Incest Little sis Anjali and her friends

[prasannas2001]

 
“Life... it has a way of happening. You get married, you have a child... your dreams change. They don't disappear, they just... get put on a shelf. For later.”
Mamta smiled faintly.
 
“Your dreams change.”
 
“Do they?”
 
She looked at him.
 
“What?”
 
“Do they really change?”
 
He leaned back slightly.
 
“Or do people just stop giving themselves permission to follow them?”
 
The question settled between them.
 
Mamta didn't answer immediately.
 
Because somewhere inside, she knew why it affected her.
 
No one had asked her these questions in years.
 
Not because people didn't care.
 
But because everyone already knew who Mamta was supposed to be.
 
A mother.
 
A wife.
 
A woman who kept everything together.
 
A person who remembered everyone's needs before her own.
 
But very few people wondered about the woman underneath all those roles.
 
The woman who once danced.
 
The woman who stayed awake reading poetry.
 
The woman who still felt excitement when she saw a new rose bloom.
 
And now, sitting across from her, was someone who seemed to notice that woman existed.
 
That realization was comforting.
 
And it was unsettling.
 
Because she knew Rohan wasn't just asking questions.
 
He was reminding her of parts of herself she had quietly placed away.
 
 “I used to dance,” she said quietly.
 
Rohan smiled.
 
“I know.”
 
She looked surprised.
 
“How?”
 
“Neetu mentioned it once.”
 
“She remembers?”
 
“She said you were very good.”
 
Mamta looked down.
 
“That was a long time ago.”
 
“Does that mean it mattered less?”
 
She looked at him.
 
The question was gentle.
 
Almost innocent.
 
But it touched something she had kept buried.
 
“No.”
 
Her voice softened.
 
“It mattered.”
 
“Then maybe that part of you is still there.”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
And that was the moment she felt it.
 
Not attraction.
 
Not something she wanted to name.
 
Something more complicated.
 
The feeling of being noticed.

[prasannas2001]

Awesome update

Marry me secretly,  i will show you the real happiness

Thank you so much 

[vishuvanathan]

Nice update

[prasannas2001]

 
The strange comfort of someone remembering a version of her that even she had almost forgotten.
 
“You speak as if you know me very well,” she said.
 
Rohan smiled slightly.
 
“I don't.”
 
“Then?”
 
“I think sometimes you don't need years to notice someone.”
 
The silence that followed was longer than either expected.
 
Mamta looked away first.
 
She felt a strange warmth in her cheeks and immediately wondered why.
 
He had not said anything wrong.
 
He had not crossed any line.
 
So why did she feel as if she had been standing closer to one?
 
 
 
The conversation continued.
 
Slowly.
 
Carefully.
 
Mamta spoke more than she expected.
 
She talked about the early years of her marriage.
 
The excitement of building a home.
 
The happiness of Neetu's childhood.
 
The little moments she treasured.
 
But she also admitted things she rarely said aloud.
 
How strange it felt watching time pass.
 
How a person could become so busy caring for others that they sometimes forgot their own needs.
 
“My husband is a good man,” she said.
 
Rohan nodded.
 
“I believe that.”
 
“He worked very hard for us.”
 
“He must love you.”
 
Mamta smiled.
 
“Yes.”
 
Then she became quiet.
 
“But sometimes love and understanding are different things.”
 
The words surprised even her.
 
She had never said them that way before.
 
Rohan didn't rush to respond.
 
That was what she appreciated most.
 
He didn't try to fix it.
 
He didn't criticize anyone.
 
He simply allowed her feelings to exist.
 
“I think,” he said slowly, “sometimes people spend so much time being grateful for what they have that they forget they are allowed to want something too.”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
There it was again.
 
The way he spoke.
 
The way he placed thoughts in front of her without forcing them.

[prasannas2001]

 
Mamta knew what he was doing.
 
At least, she thought she did.
 
He wasn't confessing anything.
 
He wasn't asking for anything.
 
But he was gently reminding her that she was still a woman with dreams.
 
And that awareness felt both comforting and dangerous.
 
Because once someone reminded you of something you had forgotten...
 
it became difficult to forget it again.
 
 
 
The clock moved closer to midnight before either of them noticed.
 
Mamta looked at the time and smiled in surprise.
 
“It's very late.”
 
Rohan looked toward the clock.
 
“I didn't realize.”
 
“That means the conversation was good.”
 
He smiled.
 
“Or the company was.”
 
She looked at him.
 
For a moment, neither spoke.
 
A small silence.
 
A meaningful silence.
 
Then Mamta smiled.
 
“You always have an answer.”
 
“Only when I am talking to someone who demands all my attention.”
 
Her expression changed slightly.
 
A compliment.
 
A simple one.
 
But one she felt.
 
She looked away, gathering the empty cups.
 
“You should go before you become even more impossible.”
 
Rohan laughed.
 
“Yes, Aunty.”
 
At the door, he paused.
 
“Thank you.”
 
“For what?”
 
“For tonight.”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
“It was just a conversation.”
 
“Sometimes those are the conversations people remember the most.”
 
She didn't answer.
 
Because she knew he was right.
 
She walked with him toward the door.
 
For a brief moment, neither of them reached for the handle.
 
There was a quiet understanding between them.
 
Not spoken.
 
Not defined.
 
Just present.
 
“Good night, Rohan.”
 
“Good night, Mamta… Aunty.”
 
The familiar word sounded different again.
 
She noticed.
 
And he noticed that she noticed.
 
But neither mentioned it.
 
As he walked down the hallway, Rohan felt something he hadn't expected.
 
He had entered her home hoping to become a part of her world.
 
But somewhere during the evening, she had allowed him to see a part of her that very few people ever saw.
 
And that felt far more significant.
 
 
 
After he left, Mamta closed the door and she stood near the closed door for a few moments.
 
Then she smiled faintly to herself.
 
It had been a long time since a conversation stayed with her after it ended.
 
Tonight, it did.
 
She thought about the evening.
 
The laughter.
 
The questions.
 
The way he had looked at her, not as Neetu's mother, not as someone responsible for a home, but simply as Mamta.
 
She shook her head slightly, almost amused at herself.
 
It was only a conversation.
 
Nothing more.
 
And yet...
 
as she walked back into the living room, she found herself smiling.
 
And that was the part that bothered her most.
 
 
 
***

[prasannas2001]

 
The romantic moment arrived a week later. Rather Rohan orchestrated the romantic moment a week later.
 
This time, Rohan didn't wait for an invitation.
 
But unlike the previous times, he exactly planed it. How to start and how to steer until the end of that day.
 
It was a complete dramatic plan.
 
Carefully crafted and arranged excuse.
 
Rohan got the book from the book store that morning. The collection of Ghalib's poetry he had mentioned during their last conversation, and smiled.
 
He had bought it exclusively for this. He knew this book will get him some reward.
 
He wanted a perfect excuse to see Mamta today.
 
This, for sure will give him that excuse, he had told himself.
 
He called Neetu.
 
“Hey,” he said casually. “I was nearby. I just finished meeting a friend. I was thinking of dropping by for a few minutes.”
 
Neetu, now a fully compliant co-conspirator, her guilt replaced by a strange, addictive thrill in being part of this secret, she expected this is coming sooner or later.
 
There was a pause.
 
Neetu knew.
 
She had known for some time.
 
She knew the way her mother smiled after Rohan left. She knew the way Mamta occasionally mentioned something he had said, pretending it was just an ordinary conversation.
 
And she knew something else too.
 
Something she did not want to examine too closely.
 
“Do you have a reason?” Neetu asked.
 
Rohan laughed.
 
“I brought that Ghalib book I told your mom about.”
 
Another pause.
 
Then Neetu sighed.
 
“You really are impossible.”
 
“Is that a yes?”
 
“She’s home.” She is becoming instrumental for him.
 
A small smile appeared on his face.
 
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
 
 
 
When Rohan arrived, Mamta was surprised.
 
Not unpleasantly.
 
Just surprised.
 
“Rohan?”
 
He held up the book.
 
“I kept my promise.”
 
Her eyes moved to the cover.
 
“You remembered?”
 
He smiled.
 
“I told you I would.”

[prasannas2001]

 
She took the book from him carefully.
 
It was such a small gesture.
 
But somehow it touched her.
 
People often remembered important things.
 
Birthdays.
 
Appointments.
 
Responsibilities.
 
But remembering a passing comment from a late-night conversation felt different.
 
“You didn't have to do this,” she said.
 
“I know.”
 
The answer made her look at him.
 
“Then why did you?”
 
Rohan smiled.
 
“Because I wanted to.”
 
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
 
This time, the setup was even more perfect. Neetu, following a pre-arranged script.
 
She appeared from the hallway.
 
“I have a project to finish.”
 
Mamta looked at her daughter suspiciously.
 
“Now?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“You didn't mention this earlier.”
 
“I forgot.”
 
Rohan looked away, hiding a smile.
 
Neetu noticed.
 
She gave him a warning look.
 
“Don't.”
 
He raised his hands innocently.
 
“I didn't say anything.”
 
“You were thinking something.”
 
“That is impossible to prove.”
 
Neetu rolled her eyes.
 
“I'll be in my room.”
 
She looked at her mother.
 
“Call me if you need anything.”
 
The words were ordinary.
 
But the glance she exchanged with Rohan was not.
 
Then she disappeared into her room.
 
The door closed.
 
And suddenly, the apartment became quieter.
 
 
 
Once again, Rohan and Mamta were alone. This time, however, the air was different. The shyness of the previous encounter was gone, replaced by a charged, expectant silence.
 
They sat in the living room.
 
The book rested between them.
 
But neither opened it.
 
For several minutes, they spoke about ordinary things.
 
The weather.
 
The book.
 
Poetry.
 
Small things.
 
Safe things.
 
But both of them knew there was something beneath the conversation.
 
Something neither was saying.
 
Finally, Rohan opened the book.
 
“You know what I like about Ghalib?”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
“What?”
 
“He wrote about feelings people were afraid to admit.”

[prasannas2001]

 
Mamta smiled faintly.
 
“That sounds dangerous.”
 
“Maybe honesty always is.”
 
She looked at him for a moment.
 
“You always find a way to make ordinary conversations complicated.”
 
“Maybe ordinary conversations are not always ordinary.”
 
The words were gentle.
 
But Mamta heard the meaning behind them.
 
She looked down at her hands.
 
Her fingers moved unconsciously over her ring.
 
A small habit she had whenever she was thinking deeply.
 
Rohan noticed.
 
But he did not mention it.
 
Instead, he said softly,
 
“I was thinking about what you said last week.”
 
Her eyes lifted.
 
“About my dreams?”
 
He nodded.
 
“About the woman you said you had placed on a shelf.”
 
Mamta gave a small smile.
 
“It was just a conversation.”
 
“No.”
 
His voice was quiet.
 
“It wasn't.”
 
She looked at him.
 
“Rohan...”
 
He paused.
 
Not because he was unsure.
 
Because he respected the weight of her name in that moment.
 
“Mamta.”
 
The way he said it made her still.
 
Not “Aunty.”
 
Not a familiar title.
 
Just her name.
 
She felt something shift.
 
Because for years, almost everyone called her by her roles.
 
Mrs. Someone.
 
Neetu's mother.
 
The person who managed everything.
 
Very few people simply saw Mamta.
 
“You shouldn't say things like that,” she whispered.
 
“Why?”
 
“Because you know exactly what you are doing.”
 
The honesty of her answer surprised both of them.
 
Rohan looked at her.
 
“Yes.”
 
He did not deny it.
 
“But I am not trying to make you someone you are not.”
 
His voice softened.
 
“I just think you forgot someone important.”
 
“Who?”
 
He smiled sadly.
 
“You.”
 
The room became silent.
 
Mamta looked away.
 
That one word affected her more than any compliment could have.
 
Because it was not about her appearance.
 
Not about what she did for others.
 
It was about who she was.
 
And that was the part of herself she had ignored for too long.

[prasannas2001]

 
Rohan and Mamta sat there in complete silence.
 
Not uncomfortable.
 
Just full.
 
Mamta looked at the book on the table.
 
“You know this is complicated.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“You know I have a family.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“You know I have responsibilities.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“You know my 18 years old daughter is in the next room.”
 
“Yes.”
 
“You know she can come out any moment.”
 
“Yes.”
 
His answers were calm.
 
Not dismissive.
 
Not careless.
 
“I know.”
 
She looked at him.
 
“Then why?”
 
Rohan was quiet for a moment.
 
“Because sometimes caring about someone doesn't begin with wanting something from them.”
 
The answer surprised her.
 
“What does it begin with?”
 
“Seeing them.”
 
Her eyes softened.
 
And that was the moment she realized what frightened her.
 
Not Rohan.
 
Not his words.
 
The frightening thing was how easy it felt to talk to him.
 
How natural it felt to be understood.
 
How long it had been since someone had looked at her and asked about the person underneath everything else.
 
 
 
Neither of them moved closer.
 
Neither of them spoke.
 
The distance between them remained.
 
But somehow, the silence felt louder than words.
 
Mamta knew she should end the conversation.
 
She knew she should stand up.
 
She knew she should return to the safe, familiar boundaries she had lived within for years.
 
But she remained there.
 
And Rohan noticed.
 
He did not take it as permission.
 
He simply understood that, for once, she was allowing herself to acknowledge what she felt.
 
“Mamta,” he said quietly.
 
She looked at him.
 
“If you want me to leave, I will.”
 
The simplicity of the statement affected her.
 
Because he was giving her the choice.
 
Not taking it.
 
Not assuming it.
 
For a few seconds, she said nothing.
 
Then she whispered,
 
“I don't know what I want.”
 
Rohan nodded.
 
“That is okay.”
 
The honesty of his answer made her eyes soften.

[prasannas2001]

 
“I don't want to hurt anyone.”
 
“I know.”
 
“I don't want to become someone I don't recognize.”
 
“I know.”
 
“Then why do I feel like I already crossed some invisible line?”
 
Rohan looked at her.
 
“Because sometimes the first step isn't something you do.”
 
His voice was barely above a whisper.
 
“Sometimes it's something you realize.”
 
The words stayed between them.
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
Really looked at him.
 
And for the first time, she stopped trying to explain the feeling away.
 
 
 
Rohan shifted on the sofa, closing the small distance between them. "I see it in your eyes, Aunty. Mamta. There's a fire there. It's not out. It's just... waiting for someone to bring it some fuel."
 
He was sitting close now, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the clean, masculine scent of his cologne.
 
Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
 
"Rohan, we shouldn't," she whispered, but her protest was weak, her voice trembling.
 
"Why?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur.
 
He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment on the soft skin of her cheek.
 
The touch was electric. "Because it's nice? Because it feels good to be seen? There's no harm in that, is there?"
 
His logic was a seductive poison, and she was drinking it in.
 
She leaned into his touch, just a fraction, an almost imperceptible movement, but it was all the confirmation he needed.
 
He slowly sat closer, his thigh now pressing against hers.
 
He took her hand, his fingers lacing through hers. "You have the most expressive hands," he said, his voice a husky whisper.

[xavierrxx]

Wonderful seduction

[prasannas2001]

Wonderful seduction

Thank you so much

[rajesh93]

Mamta with Rohan in the nursery.

Mamta is sooo beautiful.

[prasannas2001]

Mamta is sooo beautiful.

Thank you so much

[prasannas2001]

 
He brought her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, and gently kissed her knuckles.
 
It was a courtly, old-world gesture, but it burned with a modern, undeniable heat.
 
Mamta let out a soft gasp, her eyes fluttering closed. It had been so long since a man had touched her with such reverence, such desire.
 
Her husband's touches were perfunctory, familiar.
 
This was fire.
 
This was a spark threatening to ignite a decade's worth of dry tinder.
 
"Rohan," she breathed, his name a plea and a surrender all at once.
 
"Tell me to stop, Mamta," he murmured, his face now just inches from hers, his breath warm on her lips. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will.
 
I'll walk out that door and never bother you again."
 
She couldn't. She couldn't form the words.
 
She could only shake her head, a silent, desperate admission of her own longing.
 
That was all he needed. He closed the remaining distance and kissed her.
 
It wasn't a kiss of a boy. It was the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted.
 
It was slow and deep and impossibly tender, yet filled with an undercurrent of barely restrained passion.
 
He wasn't claiming her mouth; he was worshipping it.
 
He kissed her with a skill and sensitivity that left her breathless, her mind reeling.
 
Her body, which had been dormant for so long, responded with a ferocity that shocked her.
 
Her other hand came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
 
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their faces flushed.
 

[prasannas2001]

 
It was moment of emotion rather than a declaration.
 
Neither of them spoke immediately.
 
They simply sat there, aware of what had happened.
 
Aware that something innocent had become something complicated.
 
Mamta looked down.
 
“I shouldn't have let that happen.”
 
Rohan's expression softened.
 
“Maybe.”
 
She looked at him.
 
“Maybe?”
 
He nodded.
 
“Maybe because life is not always as simple as right and wrong.”
 
She looked away.
 
Because she knew he was right.
 
And that was exactly what frightened her.
 
The room felt different now.
 
The same sofa.
 
The same walls.
 
The same evening.
 
But something invisible had changed.
 
The line had not been crossed because of the kiss.
 
The line had been crossed much earlier.
 
In the conversations.
 
In the moments of understanding.
 
In the quiet feeling of being seen.
 
And now they both knew it.
 
There was no pretending anymore.
 
The world had tilted on its axis.
 
There was no going back.
 
They both knew it very well.
 
 

***

[prasannas2001]

 
After Rohan left, Mamta did not immediately move.
 
She remained standing near the door, her hand still resting on the handle, listening to the quiet hallway outside.
 
A few minutes ago, he had been sitting across from her.
 
A few minutes ago, everything had still belonged to the familiar world she knew.
 
The world of routines.
 
Responsibilities.
 
The careful boundaries she had built around herself.
 
But now something had changed.
 
Not because of what happened.
 
Because of what it revealed.
 
She walked slowly back into the living room and looked at the book of Ghalib's poetry lying on the table.
 
She picked it up.
 
Her fingers traced the cover absentmindedly.
 
She thought about his words.
 
About the woman she had placed on a shelf.
 
About the dreams she had convinced herself she no longer needed.
 
And what unsettled her most was not that Rohan had reminded her of those things.
 
It was that, for a brief moment, she had remembered them herself.
 
 
 
In the parking lot, Rohan sat quietly on his bike before starting the engine.
 
For the first time since this began with Mamta, he feel victorious.
 
His plan succeeded more than he expected.
 
He crossed the barrier she kept around her.
 
He broke her shield.
 
Now he knew that he can talk to her more intimately.
 
Now he knew he can proceed to the next step and he will succeed in that step too.
 
Because the woman he had once approached as part of a mystery was no longer a mystery.
 
She was Mamta.
 
A person with fears.
 
A person with memories.
 
A person whose trust meant far more than he had expected.
 
He had crossed a line.
 
And now he understood that the line has opened him every single access to Mamta.
 
He knew all the efforts he put in helped him to cross that line.
 
The conversations.
 
The laughter.
 
The quiet understanding.
 
The feeling of being seen.
 
A smile of victory shined on his face when he started the bike.
 
The final victory is not far. He is well aware of it.
 
 

[singamuthupandi]

Super update

[prasannas2001]

Super update

Thank you so much.

[Arya321]

Recently I read this story.. Super I like it..

I became big fan of story... Keep it up Author..