works at a farm through my contact.]

Mahesh smirked.

“Couple? Aur ladka raat ko farm par?”
[Couple? And the boy is at the farm at night?]

Rajeev laughed under his breath.

“Arvind, tum abhi bhi planning waise hi karte ho.”
[Arvind, you still plan the same way.]

Arvind did not laugh.

He only smiled.

“Planning nahi. Management.”
[Not planning. Management.]

Mahesh lowered his voice.

“Kitni seedhi lagti hai.”
[She looks very innocent.]

Arvind looked toward the kitchen door.

“Seedhi hai.”
[She is innocent.]

Rajeev asked, “Aur?”
[And?]

Arvind sipped his tea.

“Abhi ghar samajh rahi hai. Jaldi samajh jayegi kis par depend karna hai.”
[She is still understanding the house. Soon she will understand whom she has to depend on.]

Mahesh gave a low chuckle.

“Matlab kaam chal raha hai.”
[So the work is in progress.]

Arvind’s eyes stayed calm.

“Slow things last longer.”
[Slow things last longer.]

Jokes At Dinner

At dinner, Simran served them again.

She placed plates on the table, then bowls, then rotis wrapped in cloth.

Rajeev watched her move from the side.

“Simran ji, aap toh poora ghar sambhal leti ho.”
[Simran, you handle the whole house.]

She gave a small smile.

“Ji, koshish karti hoon.”
[Yes, I try.]

Mahesh said, “Koshish se kaam nahi hota. Dil se karna padta hai.”
[Trying is not enough. You have to do it with heart.]

The men laughed.

 

Simran smiled politely, not knowing if she was supposed to laugh too.

Arvind looked at her.

“Simran sharmili hai.”
[Simran is shy.]

Rajeev replied, “Sharm achhi cheez hai. Ghar ki izzat badhati hai.”
[Shyness is a good thing. It increases the respect of the house.]

Mahesh added, “Bas zyada sharm ho toh kaam slow ho jata hai.”
[But if there is too much shyness, work becomes slow.]

Another laugh.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the serving spoon.

“Roti aur laaun, sir?”
[Should I bring more roti, sir?]

Arvind nodded.

“Haan.”
[Yes.]

She left.

In the kitchen, she stood still for a second.

Her face felt warm. Her chest felt tight. But she did not understand how to complain about jokes that sounded normal from the outside.

So she picked up the roti basket and returned.

Ravi Hears A Different Story

Later that night, when Ravi reached the farm, Billa was waiting near the road outside. He had come there on purpose.

“Kaam pe aa gaya hero?”
[You came to work, hero?]

Ravi looked tired already.

“Tu yahan?”
[You are here?]

“Bas guzra tha. Socha mil loon.”
[I was just passing by. Thought I’d meet you.]

Ravi adjusted the lunch box in his hand.

Billa leaned closer.

“Aaj ghar mein mehfil thi.”
[There was a gathering at the house today.]

“Kaunsi mehfil?” Ravi asked.
[What gathering?]

“Arvind sir ke dost aaye the. Madam ji serve kar rahi thi. Bade style mein.”
[Arvind sir’s friends came. Madam was serving them. In great style.]

Ravi’s face changed slightly.

“Serve karna uska kaam hai.”
[Serving is her work.]

“Haan, haan. Kaam hi hai.”
[Yes, yes. It is work.]

Billa smiled.

“Bas dost log bhi kaam ki tareef kar rahe the.”
[His friends were also praising the work.]

Ravi looked away.

“Tu baat ghuma raha hai.”
[You are twisting the matter.]

Billa shrugged.

“Main toh bas bata raha hoon. Tera ghar hai, teri biwi hai. Tujhe pata hona chahiye na.”
[I am only telling you. It is your home, your wife. You should know.]

“Woh mera ghar nahi,” Ravi muttered.
[That is not my home.]

Billa smiled.

“Bas. Yahi toh baat hai.”
[Exactly. That is the point.]

Ravi looked at him.

 

Billa’s voice became lower.

“Jis ghar ka rent tu bhar nahi raha, jahan biwi din-raat kaam kar rahi hai, jahan malik kapde laa raha hai… wahan aadmi ko aankh khuli rakhni chahiye.”
[In a house where you are not paying the rent, where your wife is working day and night, where the owner is bringing clothes… a man should keep his eyes open.]

The farm horn sounded in the distance.

Ravi had to go inside.

But Billa’s words walked with him.

The Study Light

After the guests left, Simran cleaned the table.

It was late.

The house was quiet again.

She gathered plates, wiped spilled chutney, picked up used napkins, and carried glasses to the kitchen.

Her feet hurt.

Her palms smelled of soap.

Her back ached when she bent.

Arvind stood near the study door.

“You did well today,” he said.
[You did well today.]

She looked up, tired.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

“Guests ko tumhari chai pasand aayi.”
[The guests liked your tea.]

She gave a faint smile.

“Achha hai.”
[That is good.]

“Thak gayi?”
[Are you tired?]

“Thoda.”
[A little.]

 

“Thoda adjust karna padega. Bade ghar mein guests aate rehte hain.”
[You will have to adjust a little. Guests keep coming in big houses.]

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

He looked at her for a moment.

“Ravi ko batana mat ki tum thak gayi ho. Woh already pressure mein hai.”
[Don’t tell Ravi that you are tired. He is already under pressure.]

Simran blinked slowly.

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

It sounded caring.

But it also closed her mouth before she could open it.

She went back to the kitchen.

Arvind entered his study and switched on the lamp.

Outside, the window reflected Simran’s movement as she washed the last cup.

Inside, Arvind sat calmly, reading files.

The house had become quiet again.

But quiet was not peace anymore.

Quiet was the sound of everybody getting what they wanted from Simran, one small piece at a time.

[Pvzro]

Superb going

Thanks for putting a great update with pics only thing in the pic women is seen as bulky  image put a medium size lady

Fantastic put some spicer episodes and armpits fun as well

Thanks plz keep writing

[zeus90]

Chapter 5: The Mark on Her Face

Ravi came back from the farm after sunrise.

His shirt smelled of milk, sweat, and dust. His hair was messy, his eyes red from staying awake all night. He walked into the outside room and threw his bag near the bed.

Simran was already awake.

She had kept tea ready for him. One steel plate sat on the small stool with two rotis and leftover sabzi. She had not eaten yet. She was waiting for him, even though the main kitchen work would start soon.

“Chai rakh di hai,” she said softly.
[I kept the tea here.]

Ravi did not answer.

He sat on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. His silence felt heavier than his anger.

Simran looked at him carefully.

“Kaam bohot mushkil tha?”
[Was the work very difficult?]

Ravi gave a dry laugh.

“Mushkil?” he said. “Tumhe kya pata mushkil kya hoti hai?”
[Difficult? What do you know about difficulty?]

Simran became still.

“I was just asking.”

Ravi looked at the plate.

“Main raat bhar doodh ke cans uthata hoon, truck bharwata hoon, thand mein khada rehta hoon. Aur tum?”
[I lift milk cans all night, load trucks, stand in the cold. And you?]

Simran’s fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.

“Main bhi kaam karti hoon, Ravi.”
[I work too, Ravi.]

He looked at her clothes, the white suit Arvind had given, now slightly tired from washing and daily work.

“Haan, kaam,” he said bitterly. “Bade ghar mein. AC ke andar. Chai serve karo, khana do, aur sab tumhe madam bolte hain.”
[Yes, work. In a big house. Inside comfort. Serve tea, give food, and everyone calls you madam.]

Simran blinked.

His words did not feel like Ravi.

They felt like someone else had put them in his mouth.

“Tum aise kyun bol rahe ho?”
[Why are you talking like this?]

Ravi stood up.

“Kyuki sach bol raha hoon. Tumhe wahan bura nahi lagta. Tum toh adjust ho gayi ho.”
[Because I’m telling the truth. You don’t feel bad there. You’ve adjusted.]

Simran’s face changed.

“I adjusted because we had no choice.”

“Choice?” Ravi stepped closer. “Mere paas choice hai? Raat ko jaan tod ke kaam karun, din mein so bhi nahi sakta, aur jab aankh kholun toh tum phir ghar ke kaam mein busy.”

She tried to stay calm.

“Main tumhare liye hi toh kar rahi hoon. Rent, khana, sab kuch…”

Ravi cut her off.

“Tum mere liye kar rahi ho ya Arvind sir ke liye?”
[Are you doing it for me or for Arvind sir?]

The room froze.

Simran stared at him.

“What?”

Ravi’s breathing became heavier.

“Sab problem sir ko batani hai. Kaam sir se. Kapde sir se. Room sir ka. Tumhari har baat sir se.”
[Every problem has to be told to sir. Job from sir. Clothes from sir. Room from sir. Everything of yours from sir.]

Simran’s eyes filled, but this time not with helplessness.

With hurt.

“I asked him for your job because you were drinking every day,” she said, her voice shaking. “I begged him for help because you were breaking in front of me.”

Ravi’s face hardened.

“Main toot raha tha?”
[I was breaking?]

“Haan,” Simran said, louder now. “Aur main? Main kya kar rahi hoon? Subah se raat tak kaam, kapde bhi apne nahi, paise bhi apne nahi, room bhi apna nahi. Tum so rahe hote ho, Ravi. Tumhe kuch dikhta hi nahi.”

Ravi stared at her.

She had never spoken like this before.

Usually she lowered her eyes.

Usually she became quiet.

But that morning, something inside her was too tired to kneel.

Ravi’s pride could not bear it.

“Ab tum mujhe sikhaogi?”
[Now you will teach me?]

Simran wiped her cheek angrily.

“Main sikha nahi rahi. Main bas keh rahi hoon ki mujhe bhi dard hota hai.”

Ravi stepped closer.

“Dard?” he said. “Tumhe dard tab hota jab tum raat ko meri tarah kaam karti. Tum toh bas…”

He stopped, then spat the words.

“Tum toh enjoy kar rahi ho.”
[You are enjoying it.]

Simran’s eyes widened.

For a second, she could not breathe.

Then she burst.

“Enjoy?” she shouted. “Tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon? Jab woh log haske baat karte hain, jab mujhe raat tak kaam karna padta hai, jab main tumse baat karna chahti hoon aur tum muh pher ke so jaate ho, tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s face twisted.

 

“Chup ho jao.”

“Nahi, aaj nahi,” she said, crying now. “Tumne mujhe yahan laaya. Tumne sabko hamari kahani batayi. Tumne bina pooche mere liye faisle kiye. Aur ab tum keh rahe ho main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s hand moved before his mind did.

The slap cracked through the small room.

Simran staggered back, one hand flying to her cheek.

For one second, even Ravi looked shocked.

Then anger covered his shock.

“Zyada zubaan chalne lagi hai,” he said.
[Your tongue has started running too much.]

Simran looked at him, stunned, tears silent now.

He slapped her again.

Not hard enough to throw her down, but hard enough to leave fire on her skin.

Her dupatta slipped from one shoulder. She grabbed it quickly, shaking.

“Ravi…” she whispered.

His breathing was fast.

Outside, somewhere, a bird cried from the garden wall.

Ravi picked up his bag.

“I’m going to work,” he said.

“Itni subah?” she asked weakly.
[This early?]

“Farm pe extra shift hai.”

There was no extra shift.

He just needed to leave before guilt caught him.

At the door, he turned once.

“Arvind sir ko mat batana drama,” he said. “Warna main wapas nahi aaunga.”
[Don’t tell Arvind sir this drama. Otherwise I won’t come back.]

Then he left.

The door closed.

 

Simran stood in the small room, one hand on her cheek, the other holding her dupatta.

The tea on the stool went cold.

The Kitchen

Simran washed her face three times before going to the main house.

The mark did not disappear.

It had turned red along her cheek, with faint swelling near the jaw.

She tried to cover it with her hair, but loose strands kept falling the wrong way. She tried to keep her face turned while walking through the corridor.

In the kitchen, she started work like always.

Tea.

Toast.

Fruit.

Arvind’s breakfast plate.

Her hands moved automatically, but her eyes looked empty.

She dropped a spoon once.

Then a cup touched the counter too loudly.

She flinched at the sound.

Arvind entered quietly.

“Good morning, Simran.”

She turned halfway, keeping the marked side of her face away.

“Good morning, sir.”

Arvind stopped.

He saw it.

The red mark on her cheek.

The swollen edge near her jaw.

The way her eyes avoided him.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he walked closer, slowly.

“Face pe kya hua?”
[What happened to your face?]

Simran lowered her head.

“Kuch nahi, sir.”
[Nothing, sir.]

“Gir gayi?”
[Did you fall?]

She nodded too quickly.

“Ji. Bathroom mein slip ho gayi.”
[Yes. I slipped in the bathroom.]

Arvind looked at her.

The lie was thin enough to see through.

“Bathroom mein?”
[In the bathroom?]

“Ji.”

He waited.

She kept her eyes on the floor.

Arvind’s voice became softer.

“Okay. Don’t tell me.”

The words broke something.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the tea strainer.

Arvind turned as if to leave.

“Main samajh gaya,” he said calmly.
[I understand.]

That was all.

No scolding.

No questions.

No pressure.

Only understanding.

And somehow that hurt more.

Simran’s shoulders began to shake.

She tried to stop it. She pressed her lips together. She turned toward the stove and picked up the kettle, but her vision blurred.

The kettle touched the counter with a small metallic sound.

Then the tears came.

Not loudly at first.

Just one breath.

Then another.

Then her face folded, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

Arvind stopped near the door.

He turned back.

“Simran.”

She shook her head.

“Sorry sir. Main… main bas…”
[Sorry sir. I… I just…]

Her voice disappeared.

She cried like someone who had been holding water behind a cracked wall for too long.

 

Arvind moved closer.

“Sit down,” he said softly.
[Sit down.]

She shook her head again.

“Kaam reh gaya hai.”
[Work is left.]

“Kaam baad mein ho jayega.”
[Work can happen later.]

She stood there, trembling, wiping her cheeks with her dupatta.

Arvind pulled a chair slightly away from the table.

“Baitho, Simran.”
[Sit, Simran.]

This time, she sat.

Her hands were in her lap. Her fingers twisted together like frightened threads.

“Ravi ne maara?” Arvind asked quietly.
[Did Ravi hit you?]

Simran closed her eyes.

Fresh tears slipped down.

She did not answer.

That was answer enough.

The Shoulder

Arvind stood near her, not too close at first.

“Tumhari galti nahi hai,” he said.
[It is not your fault.]

Simran shook her head.

“Maine bhi gusse mein bol diya.”
[I also spoke in anger.]

“Isliye koi haath uthata hai?”
[Does that mean someone raises a hand?]

She looked down.

“He was tired. Raat bhar kaam karta hai.”
[He was tired. He works all night.]

“Thakan se aadmi thappad nahi maarta, Simran.”
[Tiredness does not make a man slap someone, Simran.]

The sentence landed softly, but deep.

She cried harder.

“Main kya karun, sir?” she whispered. “Main kahan jaun?”
[What should I do, sir? Where should I go?]

Arvind let the silence grow just enough.

Then he placed a hand lightly near the back of the chair, not touching her yet.

“Tum akeli nahi ho.”
[You are not alone.]

Simran looked up at him through tears.

He opened his arms slightly, not fully.

Just enough to look like comfort was available if she needed it.

For a second, she hesitated.

Then the pain won.

She stood and leaned into him, crying against his shoulder.

It was not romance for Simran.

It was collapse.

A moment where she had no mother, no sister, no home, no husband who felt safe, and no strength left to stand straight.

Arvind placed one hand carefully on her upper back.

His face stayed calm.

But inside, he knew this moment mattered.

Not because she loved him.

She did not.

Because pain had brought her into his arms without him pulling.

That was how control became stronger.

Not by force.

By becoming the only place where someone could break down.

 

“Bas,” he said softly. “Rone do. Sab andar mat rakho.”
[It’s okay. Cry. Don’t keep everything inside.]

Simran cried harder.

Her body shook with every breath.

Arvind held still, patient, letting her trust the silence.

Billa’s Picture

At the back corridor, Billa had come looking for Arvind.

He stopped before entering the kitchen.

Through the half-open door, he saw them.

Simran crying against Arvind’s shoulder.

Arvind’s hand on her back.

Billa’s eyes narrowed.

Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.

He pulled out his phone.

Quietly.

Carefully.

He moved slightly to the side, where the angle hid Simran’s tears but captured the closeness.

Click.

One photo.

Then another.

 

From the picture, nobody would know she was broken.

Nobody would know about the mark on her face.

Nobody would hear Ravi’s slap or her shaking voice.

The photo would only show Simran in Arvind’s arms.

And in the wrong hands, half-truths were sharper than lies.

Billa looked at the photo and whispered, “Ab maza aayega.”
[Now this will be interesting.]
 

Then he slipped away before anyone noticed.

After The Tears

Simran slowly calmed down.

When she realized how close she was standing, she pulled back quickly.

Her face turned red with embarrassment.

“Sorry sir,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Mujhe aise nahi…”
[Sorry sir. I shouldn’t have…]

Arvind stepped back politely, giving her space.

“No sorry. Kabhi-kabhi insaan toot jata hai.”
[No sorry. Sometimes a person breaks.]

She nodded, still looking down.

Her cheek hurt.

Her eyes burned.

Her throat felt heavy.

But the crying had emptied something for a while.

Arvind picked up a glass of water and gave it to her.

“Paani piyo.”
[Drink water.]

She took it with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”
[Thank you, sir.]

He watched her drink.

Then he said, “If you want, I can talk to Ravi.”
[If you want, I can talk to Ravi.]

Simran immediately shook her head.

“No sir. Please nahi.”
[No sir. Please don’t.]

“Why?”

“Woh gusse mein tha. Heat of moment mein ho gaya.”
[He was angry. It happened in the heat of the moment.]

Arvind’s face became serious.

“Simran, heat of moment mein bhi haath uthana galat hota hai.”
[Simran, even in the heat of the moment, raising a hand is wrong.]

She looked down again.

“I know. Par main fix kar lungi. Main usse baat karungi.”
[I know. But I will fix it. I will talk to him.]

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Ji sir. Please Ravi ko mat bolna.”
[Yes sir. Please don’t tell Ravi.]

Arvind paused, then gave a slow nod.

“As you wish.”
[As you wish.]

His voice was gentle.

Too gentle.

Simran stood up and wiped her face with the edge of her dupatta.

“I will make fresh tea,” she said.
[I will make fresh tea.]

“Rest for five minutes,” Arvind said.

She gave a tired little smile.

“Kaam reh gaya hai, sir.”
[Work is left, sir.]

Then she turned back to the stove.

The mark on her face was still visible.

Her hands were still shaking.

But the tea began to boil again, because in that house, even pain had to wait behind duty.

Outside, Billa stood near the garden wall, looking at the photo on his phone.

Inside the kitchen, Arvind watched Simran quietly.

And far away at the farm, Ravi lifted milk cans in the dark, not knowing that one slap had given Billa a weapon…

and Arvind a doorway.

[zeus90]

Superb going

Thanks for putting a great update with pics only thing in the pic women is seen as bulky  image put a medium size lady

Fantastic put some spicer episodes and armpits fun as well

Thanks plz keep writing

slowly going getting better this will be long story its not fast paced it slow moving and i will cover mostly things . spicer chapter with feeling come i dont want to rush things. armpits fun i am not sure but i will be intersting story

[Pvzro]

slowly going getting better this will be long story its not fast paced it slow moving and i will cover mostly things . spicer chapter with feeling come i dont want to rush things. armpits fun i am not sure but i will be intersting story

Thank u ...

Really respect your way of presentation!!!

Keep going writer

[Pvzro]

Wonderful updates glad to read it , expected' long updates armpits episodes once is ok i won't push you on this completely your decisions

Thanks again!!!

[Rizzi1198]

Good story

[tweeny_fory]

What a slow borne
Love the slow seduction and the play by the master

[Pvzro]

Awaiting for a sexier episodes 

....

[zeus90]

# Chapter 6: The Price of Shelter

The hug did not end in the kitchen.

It followed Simran for the rest of the day.

It followed her while she washed cups.

It followed her while she folded napkins.

It followed her while she swept the corridor where Billa’s muddy slippers had left brown half-moons on the floor.

It followed her into the outside room after sunset, when the house became quiet and Ravi had already left for the farm without looking properly at her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the end of her dupatta in both hands.

Her cheek still hurt faintly.

Not as much as the morning.

But enough to remind her.

Ravi’s hand.

Ravi’s anger.

Ravi’s words.

And then Arvind’s voice.

“Tumhari galti nahi hai.”
*[It is not your fault.]*

The line kept returning to her.

Again and again.

Like someone knocking softly from inside her chest.

She did not want to think about Arvind.

But the mind does not always obey shame.

She remembered how she had cried against his shoulder. How for a few minutes, she had stopped holding herself together. How he had not shouted, not blamed, not asked for proof. How he had simply understood.

That was the dangerous part.

Not the touch.

The understanding.

Because after a long time, someone had looked at her pain and not called it drama.

Simran closed her eyes.

“Main pagal ho rahi hoon,” she whispered to herself.
**

Then she quickly opened her eyes, as if even thinking like that was wrong.

Ravi was her husband.

Arvind was her employer.

The difference should have been clear.

But in that house, every line had begun to blur quietly.

Like ink spreading in water.

---

## Arvind’s Room

That same night, Arvind sat alone in his bedroom.

The room was large, neat, and cold. A glass of water sat untouched beside the lamp. His white kurta hung on the chair. His phone lay on the bed, screen down.

He was not reading.

He was not sleeping.

He was remembering.

Simran crying.

Simran leaning into him.

Simran trusting him because she had nowhere else to place her brokenness.

A small smile moved across his face.

Not soft.

Not kind.

Satisfied.

He had waited.

He had not rushed.

He had watched the house do its work on her. Poverty. Shame. Work. Distance. Ravi’s anger. Billa’s poison. The clothes. The rent. The silence.

And now, for the first time, Simran had come close to him without being ordered.

That mattered.

To Arvind, it was not emotion.

It was progress.

“Pain opens doors,” he murmured.

Then he corrected himself, almost amused.

“No. Pain opens people.”

He leaned back against the headboard.

His plan was working.

Slowly.

Cleanly.

Without leaving fingerprints.

---

## The Photo

The next morning, Billa waited near the garden before breakfast.

He did not enter the kitchen. He knew when to step forward and when to stay behind. That was his talent. A dirty talent, but a talent.

When Arvind came out toward the side corridor, Billa straightened.

“Sir.”

Arvind stopped.

“Bolo.”
*[Speak.]*

Billa looked around once, then pulled out his phone.

“Mere paas kuch hai.”
**

Arvind’s eyes sharpened.

“Kya?”
*[What?]*

Billa opened the photo.

The screen lit up.

Simran was in Arvind’s arms.

Her face was turned away. Her tears were not visible. The mark on her cheek was hidden. The angle made the moment look different from what it had been.

Arvind took the phone slowly.

He stared at the photo.

For a few seconds, he said nothing.

Billa smiled like a dog waiting for a bone.

“Kaam aa sakta hai, sir.”
*[This can be useful, sir.]*

Arvind zoomed in slightly.

The photo was perfect.

Not because it showed truth.

Because it could destroy truth.

He handed the phone back.

“Save it carefully,” Arvind said.

Billa nodded.

“Ravi ko dikha doon?”
*[Should I show Ravi?]*

Arvind looked at him coldly.

“Bewakoof ho?”
*[Are you stupid?]*

Billa’s smile disappeared.

“Nahi sir.”
*[No sir.]*

“Abhi nahi,” Arvind said. “Aise card jaldi nahi phenkta. Isko future ke liye rakh.”
*[Not now. You do not throw such a card early. Keep it for the future.]*

Billa nodded quickly.

“Samajh gaya.”
**

Arvind looked toward the kitchen window. Simran was inside, lighting the stove, her dupatta pulled too high over her chest, her movements careful.

“She is already tired,” Arvind said quietly. “Already ashamed. Already alone.”

Billa grinned.

“Phir toh aadha kaam ho gaya.”
*[Then half the work is done.]*

Arvind did not smile.

“Half work is not enough.”

He stepped closer to Billa.

“Ravi ko din mein dekhte rehna. Jab woh sota hai, check karna. Agar Simran uske paas zyada der rukti hai, ya room ka door band hota hai, mujhe batana.”
*[Keep watching Ravi during the day. When he sleeps, check. If Simran stays with him too long, or if the room door is closed, tell me.]*

Billa’s eyes narrowed with understanding.

“Matlab unko close nahi hone dena.”
*[Meaning, don’t let them get close.]*

“Exactly,” Arvind said.

Then his voice became smoother.

“Simran ko busy rakho. Kaam badhao, but naturally. Kabhi kitchen. Kabhi cleaning. Kabhi study. Kabhi laundry. Usko itna time hi nahi milna chahiye ki woh Ravi ke saath baith ke baat kar sake.”
*[Keep Simran busy. Increase the work, but naturally. Sometimes kitchen. Sometimes cleaning. Sometimes study. Sometimes laundry. She should not get enough time to sit and talk with Ravi.]*

Billa scratched his chin.

“Ravi toh waise bhi gusse mein hai.”
*[Ravi is already angry anyway.]*

“Gussa thanda pad sakta hai,” Arvind replied. “Doori thandi nahi padni chahiye.”
*[Anger can cool down. Distance must not.]*

Billa smiled again.

“Samajh gaya, sir. Din mein main dekh lunga.”
**

Arvind looked once more toward Simran.

She was adjusting her dupatta again, uncomfortable in the white suit, trying to keep herself covered while bending near the lower cabinet.

Arvind’s voice dropped.

“Uska mind already weak ho raha hai. Ab usko apni need samajhni chahiye. Shelter ki need. Safety ki need. Respect ki need.”
*[Her mind is already weakening. Now she should understand her need. Need for shelter. Need for safety. Need for respect.]*

Billa laughed under his breath.

“And all roads lead to Arvind sir?”

Arvind looked at him.

Billa immediately lowered his eyes.

“Sorry sir.”

Arvind walked away.

Behind him, Billa looked at the photo again and whispered:

“Ek tasveer. Hazaar kaam.”
*[One picture. A thousand uses.]*

---

## The Silent Room

Ravi and Simran did not talk properly for two days.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because there was too much.

Their silence had become a third person in the room.

It sat between them when Simran placed tea on the stool.

It stood near the bed when Ravi changed clothes for work.

It followed them when he returned from the farm in the morning and she went to the main kitchen without asking how his night had been.

Ravi did not apologize.

Simran did not ask for an apology.

Both waited.

Both hurt.

Both proud.

Both lonely.

One morning, Ravi sat on the bed, eating the food she had kept for him. Two rotis. Potato sabzi. A small steel glass of tea.

Simran stood near the door.

“Roti aur chahiye?”
*[Do you want more roti?]*

Ravi did not look at her.

“Nahi.”
*[No.]*

She nodded.

There was a pause.

His eyes went to her cheek. The mark had faded, but not fully. A yellow-brown shadow remained near her jaw.

His fingers stopped for a second.

He saw it.

He knew he had done it.

But guilt is easier to swallow when pride is sitting on your throat.

He looked down again.

Simran waited for one word.

Sorry.

Bas itna.

Just that much.

It did not come.

She turned to leave.

Ravi spoke suddenly.

“Arvind ne kuch poocha?”
*[Did Arvind ask anything?]*

Simran stopped.

Her back straightened.

“Poocha tha.”
*[He asked.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“Kya bola tumne?”
*[What did you say?]*

“Bathroom mein gir gayi.”
**

Ravi looked at her.

For a moment, shame passed through his eyes.

Then suspicion came behind it.

“Usne maan liya?”
*[Did he believe it?]*

Simran turned around slowly.

“Tumhe bas yahi tension hai?”
*[Is that all you are worried about?]*

Ravi said nothing.

She gave a small, broken laugh.

“Main jaa rahi hoon. Kaam hai.”
**

She left before he could answer.

Outside, Billa stood near the garden pipe, pretending to water plants.

The pipe was dry.

But his eyes were working.

---

## A Month Completed

One month passed in Arvind Malhotra’s house.

The calendar changed.

Nothing else did.

Simran’s days were still full.

Ravi’s nights were still heavy.

Billa’s eyes were still everywhere.

Arvind’s voice was still calm.

At the end of the month, Arvind called Simran into the study.

She stood near the door, nervous. She had never liked that room. The shelves were too tall. The desk too polished. The air too controlled.

“Come in, Simran,” Arvind said.

She stepped inside.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

Arvind opened a drawer and took out an envelope.

“Tumhari salary.”
*[Your salary.]*

Simran’s eyes moved to the envelope.

Her first salary.

For a second, something bright came into her face.

Small.

Careful.

But real.

Arvind noticed.

He always noticed.

He placed the envelope on the table.

“Seven thousand. Aur five hundred bonus. You worked well this month.”
*[Seven thousand. And five hundred bonus. You worked well this month.]*

Simran looked surprised.

“Bonus?”
*[Bonus?]*

“Yes. Guests bhi aaye, kaam zyada tha. You managed.”
*[Yes. Guests came too, work was more. You managed.]*

She took the envelope with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”
*[Thank you, sir.]*

Her voice almost trembled.

Money had a sound.

A thin paper sound.

But to Simran, it sounded like breath.

For the first time in a month, she felt she had something of her own.

Maybe she could buy oil for her hair.

Maybe a simple pair of slippers.

Maybe some cream for the roughness on her hands.

Maybe she could keep a little aside.

Maybe.

Arvind leaned back.

“When Ravi comes, send him to me. I need to talk to him.”
*[When Ravi comes, send him to me. I need to talk to him.]*

Simran’s smile faded slightly.

“Ji sir. Kis baare mein?”
*[Yes sir. About what?]*

“Rent and expenses.”
*[Rent and expenses.]*

The envelope became heavier in her hand.

Arvind spoke gently, as if discussing weather.

“First month mein maine food, electricity, water, sab ignore kiya. Help samajh lo. But from now, you both need to manage properly.”
*[In the first month, I ignored food, electricity, water, everything. Consider it help. But from now, you both need to manage properly.]*

Simran swallowed.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“Room rent ten thousand hai. Due next week. Main ek week aur de raha hoon. Aaj se tum log apna ration alag manage karna. Kitchen ka basic use kar sakti ho, but monthly expenses ka hisaab clear hona chahiye.”
*[Room rent is ten thousand. Due next week. I am giving one more week. From today, you both should manage your own groceries separately. You can use the kitchen basics, but monthly expenses must be clear.]*

Simran’s fingers tightened around the envelope.

Ten thousand.

The number stood in front of her like a locked gate.

“Sir… meri salary…”
*[Sir… my salary…]*

“I know,” Arvind said softly. “That is why Ravi must understand. Husband-wife dono ko milke chalna padta hai.”
**

She nodded, but her throat felt dry.

Arvind’s eyes remained gentle.

Too gentle.

“Don’t worry. Send him to me. Main samjha dunga.”
*[Don’t worry. Send him to me. I will explain it to him.]*

Simran stepped out of the study with the envelope in her hand.

The first money she had earned.

And already, it did not feel like hers.

---

## Half Salary

Ravi returned before evening that day.

His face looked tired, but not only from work. There was something else in his eyes. Avoidance. Fear. The look of a man who had spent tomorrow before today had ended.

Simran was folding clothes in the outside room.

She had changed into the baby pink suit. The dupatta kept slipping from one side because she was moving fast. Every time it slipped, she pulled it back, irritated, uncomfortable, aware of herself in a way that made her angry.

Ravi entered quietly.

She looked up.

“Arvind sir bula rahe hain tumhe.”
*[Arvind sir is calling you.]*

Ravi’s face changed.

“Kyun?”
*[Why?]*

“Rent ke baare mein.”
*[About rent.]*

He looked away.

Simran noticed.

“What?” she asked.

Ravi sat on the bed.

“Pehle tumse baat karni hai.”
**

Simran stopped folding.

Her hand rested on a white dupatta.

“Bolo.”
*[Say it.]*

Ravi rubbed his forehead.

“Maine salary se advance le liya tha.”
**

Simran stared at him.

“Kitna?”
*[How much?]*

Ravi did not answer immediately.

“Kitna, Ravi?”
*[How much, Ravi?]*

“Half.”

The word dropped in the room like a stone in a well.

Simran’s face went still.

“Half matlab?”
*[What do you mean, half?]*

“Is month sirf three thousand five hundred milenge.”
*[This month I will only get three thousand five hundred.]*

Simran stood up slowly.

“Tumhari salary kitni thi?”
*[How much was your salary?]*

“Seven thousand.”

“Arvind sir ne bola rent ten thousand due hai next week.”
*[Arvind sir said ten thousand rent is due next week.]*

Ravi said nothing.

Simran gave a small laugh.

Not happy.

Not amused.

The kind of laugh that comes when the heart refuses to cry immediately.

“Main soch rahi thi,” she said slowly, “meri salary mein se five thousand de dungi. Tum five thousand de dena. Rent clear ho jayega. Thoda bachega toh ration le lenge.”
**

Ravi looked down.

Simran stepped closer.

“Par tumhare paas three thousand five hundred hai?”
*[But you have only three thousand five hundred?]*

“Main manage kar lunga.”
**

“Kaise?”
*[How?]*

He stayed quiet.

The answer was sitting between them.

Drinks.

Friends.

Small expenses.

Weakness.

Excuses.

Simran’s voice rose.

“Main subah se raat tak kaam karun. Kapde apni marzi ke nahi. Khana apni marzi ka nahi. Room apna nahi. Aur jab pehli salary haath mein aayi, toh woh bhi rent mein chali jaaye?”
**


Ravi’s jaw tightened, but he did not speak.

“Tumhe pata hai main kya soch rahi thi?” she continued. “Main soch rahi thi ek simple slippers le loon. Haath ke liye cream le loon. Maa ko phone karne ke liye recharge karwa loon. Par nahi. Tumne pehle hi aadhi salary uda di.”
*[Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking I would buy simple slippers. Some cream for my hands. Recharge my phone to call my mother. But no. You already wasted half your salary.]*

Ravi looked up.

“Uda di nahi. Zarurat thi.”
**

“Daaru zarurat thi?”
*[Was alcohol a need?]*

His face hardened.

“Har baat daaru pe mat lao.”
*[Don’t bring everything to alcohol.]*

“Toh kis pe laun?” Simran snapped. “Tum kaam pe jaate ho, salary aane se pehle advance le lete ho, ghar mein paisa nahi, rent due, aur main kya karun? Main Arvind sir ke saamne haath jodun?”
*[Then what should I bring it to? You go to work, take advance before salary, there is no money at home, rent is due, and what should I do? Should I fold my hands in front of Arvind sir?]*

Ravi stood up.

“Bas karo.”
*[Stop it.]*

“Nahi. Aaj nahi.”
*[No. Not today.]*

Her voice shook, but she did not stop.

 

“Tumne mujhe yahan laaya. Tumne bola kuch din mushkil honge, phir sab theek ho jayega. Par har din mushkil badh rahi hai. Aur tum? Tum bas ya toh sote ho, ya gussa karte ho, ya paisa khatam kar dete ho.”
*[You brought me here. You said some days would be difficult, then everything would become fine. But every day the difficulty is growing. And you? You either sleep, or get angry, or finish the money.]*

Ravi’s eyes flashed.

For a second, Simran saw his hand twitch.

Her body remembered before her mind did.

She stepped back.

That small step hit Ravi harder than her words.

He saw fear in her eyes.

Fear of him.

His anger fell silent.

He picked up his bag.

“I’m going to work.”
*[I’m going to work.]*

“Itni jaldi?”
*[So early?]*

He did not answer.

“Arvind sir se baat?” she asked.
*[What about talking to Arvind sir?]*

“Tu bol dena kal baat karunga.”
*[Tell him I will talk tomorrow.]*

Then he left.

No apology.

No solution.

Just the door closing again.

---

## What Now?

Simran stood in the room for a long time.

The envelope was still hidden under the folded clothes.

Seven thousand five hundred.

For a few minutes that morning, it had felt like freedom.

Now it felt like debt wearing paper skin.

She sat down on the bed and took the envelope out.

She counted the notes once.
 


As if the number might change if she looked at it with enough pain.

It did not.

Outside, the evening light turned yellow.

Inside, the room felt smaller than before.

Ten thousand rent.

Separate groceries.

Ravi’s half salary gone.

Arvind waiting.

Billa watching.

Simran pressed the envelope against her forehead and closed her eyes.

“Main kya karun?” she whispered.
*[What should I do?]*

No answer came.

Only the sound of the main house bell.

Arvind was calling for tea.

Simran wiped her face quickly, tucked the envelope under the mattress, adjusted her dupatta, and stood up.

Pain could wait.

Debt could wait.

Fear could wait.

Tea could not.

And in Arvind Malhotra’s house, that was how the trap worked.

Not with chains.

With needs.

I’ll keep this part tense and dark, but not graphic. Arvind’s trap will feel more dangerous because he hides it under “help” and “extra work.”



The next morning, Simran worked slower than usual.

Not lazy.

Just heavy.

Her hands were doing the work, but her mind was still sitting in the outside room with the salary envelope open on the bed.

Seven thousand five hundred.

Rent due.

Ravi’s half salary gone.

Separate groceries.

Only numbers.

Only pressure.

She washed cups in the kitchen, but twice she forgot which ones were already clean. She placed sugar in the wrong jar. She burned one roti because she kept staring at the flame like it might answer her.

Arvind noticed from the dining table.

He always noticed.

He folded his newspaper slowly and looked toward the kitchen.

“Simran.”

She turned quickly.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

“Tumhara mood off hai?”
*[Is your mood off?]*

Simran forced a small smile.

“Nahi sir. Bas thodi thakawat hai.”
*[No sir. Just a little tiredness.]*

Arvind watched her.

“Thakawat aankhon mein nahi hoti. Aaj tumhare chehre pe hai.”
*[Tiredness is not in the eyes. Today it is on your face.]*

Simran looked down and wiped the counter, even though it was already clean.

“Kuch nahi sir.”
*[Nothing sir.]*

Arvind did not push immediately.

That was his skill.

He let silence sit beside her until it became uncomfortable.

Then he spoke softly.

“Ravi se kuch hua?”
*[Did something happen with Ravi?]*

Her hand stopped.

Only for half a second.

But Arvind saw it.

Simran turned toward the sink.

“Thoda issue chal raha hai Ravi ke saath,” she said quietly. “Isliye mood thoda aisa hai.”
*[There is a small issue going on with Ravi. That is why my mood is like this.]*

Arvind leaned back in his chair.

“Money?”
*[Money?]*

She did not answer.

That was enough.

He gave a gentle smile, the kind that made every trap look like a doorway.

“Don’t worry, Simran. Sab theek ho jata hai. Husband-wife mein thodi bahut nok-jhonk toh chalti rehti hai life mein.”
*[Don’t worry, Simran. Everything becomes okay. In husband and wife life, small arguments keep happening.]*

Simran nodded, but her eyes stayed low.

“Nok-jhonk alag hoti hai, sir,” she whispered. “Jab har baat paise pe aa jaaye na… toh saans bhi hisaab se leni padti hai.”
*[Small arguments are different, sir. When everything comes to money… then even breathing feels like it needs calculation.]*

For a moment, Arvind’s face became almost sympathetic.

Almost.

“I understand,” he said.

And because Simran was tired, she wanted to believe him.

---

## The Rent Week

One week passed like a dry leaf dragging across stone.

Every day, Simran counted in her head.

Seven thousand from her salary.

Three thousand from Ravi.

Ten thousand rent.

After that, five hundred left for her.

Five hundred left for Ravi.

Nothing more.

No slippers.

No cream.

No phone recharge.

No small happiness folded secretly inside the blouse drawer.

Only survival.

On the rent day, Simran stood in Arvind’s study with the money in both hands. Ravi stood beside her, silent, eyes lowered.

Arvind sat behind his polished desk.

The room smelled of paper, sandalwood, and control.

Simran placed the notes on the table.

“Sir, rent.”
*[Sir, rent.]*

Arvind counted it slowly.

Not because he needed to.

Because he wanted both of them to feel every note leaving their hands.

“One, two, three…”

Simran watched the money disappear into his drawer.

Something inside her sank with it.

Arvind closed the drawer.

“Good. From now, keep things clear. Rent on time. Expenses separate. No confusion.”
*[Good. From now, keep things clear. Rent on time. Expenses separate. No confusion.]*

Ravi nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Arvind looked at him.

“You are working now. You must plan better. A household cannot run on excuses.”
*[You are working now. You must plan better. A household cannot run on excuses.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

Simran looked at Ravi from the side.

He did not look back.

They left the study together, but their footsteps did not match.

---

## Five Hundred Each

Back in the outside room, Simran sat on the bed and opened her palm.

Five hundred rupees.

That was what remained.

One note.

One month of work.

Her eyes filled, but she did not cry.

Ravi stood near the door, holding his own five hundred, turning it between his fingers.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Then Ravi said quietly:

“Simran.”

She did not look up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

“I’m sorry.”

The words came late.

Very late.

But they came.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the note.

Ravi stepped closer.

“Main galat tha. Advance nahi lena chahiye tha. Daaru bhi…” He stopped, ashamed. “Mujhse galti ho gayi.”
*[I was wrong. I should not have taken the advance. The drinking too… I made a mistake.]*

Simran looked at him.

His face was tired, but there was no anger now. Only a man who had finally seen the hole he had helped dig.

She wanted to stay angry.

She had earned that anger.

But marriage does not break only from fights.

Sometimes it breaks from waiting for one apology that never comes.

And when it finally comes, the heart becomes confused.

She looked away.

“Maaf kar diya,” she said.
*[I forgive you.]*

Ravi’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if he had been holding a stone.

“But Ravi,” she continued, her voice firmer now, “aise toh nahi chalega.”
*[But Ravi, it cannot continue like this.]*

He nodded.

“I know.”

“Sirf sorry se rent nahi bharega. Ration nahi aayega. Zindagi nahi chalegi.”
*[Sorry will not pay rent. It will not buy groceries. It will not run life.]*

Ravi looked down.

“Main kuch karta hoon.”
*[I will do something.]*

“Kar ke dikhao,” she said. “Bas bolna mat.”
*[Show it by doing. Don’t just say it.]*

Ravi nodded again.

His eyes went to the faded mark near her jaw. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else.

But the moment passed.

The farm horn sounded far away in the evening.

He picked up his bag.

“I’ll go. Late ho raha hai.”
*[I’ll go. I am getting late.]*

Simran did not stop him.

He paused at the door.

“Simran…”

She looked at him.

“I’ll try.”

Then he left.

This time, the door closed softer.

But soft doors also close.

---

## Extra Work

That night, Simran could not sleep.

She lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

Five hundred rupees.

That number kept walking across her mind.

Five hundred for a whole month.

She turned to one side.

The room was hot. Her back ached. Her hands smelled faintly of soap and atta. Her dupatta lay folded near the pillow, but even in the dark she felt the habit of adjusting it, covering herself, making herself smaller.

By morning, a thought had formed.

Not a happy thought.

A necessary one.

After breakfast, when Arvind was in the study, Simran stood near the door.

“Sir?”

Arvind looked up.

“Yes, Simran?”

She stepped inside slowly.

“Main kuch poochh sakti hoon?”
*[Can I ask something?]*

“Of course.”

She held her hands together.

“Ghar mein… koi extra kaam ho toh bata dijiye. Salary thodi increase ho sakti hai?”
*[If there is any extra work in the house, please tell me. Can my salary increase a little?]*

Arvind leaned back.

Inside, something in him smiled.

Outside, his face became thoughtful.

“Extra work?” he repeated.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Tum already bahut kaam karti ho.”
*[You already work a lot.]*

“Kar lungi sir. Zarurat hai.”
*[I will manage, sir. I need it.]*

Arvind looked at her for a long moment.

Then he looked away, as if considering.

“Work toh hai,” he said slowly. “But tum shayad nahi karna chahogi.”
*[There is work. But maybe you will not want to do it.]*

Simran became alert.

“Kaisa work?”
*[What kind of work?]*

Arvind gave a small sigh, like a man embarrassed to ask.

“Actually, meri back problem hai. Kabhi-kabhi pain badh jata hai. Pehle main Billa ko extra pay kar deta tha body massage ke liye.”
*[Actually, I have a back problem. Sometimes the pain increases. Earlier, I used to pay Billa extra for body massage.]*

Simran blinked.

Massage.

The word felt strange in the room.

Arvind quickly added:

“But leave it. Mujhe nahi lagta tum kar paogi. Aur main tumhe uncomfortable nahi karna chahta.”
*[But leave it. I don’t think you will be able to do it. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.]*

That made it sound like the decision was hers.

That was the hook.

Simran looked down.

“How much extra, sir?”
*[How much extra, sir?]*

Arvind paused.

“Depends. Agar properly kar sako toh monthly kuch add kar sakta hoon. Maybe two thousand. Maybe more, if regular.”
*[Depends. If you can do it properly, I can add something monthly. Maybe two thousand. Maybe more, if regular.]*

Two thousand.

The number hit her like cool water.

Two thousand meant groceries.

Recharge.

Maybe slippers.

Maybe breathing.

She lifted her eyes.

“Main kar lungi.”
*[I will do it.]*

 

Arvind shook his head gently.

“Don’t say yes quickly. Massage easy nahi hoti. Pressure points, oil, time. One hour lagta hai. Usually dinner ke baad.”
*[Don’t say yes quickly. Massage is not easy. Pressure points, oil, time. It takes one hour. Usually after dinner.]*

Simran hesitated.

After dinner.

His bedroom.

One hour.

Something inside her pulled back.

Arvind saw it and immediately leaned away, giving her room to refuse.

“Leave it, Simran. I should not have mentioned it.”
*[Leave it, Simran. I should not have mentioned it.]*

“No sir,” she said quickly. “Agar kaam hai toh main kar lungi. Main seekh jaungi.”
*[No sir. If it is work, I will do it. I will learn.]*

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

Arvind looked at her carefully.

“Tomorrow after dinner. Video dekh lena. Basic back and shoulder massage. Phir mere bedroom mein aa jana. One hour. Bas professional work samajh ke.”
*[Tomorrow after dinner. Watch a video. Basic back and shoulder massage. Then come to my bedroom. One hour. Just treat it as professional work.]*

Professional.

The word wrapped the wrong thing in a clean cloth.

Simran nodded again.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Good. And listen,” Arvind said, voice softening, “agar uncomfortable feel ho, toh mana kar dena. No pressure.”

Simran almost felt grateful.

That was how deep she had already stepped into the trap.

She thought he was giving her a choice.

She did not see that he had built the situation where every choice led back to him.

---

## Behind The Door

After Simran left, Arvind sat still for a while.

Then he smiled.

Not wide.

Just enough.

A careful man’s smile.

He opened the side drawer and took out his phone.

One message to Billa.

**Kal dinner ke baad Simran busy rahegi. Ravi pe nazar rakhna.**

*[Tomorrow after dinner Simran will be busy. Keep an eye on Ravi.]*

The reply came quickly.

**Samajh gaya sir.**

*[Understood sir.]*

Arvind placed the phone down.

The house was quiet.

But inside that quiet, another thread had been tied.

---

## Learning

That night, Simran finished the dishes late.

Ravi had already left for work.

The outside room was dim when she sat on the bed with her phone.

She searched:

**back massage kaise kare**

Many videos appeared.

Some were from clinics.

Some from salons.

Some from people talking too much before showing anything useful.

Simran watched carefully.

Palm pressure.

Shoulder circles.

Lower back caution.

Do not press bone.

Use oil.

Ask if pressure is okay.

She tried the movement in the air with her hands.

Once.

Twice.

Then she pressed her own shoulder and winced.

“Yeh bhi seekhna padega,” she muttered.
*[I have to learn this too.]*

The pink dupatta lay beside her on the bed. Her five hundred rupee note was folded under her pillow.

She watched another video.

Then another.

Slowly, her eyes became heavy.

The phone slipped onto the bedsheet.

Before sleeping, one thought passed through her mind:

Maybe this will help.

Maybe next month will be easier.

Maybe I can manage.

She did not think about Arvind’s side.

She did not think about why he had asked her and not Billa.

She did not think about the bedroom door.

She only thought about money.

That was the saddest part.

The trap no longer needed to look like danger.

It only needed to look like a solution.

Simran fell asleep with the phone still glowing beside her.

On the screen, a paused video showed two hands pressing someone’s back.

In Arvind Malhotra’s house, tomorrow had already been planned.

And Simran thought she was choosing it.

[Pvzro]

No words to describe this masterpiece 
What a way of slow seduction itna acha description kahi aur pada he nahi ahi,sab explanation kitne details me hai i value and appreciate your efforts in writing such a kind of erotic story

True legend 
Superb story 

Keep giving regular update, me is liye bol raha hu kyuki agar updates delay ho jati hai na to hum readers ka interest he katham ho jata hai
But i value your time and efforts always

Many  Thanks for the update and such a long one font is also good.

[Hotgiri]

Very awasome story brother, eagerly awaiting Simran to massage Arvind and his dick and give him blowjob

Please add more pics to story

[tweeny_fory]

wow a wonderful an lovely story
the screen play is fantastic
the narration is next level
the emotions are on high
a good master piece in making
and the physical touch is just to start...

lovely writing

[Pvzro]

Fantastic ....
Awaiting for the episodes of massage....

[Rizzi1198]

Great going

[Pvzro]

Can't wait to read it more

Kindly update dear

[zeus90]

I’ am make this part **emotional, slow-burn, and tense**, Arvind’s “kindness” will look warm to Simran,
---

# Chapter 7: The Soft Trap

The next evening came slower than usual.

All day, Simran kept remembering Arvind’s words.

“Tomorrow after dinner… one hour… professional work samajh ke.”

Professional.

She repeated the word in her mind like a shield.

Professional work.

Extra money.

Nothing else.

By dinner time, her hands felt slightly cold, even though the kitchen was hot. She cooked dal, roti, and mixed vegetables. She served Arvind quietly at the dining table, then cleaned the plates, washed the glasses, wiped the counter, and checked the stove twice.

Ravi had already left for the farm.

The outside room was empty.

The big house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Simran stood near the kitchen door, holding a small bottle of oil in her hand.

For a moment, she thought of going back.

Then she remembered the rent.

The five hundred rupees.

The phone recharge she still had not done.

The slippers she still could not buy.

She took a breath and walked toward Arvind’s bedroom.

---

## The First Massage

Arvind’s bedroom was larger than the outside room and the kitchen together.

A soft lamp glowed near the bed. The curtains were closed. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and expensive soap. Everything was arranged perfectly, like even the silence had been folded and kept in place.

Arvind was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a plain white kurta-pajama.


When Simran entered, he looked up.

“You came.”

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Her voice was low.

Arvind noticed the oil bottle in her hand.

 

“Video dekhi?”
*[Did you watch the video?]*

She nodded.

“Thodi.”
*[A little.]*

He smiled gently.

“Don’t worry. Bas shoulders and back. Agar difficult lage toh stop kar dena.”
*[Don’t worry. Just shoulders and back. If it feels difficult, stop.]*

That made her feel safer.

Or maybe it only made the room feel less dangerous.

Arvind lay face down on the bed, keeping his arms folded near the pillow. Simran stood beside him, uncertain.

She poured a little oil into her palm.

Too much.

She quickly rubbed it between both hands, embarrassed.

Arvind said without turning:

“Relax, Simran. First time hai. Galti ho sakti hai.”
*[Relax, Simran. It is your first time. Mistakes can happen.]*

She placed her hands carefully on his upper back.

Her movements were stiff at first. Like she was afraid even her fingers might do something wrong.

“Pressure theek hai?” she asked.
*[Is the pressure okay?]*

“Thoda aur,” Arvind said softly. “But only if you are comfortable.”
*[A little more. But only if you are comfortable.]*

She pressed slightly harder.

The room stayed quiet.

Outside, somewhere far away, a dog barked.

Inside, Simran focused on the movement she had seen in the video. Circles near the shoulder. Straight pressure beside the spine. Do not press bone. Ask if pressure is okay.

After ten minutes, her nervousness began to settle.

After twenty, she stopped thinking about every movement.

After thirty, she started talking.

Not because she planned to.

Because silence sometimes opens doors that words keep locked.

“Sir…”

“Hm?”

“Ravi pehle aisa nahi tha.”
*[Ravi was not like this before.]*

Arvind did not move.

“Kaise?”
*[How?]*

“Pehle woh mujhe dekh ke khush ho jaata tha. Ab lagta hai main uske liye bojh hoon.”
*[Before, he used to become happy just seeing me. Now it feels like I am a burden for him.]*

Arvind let a few seconds pass.

“Stress aadmi ko badal deta hai.”
*[Stress changes a man.]*

Simran’s hands slowed.

“Par main bhi stress mein hoon.”
*[But I am also stressed.]*

“I know.”

Those two words entered her quietly.

I know.

Ravi always said, “Tumhe kya pata.”

Arvind said, “I know.”

The difference was small.

The effect was not.

Simran continued, her voice softer.

“Kabhi-kabhi lagta hai main akeli hoon. Main uske liye ghar chhod ke aayi. Par jab problem aati hai, mujhe hi strong banna padta hai.”
*[Sometimes I feel I am alone. I left home for him. But whenever a problem comes, I am the one who has to be strong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly toward her.

“You are strong.”

Simran looked down.

“Strong hona bhi thaka deta hai.”
*[Being strong also makes you tired.]*

Arvind’s voice became warmer.

“Then don’t be strong all the time. At least yahan mat bano.”
*[Then don’t be strong all the time. At least don’t be here.]*

Her hands stopped.

She did not know why that line affected her.

Maybe because it sounded like permission.

Permission to be tired.

Permission to be weak.

Permission to stop holding the roof alone.

Arvind noticed.

“Thak gayi?”
*[Are you tired?]*

“Thoda.”
*[A little.]*

“You can go. No problem.”

Simran almost stepped back.

But then something inside her resisted.

If she left now, the money would feel like charity.

If she stayed, it was work.

“No sir. Main kar lungi.”
*[No sir. I will manage.]*

Arvind smiled into the pillow.

“Good.”

But what he meant was not good work.

It was good girl.

The hour ended quietly.

Simran wiped her hands with a towel and stepped back.

Arvind sat up slowly.

“Better,” he said. “You learned fast.”

She gave a small shy smile.

“Video help kar gaya.”
*[The video helped.]*

“Not only video. Tum dhyan se kaam karti ho.”
*[Not only the video. You work carefully.]*

She lowered her eyes.

Praise had become rare in her life.

So when it came, she did not know where to keep it.

Arvind opened the side drawer and gave her five hundred rupees.

“For today. Extra.”

Simran looked shocked.

“Sir, monthly bola tha…”
*[Sir, you said monthly…]*

“This is first day. Take it.”

She hesitated.

Then took it.

The note felt warm in her hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

As she left the room, she told herself she had only done extra work.

Nothing wrong.

Nothing bad.

Only work.

 

But that night, when she lay in the outside room alone, she did not think about the five hundred first.

She thought about the line:

“At least yahan strong mat bano.”

And for the first time in many days, she slept without crying.

---

## Ravi Tries

The next morning, Ravi returned from work early.

Simran was folding clothes in the outside room. Her hair was tied loosely, and her eyes still carried sleep.

Ravi stood near the door for a moment.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

He entered slowly.

“I want to talk.”

She kept folding.

“Bolo.”
*[Say it.]*

Ravi sat on the edge of the bed.

“Main daaru chhod dunga.”
*[I will quit drinking.]*

Her hands stopped.

He looked at her properly this time.

“Sach mein. Main kaam pe focus karunga. Advance nahi lunga. Jo galti hui… main theek karunga.”
*[Really. I will focus on work. I won’t take advance. The mistake I made… I will fix it.]*

Simran looked at him carefully.

His face was tired, but his voice sounded different.

Less defensive.

More broken.

“Ravi, sirf bolne se kuch nahi hoga.”
*[Ravi, saying it will not do anything.]*

“I know.”

“You always say you will manage.”

“I know.”

She looked away.

He moved a little closer.

“I’m sorry, Simran.”

The room became quiet.

There was something soft in his voice.

Something from before Delhi.

For a moment, Simran remembered the bus ride. The packet of chips in Shanti Stay Rooms. The dream of white curtains.

Ravi reached for her hand.

This time, she did not move away.

His fingers closed around hers.

“I miss you,” he said.

Simran’s throat tightened.

She wanted to stay angry.

But she also wanted to be wanted.

That was the cruelest confusion.

Ravi moved closer.

Their shoulders almost touched.

Then, from outside, Billa’s voice came sharply.

“Simran ji!”

Both froze.

Simran closed her eyes for half a second.

Ravi’s hand tightened around hers.

 

Billa knocked on the half-open doorframe.

“Arvind ji bula rahe hain. Book nahi mil rahi. Study mein help chahiye.”
*[Arvind ji is calling. He cannot find a book. He needs help in the study.]*

Ravi stared at him.

“Abhi?”
*[Now?]*

Billa gave an innocent face.

“Haan bhai. Sir wait kar rahe.”
*[Yes brother. Sir is waiting.]*

Simran slowly pulled her hand away.

“I’ll come.”

Ravi looked at her.

“Simran…”

She looked back, torn.

“Kaam hai.”

Then she left.

Ravi sat on the bed, staring at the doorway.

After many days, he had tried to come close.

And the house had called her away.

Outside, Billa smiled without showing teeth.

---

## The Book

In the study, Arvind stood near the shelves, holding two files.

Simran entered.

“Sir, book?”
*[Sir, the book?]*

Arvind turned.

“Yes, that blue accounts book. I can’t find it.”

She looked toward the shelf.

It was right there.

Second row.

Plain sight.

Simran took it out and gave it to him.

“Yeh?”
*[This?]*

Arvind smiled.

“Yes. Maybe I missed it.”

She did not know what to say.

For a moment, she remembered Ravi’s hand around hers.

Then Arvind said:

“Everything okay?”

She looked up.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“You look disturbed.”

“Nahi sir.”

He watched her.

“You can tell me, Simran. But only if you want.”

That sentence again.

Only if you want.

No pressure.

Choice.

The same soft rope.

Simran looked away.

“Ravi bol raha tha woh drinking chhod dega.”
*[Ravi was saying he will quit drinking.]*

“That is good.”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“But you don’t sound happy.”

She swallowed.

“Darr lagta hai. Woh bolta bahut hai. Nibhata kam hai.”
*[I feel scared. He says a lot. He follows through less.]*

Arvind nodded slowly.

“Trust takes time.”

She looked at him.

“And once broken?”

Arvind stepped closer, but not too close.

“Then someone has to keep proving themselves.”

Simran lowered her eyes.

Ravi had apologized.

Arvind had understood.

Both stood in her mind like two doors.

One old.

One dangerous.

But only one seemed open when she knocked.

---

## The Market

Later that afternoon, Arvind called her again.

“Simran, vegetables khatam ho gaye. Market se le aao. Driver nahi hai, auto le lena.”
*[Simran, vegetables are finished. Bring them from the market. The driver is not here, take an auto.]*

He handed her money and a small list.

Tomatoes.

Onions.

Coriander.

Paneer.

Curd.

Green chilies.

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The afternoon sun was sharp.

Summer had begun to settle over Delhi like a hot sheet.

Simran wore a light white suit because all the darker suits were still wet from washing. The fabric was thinner than she liked. She pinned her dupatta carefully before leaving, but the heat and the auto ride kept loosening it.

At the market, she stepped out and immediately felt eyes.

Not one pair.

Many.

A vegetable seller looked too long.

Two boys near a juice stall whispered and laughed.

An older man paused mid-bargain and stared.

Simran’s hand went to her dupatta.

She adjusted it once.

Then again.

She almost turned back.

The auto had already gone.

The house felt far.

The market felt loud.

For a second, her heart began to beat fast.

Then she remembered the list in her hand.

Work.

Finish work.

Go back.

She pulled her dupatta tighter, lifted her chin slightly, and walked toward the vegetable stall.

 

“Tamatar kitne ke?” she asked.
*[How much are tomatoes?]*

The seller smiled.

“For you, madam, good price.”

She did not smile.

“Rate bolo.”
*[Say the rate.]*

He told her.

She bargained properly.

Then onions.

Then coriander.

Then curd.

The whole time, she kept adjusting her dupatta, annoyed with the fabric, annoyed with the heat, annoyed with herself for feeling watched.

By the time she returned home, her face was tired and her mood was sharp.

She carried the bags into the kitchen and placed them on the counter.

Arvind came in from the dining room.

“You went alone?” he asked.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“Market crowded tha?”
*[Was the market crowded?]*

“Bahut.”
*[Very.]*

“Managed?”

She exhaled.

“Kar liya.”
*[I managed.]*

Arvind smiled faintly.

“You are learning Delhi.”

Simran looked at him.

“Delhi mujhe seekha rahi hai.”
*[Delhi is teaching me.]*

For a moment, Arvind looked almost impressed.

Then he said:

“Tea?”

She almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because of course.

After the market.

After the heat.

After the staring.

After carrying bags.

Tea.

“Ji sir,” she said.

And began to boil water.

---

## Summer Inside The House

Ravi slept through the afternoon.

He had returned from the farm exhausted, eaten quietly, and fallen asleep before Simran came back from the market.

She checked on him once.

He was lying on his side, one arm over his face.

He looked younger while sleeping.

Less angry.

Less failed.

Less dangerous.

For a second, Simran’s heart softened.

Then Billa’s voice came from outside.

“Madam ji, Arvind sir ne study ka table clean karne ko bola.”
*[Madam, Arvind sir said to clean the study table.]*

She looked once more at Ravi.

Then left.

That became the pattern.

Ravi slept.

Simran worked.

Arvind called.

Billa watched.

The days grew hotter.

Summer made the house slower, heavier. The kitchen became a furnace by noon. The thin suits Arvind had bought were easier to work in, but Simran still felt uncomfortable at first.

She adjusted her dupatta in the beginning.

Again and again.

Near the stove.

Near the sink.

Near the hallway.

But heat is a patient thief.

It steals shame one drop of sweat at a time.

After some days, in front of Arvind, she stopped adjusting it as much.

Not because she wanted attention.

Because she was tired.

Because her hands were full.

Because the fan barely worked near the kitchen.

Because Arvind never reacted openly.

That was his talent.

He made her feel unseen exactly when he was watching the most.

“Water?” he would ask.

“Ji sir.”

“Too hot in kitchen?”

“Thoda.”

“Use the table fan.”

“Ji.”

Small care.

Small comfort.

Small hooks.

At night, after dinner, the massage continued.

At first, Simran counted minutes.

Then she stopped counting.

She learned where Arvind’s back pain was. She learned how much pressure he liked. She learned where the oil was kept, which towel to use, where to place the bottle, when to ask if the pressure was okay.

And slowly, the room became less frightening.

That was the frightening part.

One night, while pressing his shoulder, she said:

“Ravi ne aaj phir promise kiya.”
*[Ravi promised again today.]*

Arvind’s eyes remained closed.

“About drinking?”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“Do you believe him?”

Simran was quiet.

Then she said:

“Pata nahi.”
*[I don’t know.]*

Arvind did not answer quickly.

Then:

“Sometimes people love us, but they are not strong enough to protect us.”

Her hands stopped for a second.

The sentence felt too close.

Too true.

“Ravi bura nahi hai,” she said softly.
*[Ravi is not bad.]*

“I did not say he is bad.”

“Phir?”

Arvind opened his eyes slightly.

“I said he is weak.”

Simran looked down.

She wanted to defend Ravi.

But the problem was, Arvind had used the word she had been hiding from herself.

Weak.

The room went quiet.

Arvind’s voice softened.

“You deserve someone who gives you peace, Simran. Not only promises.”

She swallowed.

The oil shone faintly on her palms.

Her heart beat faster, not from desire exactly, but from the strange feeling of being seen.

“Sir, aap aise mat bolo,” she whispered.
*[Sir, don’t speak like this.]*

“Why?”

“Galat lagta hai.”
*[It feels wrong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly.

“Truth sometimes feels wrong when we hear it for the first time.”

Simran did not reply.

She continued the massage.

But something had shifted.

Not openly.

Not fully.

Just enough for Arvind to know the wall had another crack.

---

## The New Distance

The next morning, Ravi tried again.

He returned from work and found Simran in the kitchen courtyard, cutting vegetables.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

“Today I didn’t drink.”

She nodded.

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“I hope so.”

He stood there awkwardly.

“I thought maybe… after I sleep, evening mein baat karenge.”
*[I thought maybe… after I sleep, we will talk in the evening.]*

Simran looked at him.

There was hope in his face.

Small.

Late.

But real.

“Dekhenge,” she said.
*[We’ll see.]*

Ravi accepted that like it was more than he deserved.

He went to sleep.

By evening, Arvind had guests coming.

Not big guests.

Only one business visitor.

But enough to keep Simran in the main house until late.

Ravi waited in the outside room.

Seven became eight.

Eight became nine.

By the time Simran came back, her feet hurt and her mood was empty.

Ravi sat up.

“You came.”

“Kaam tha.”
*[There was work.]*

“I waited.”

She closed the door softly.

“I am tired, Ravi.”

He looked down.

“Okay.”

She lay down facing the wall.

Ravi sat awake for a long time.

He had stopped drinking for one day.

But the house had already learned how to keep them apart.

---

## Arvind’s Patience

Arvind did not rush.

That was why he was dangerous.

A foolish man would have pushed.

Arvind only waited.

He made himself useful.

He made himself calm.

He made himself the place where Simran could speak without being shouted at.

One evening, during massage, Simran told him about her mother.

“She must be angry,” Simran said quietly.

“Your mother?”

Simran nodded.

“Par woh roti bhi hogi.”
*[But she must also be crying.]*

“Do you miss her?”

Simran’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back.

“Every day.”

“Then call her.”

Simran gave a sad smile.

“Recharge bhi soch ke karna padta hai.”
*[Even recharge has to be thought about carefully.]*

The next morning, Arvind left a recharge voucher near the kitchen counter.

He did not give it to her directly.

That made it worse.

Because it looked like kindness without demand.

Simran found it beside the sugar jar.

There was a small note:

**For your mother. Don’t overthink.**

She held the voucher for a long time.

Then hid it in her notebook.

That day, when she made tea for Arvind, her voice was softer.

“Thank you, sir.”

Arvind did not look up from his newspaper.

“For what?”

She understood.

He wanted the kindness to feel private.

Secret.

Between them.

She said nothing more.

But something inside her moved closer.

---

## The Comfortable Cage

Days passed.

Ravi tried to improve.

Some days he succeeded.

Some days he came home irritated, exhausted, and bitter. He did not drink openly, but Simran could smell weakness around him like smoke after a fire.

Billa made sure Ravi never fully recovered his place.

If Ravi sat with Simran too long, Billa called.

If they closed the door, some work appeared.

If Ravi tried to talk at night before leaving, Arvind needed tea.

If Simran looked free, the study needed cleaning.

Slowly, Simran stopped expecting uninterrupted time with Ravi.

Expectation is a living thing.

If neglected long enough, it dies quietly.

With Arvind, expectation grew instead.

He asked if she had eaten.

He noticed when she looked tired.

He gave small extra money for massage.

He said her tea was perfect.

He said she learned fast.

He said she deserved peace.

Each line was small.

Together, they became a room inside her mind.

A room Ravi no longer entered.

One night, after the massage, Arvind sat up and looked at her.

“You are different now.”

Simran wiped her hands with the towel.

“Different kaise?”
*[Different how?]*

“Less scared.”

She gave a faint smile.

“Maybe aadat ho gayi.”
*[Maybe I got used to it.]*

“To me?” he asked softly.

She froze.

The question hung in the room.

Too direct.

Too warm.

Too dangerous.

She looked down.

“Kaam ki aadat ho gayi, sir.”
*[I got used to the work, sir.]*

Arvind smiled.

“Of course.”

But both of them knew she had not answered the real question.

Simran left the room quickly that night.

In the corridor, she placed one hand on the wall and took a breath.

Her heart was beating too fast.

She whispered to herself:

“Bas kaam hai.”
*[It is only work.]*

But the words did not sound as strong as before.

Inside the bedroom, Arvind looked at the closed door.

Then at the oil bottle on the table.

His smile returned.

The trap was no longer outside Simran.

It had begun to speak in her own voice.

[Pvzro]

So beautiful 
Got a bit delay in the update but that is completely fine as per your schedule, superb illustration and slow seduction update

Thinking about how would be the real episodes going forward can't even imagine 

Thanks for the update and your ever best writing skills

Happy writing dear writer!!!

[zeus90]

So beautiful 
Got a bit delay in the update but that is completely fine as per your schedule, superb illustration and slow seduction update

Thinking about how would be the real episodes going forward can't even imagine 

Thanks for the update and your ever best writing skills

Happy writing dear writer!!!

its all about more time i get more things i can write in week i will try to post 3 to 4 days as per i find time if i got more time i will try to give more chapter. i dont like to rush things so all  things which happing will make more sense in future chapter its all about feeling driven story how things work in real world.

[Pvzro]

Completely respect on your timelines dear
If the flow is alive then the story remains active ,that is the reason i pointed this , and u are writing a brilliant one will keep patience 
Only Thing if possible going ahead introduce the one which i had told ,if at all it is possible fully your descision 

Congratulations for a great story
No one can beat u in putting such a realistic creations
Kudos again!!!