My mother and the landlord (Slow burn, long read)

[mzafar]

update please

[CoreMadness]

Update soon, thank you

[baddu]

Where is update waiting for update

[Paty@123]

Plz update

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 29 – Saturday Morning  
6 December 2025

The call ended with that wet kissing sound she made into the phone. I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. The kitchen stayed quiet after that. No cup set down. No payal. Only the low hum of the fridge and the fan turning above the bed. I counted the seconds because I did not know what else to do with them. Forty. Fifty. She was still standing there. I could feel the weight of her not moving.

When I finally opened my eyes a fraction she was exactly where the voice had placed her. One hand on the edge of the counter, the other hanging loose. The old cotton nighty had slipped off one shoulder. The bite on the left side of her neck looked darker in the pale grill light, almost purple at the centre. Her hair was still dull from the late wash, a few strands stuck near her temple. She was looking at the steel rack above the stove as if the plates had asked her a question she did not have an answer for. The phone lay face down beside the sink. She did not pick it up again.

I waited until the silence felt long enough to be ordinary, then I shifted on the mattress the way a person shifts when sleep is finished. The wood creaked. She turned at once.

“Good morning, beta.” Her voice was careful. Soft at the edges, the way it gets when she is not sure which version of me she will get. “You are up. Tea will be ready in five minutes.”

I did not answer. I sat up, kept my face toward the wall for one second so she would not read it, and walked straight to the bathroom. The latch still did not catch. I pulled the door as far as it would go and stood with my forehead against the wood until the small click of her bangles told me she had gone back to the stove.

Last night sat in my chest like something I had swallowed and could not bring up. Not the party. Not even the four lakh. The stairs. The dark landing. My own hand on myself while the bed hit the wall and her voice came through the wood saying the word he wanted. Whore. She had said it. Clear enough that the neighbor uncle had opened his latch and spat the same word back into the corridor. I had heard that too. Then the door finally opening and Azad still on our sheet, shirt half-buttoned, looking at me like I had walked into his time. The two notes held out between his fingers. Good boy. Her standing there in the thin nighty with no bra, nipples showing, telling me to take the money out of love. And this morning, ten feet from the pillow, her voice low and polite on the phone, talking about the wire marks under her breasts, about how she had asked him to come inside, about how she liked it, about the panty she could not find. She had giggled at the end. Like none of the rest of it had weight.

I turned the tap on so the water would cover whatever sound my breathing made. The hate came up clean and simple for a minute. She had sent me out. She had known the sounds would travel. She had let him finish inside her on the same bed I was supposed to sleep on, and then she had stood in the doorway and kissed him with her hand still on the latch while I watched. The building already had its version. Sunita had said kalank with a glass in her hand and my name in the same sentence. Ammi had put money in my palm and called her new jawani. The uncle had used the word through his door. Photos or no photos, mouths were already open. And she was in the kitchen asking Azad not to punish Sunita because she did not want a war, as if the war had not already reached our landing.

I looked at my face in the small mirror. Twenty-one. Same eyes. The scratch on my forearm from the bushes had faded to a thin line. I thought about the options the way a person thinks when the room is too small and the only door leads back to the same woman. I could take the bike and go. Not forever. A week. Two weeks. Rohan’s cousin had a spare room in Goregaon; I had heard him mention it once. I could stay in a lodge near the office until the money in my account ran thin. I could stop answering her calls. The thought sat there, bright and stupid. She would cry. She would call Azad. He would climb the stairs or send someone. The building would get a new story before evening. And I would still have to come back. Disowning sounded clean only until I reached the part where I had to eat somewhere else and sleep somewhere else and explain to someone why my mother was suddenly a woman I did not speak to. I had no practice at that explanation. I had only practice at sitting on the edge of the same bed and keeping my mouth shut.

The toothbrush was where it always was. I used it. The paste tasted the same. I washed my face twice. The hate did not leave. It only sat lower, under the ordinary motions, waiting for the door to open again.

She had set the tea on the folding table by the time I came out. Two glasses. The steel rack had been wiped. She was still in the same nighty. She had tied her hair back with an old rubber band; the bite was fully visible now, above the collarbone, dark enough that even the grill light could not soften it. She looked at me once, then looked at the glasses.

“Sit,” she said. “It will get cold.”

I sat. The loose leg of the chair knocked once against the floor. She pushed my glass an inch closer and sat on the other side, not opposite the way she usually did, but on the corner nearest me, so that her knee was almost under the edge of the table. The nighty pulled across her chest when she leaned to adjust the sugar bowl. No bra. The shape was clear. I kept my eyes on the tea.

“Weather is nice today,” she tried. “Not too hot yet. You can open the grill fully if you want air.”

I lifted the glass. The tea was exactly the way I liked it. Strong. Less sugar. I drank.

“Is the tea all right?” she asked after a moment. “I put a little less sugar. You said last week it was better that way.”

“It’s fine.”

Two words. I set the glass down. She nodded as if that was a full answer.

“Office was heavy this week?” she said. “Sinha sir still giving extra work?”

“Same as usual.”

She waited. When I did not add anything she tried once more.

“You should rest properly on weekend. No laptop if you can help it. The eyes get strained.”

I looked at the wall. The temple shelf was the same. The idols we had cleaned for celebration still had a little dust on the brass. She shifted her knee under the table. It touched mine for half a second and moved away.

“At least finish the tea,” she said. “You didn’t eat much last night.”

I finished it because the glass was in my hand and because leaving it would have been another kind of speech. When the last of it was gone she reached for both glasses at once. Her fingers brushed the back of my hand when she took mine. She stood. The nighty settled. She walked the four steps to the kitchen corner and set the glasses in the sink. For a moment she only stood there with her back to me, both hands on the edge of the basin. Then she turned.

Her eyes were wet. Not the full crying she had done after Sunita. Just the shine that comes when a person has been holding the water back and has decided to stop.

“I am sorry,” she said. The words were quiet. “For last night. For sending you out. For the time. It was not five minutes. I know what it was. I am sorry you had to stand there.”

I looked at her. The bite moved when she swallowed.

“If you want to say something,” she said, “say it. I will listen. I don’t want you to keep it inside and look at me like this.”

The chair leg knocked again when I shifted. My voice came out flatter than I expected.

“I didn’t like it at all Ma.”

She waited.

“I have been trying,” I said. “Since that night you cried. I said I accepted it. I have been eating the food. I took the tiffin down. I didn’t say anything. But last night was not the same. Standing on the stairs while the bed was hitting the wall. Hearing you. Hearing him call you that word and you saying it back. Then he is still sitting on the bed when you open the door, and he gives me two notes like I carried a bag for him. Sunita aunty already said kalank with me standing there. And, its not Sunita aunty anymore, many other people talk to behind our backs. You know they do.”

Her face changed on Sunita’s name. The wet shine stayed, but the softness left her mouth.

“Sunita again,” she said. The voice was no longer careful. “That woman has nothing in her own house so she stands on the landing with a glass and talks about my blouse. You also want to bring her into this room now? You want to stand on her side?”

“I am not standing on her side.”

“Then why is her name the one that comes out first?” She took one step back toward the table. The nighty pulled. “She called me kalank in front of you. She asked what you are learning. And you are sitting here telling me the building’s version as if I have not already heard it. I sent you out because I did not know what else to do in that moment. I am sorry for the stairs. I am not sorry for the rest of it. And I am not going to sit and listen to Sunita’s words from my own son’s mouth.”

I felt the heat come up behind my eyes. I looked down at my hands so she would not see it. The almost-crying was stupid and it was still there. She saw it anyway. The anger on her face stayed for another second, then it shifted. She looked at me the way she used to look when I came home from college with a red mark on my cheek and would not say which boy had done it. She came around the table and sat on the edge of the bed nearest my chair. The mattress dipped. Her knee touched my knee again and this time she left it there.

“Come,” she said, quieter. “Don’t make that face. I am not fighting with you. I got angry because that woman’s name is already too much in this house. Not because of you.”

I did not move. She reached out and put her hand on my wrist. Her thumb moved once, slow.

“It has been only two of us for years,” she said. “After Papa. You used to tell me everything. The fights in college. The time you thought you failed that paper and sat on this same bed and cried and I told you we would manage even if you had to repeat the year. Then that girl.”

I looked up. She was watching my face.

“The one in second year,” she said. “What was her name? The one who used to sit two benches ahead. You came home and told me she smiled at you near the canteen. You asked me what to do. I told you to talk to her about the notes first, not to go straight to coffee. I even told you which shirt looked better on you. You tried. It did not happen. She started sitting with that other boy. You told me that also. You were quiet for three days and then you told me. I did not laugh. I did not say you were too young. I listened. I stood with you back then. And now you don’t tell me anything. You come home and you look at the floor and you go to the bathroom and you come out and you drink tea like I am someone who will not understand the sentence.”

She stopped. Her hand stayed on my wrist. The fan moved the loose strand of hair near her bite.

“I know you look,” she said after a moment. The voice was even. Not teasing. Not angry. “I am not blind. The way your eyes go when I bend. When the nighty shifts. When I wore that blouse and the pallu kept falling. I saw it. I took it the way a mother takes it when her son is twenty-one and the body in front of him is a woman’s body. It is a man’s reaction. I know where the line is. You have not crossed it. As long as you do not cross it, I do not have a problem. But the line is there. It stays there. Looking is one thing. Anything else is not allowed. Not in this house. Not between us. I need you to hear that clearly.”

I nodded once. She watched to see if the nod was real.

“I had to become open about some things after Papa,” she said. “Otherwise the world outside is worse. Men look. Men talk. If I had stayed the way I was in the first year after he died, I would still be standing in that parlour with oil on my clothes and no voice left at night. I am not asking you to like everything. I am saying I can hear the truth from you. If you bring a girl home one day, I will not make a scene on the stairs. She has to be a decent girl. Not someone from the road who will sit in this room and laugh at the way we live. But if she is good, I will make tea. I will adjust. I will not be the mother who locks the door and says no.”

She gave a small breath that was almost a laugh, then let it go.

“You are still my first priority beta," she said. “That has not changed. The only new thing is that I love Azad Sahab now. So he is also on the list. I cannot pretend he is not. But you were there before him. You will be there after whatever this is. That is not a sentence I am saying to make you quiet. That is the truth. Our bond and relationship does not move anywhere because of him or because of anything else.”

The anger had thinned. It was still there, under the tiredness, but it no longer had the clean edge it had in the bathroom. I looked at the bite and then at her hand on my wrist.

“I don’t like how he talks to me,” I said. The words came out smaller. “Good boy. Like I am twelve. And everything is money. The bike. The notes last night. Also, one more thing, if he wants you that much, why does it have to be here? Why not a hotel? So the whole building can hear?”

She did not pull her hand away.

“It is his style,” she said. “He shouts at me also. The building knows he is short-tempered. He has money and buildings and people who work for him. You are twenty-one. To him you still look like a boy who needs things arranged. That does not mean he hates you. If he hated you he would not have said yes on one phone call for the bike. He would not let me take money for your shirts or your food. I know how to read that. He is not a soft man. I am not asking you to love him. I am saying the hate you are building is not the full picture.”

“Huh, anyway, but then why here?”

“It was not a plan.” She looked at the sheet for a second, then back. “The saree. The whole evening in that party hall. Plus, he also looked good. I looked at him and we both wanted it. But I thought the drink would make him sleep in the car. I was wrong. By the time we climbed, both of us already knew. And the building was asleep. Most of it. If someone heard, they heard. I cannot spend the rest of my life counting every latch on these stairs. I care what you think. I do not care what Sunita thinks when she is standing with a glass and nothing else to do.”

I was quiet. She waited, then spoke again, lower.

“I am sorry about the stairs. I am not sorry about the sound.” A small smile touched her mouth and left. “I saw your pants when you came in. I am not a girl. I know what that means. So don’t tell me you hated every part of it. You can hate the standing. You can hate the notes. You can hate the word he used. But the sound reached you. I know it did.”

“Ma.” I said in a shocked and surprised tone. She knew it all, and yet talking about it as if it's casual.

“What. We are talking. You asked me to let you speak. I am speaking also.” She shifted closer. The nighty brushed my arm. “Listen to me properly. It is only two of us who can actually say the true sentence in this house. The building has one version. Azad Sahab will not sit and discuss your face or my guilt. So if we start hiding from each other, I will spend all my energy on doors and curtains and you will spend all your energy on silence, and both of us will still be in the same room. I don’t want that. If something happened that you did not like, say it. If something happened that your body liked even when your mind did not, you can say that too. I am not going to fall on the floor. I am telling you the border stays exactly where it is. You can look. You can tell me you looked. You can tell me the sound did something. That is a man’s reaction and I already know it. But it stays on that side. No other feelings. No crossing. Not even a little. If I ever feel that line move, I will stop the looking, the talking, all of it. The mother and son line does not bend. Do you understand?”

I nodded because my throat was tight and because the sentence had landed where the hate had been sitting.

“And if talking about it, or even seeing some of it, makes it easier for you to look at other girls and actually speak to one,” she said, “then tell me. Bring her home if she is good. I will not be the one who makes it difficult. That is all I am asking. Open mouth. Clear line. Strict line.”

The room was very quiet. The fridge clicked off. Somewhere below, a pressure cooker whistled and stopped. I looked at her hand still on my wrist, at the bite, at the place where the nighty had slipped and shown the soft upper curve of her breast. The want was there. It had been there on the landing and it was there now. The other part, the part that had wanted to take the bike and not come back, had gone small.

“Okay,” I said.

She studied my face for a long moment, as if she was checking whether the word had a hole in it. Then she opened her arms.

“Come here.”

I leaned forward. She pulled me in. The nighty was thin. Her breasts pressed against my chest, heavy and warm, no bra between the cotton and my t-shirt. I kept my hands on her back, careful, exactly where a son’s hands go. Her chin rested on the top of my head for a second. I could smell the last of the soap from her shower and, under it, the faint trace of his perfume that the water had not taken. She kissed my forehead once, slow.

“My sweet son,” she said against my hair. “I love you more than anything. The line stays. Always.”

“I love you too, Ma.” The words came out rough. “Thank you for talking.”

She held the hug a moment longer, then let me go. Her eyes were still wet at the corners, but the shine was different now. She stood, adjusted the nighty on her shoulder, and walked back to the kitchen corner as if the ordinary morning had been waiting there the whole time.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked, already reaching for the vessel. “Poha or toast? Go have your bath. I will have mine quickly after you. Then we can eat. There might be someone coming later for a small work Azad Sahab arranged. Nothing to worry about. We will see.”

I sat on the edge of the bed for another second, the shape of her still on my chest, the border she had drawn still clear and strict in my head, and then I stood up to do what she had asked.

[Leo Arya]

Finally the update is back... Story going interesting..
Want a long update bro.

[wxxxx]

Chapter 29 – Saturday Morning  
6 December 2025

“It was not a plan.” She looked at the sheet for a second, then back. “The saree. The whole evening in that party hall. Plus, he also looked good. I looked at him and we both wanted it. But I thought the drink would make him sleep in the car. I was wrong. By the time we climbed, both of us already knew. And the building was asleep. Most of it. If someone heard, they heard. I cannot spend the rest of my life counting every latch on these stairs. I care what you think. I do not care what Sunita thinks when she is standing with a glass and nothing else to do.”

I was quiet. She waited, then spoke again, lower.

“I am sorry about the stairs. I am not sorry about the sound.” A small smile touched her mouth and left. “I saw your pants when you came in. I am not a girl. I know what that means. So don’t tell me you hated every part of it. You can hate the standing. You can hate the notes. You can hate the word he used. But the sound reached you. I know it did.”

“Ma.” I said in a shocked and surprised tone. She knew it all, and yet talking about it as if it's casual.

“What. We are talking. You asked me to let you speak. I am speaking also.” She shifted closer. The nighty brushed my arm. “Listen to me properly. It is only two of us who can actually say the true sentence in this house. The building has one version. Azad Sahab will not sit and discuss your face or my guilt. So if we start hiding from each other, I will spend all my energy on doors and curtains and you will spend all your energy on silence, and both of us will still be in the same room. I don’t want that. If something happened that you did not like, say it. If something happened that your body liked even when your mind did not, you can say that too. I am not going to fall on the floor. I am telling you the border stays exactly where it is. You can look. You can tell me you looked. You can tell me the sound did something. That is a man’s reaction and I already know it. But it stays on that side. No other feelings. No crossing. Not even a little. If I ever feel that line move, I will stop the looking, the talking, all of it. The mother and son line does not bend. Do you understand?”

I nodded because my throat was tight and because the sentence had landed where the hate had been sitting.

Sunny has listened attentively to the persuasive arguments of his mother, Anjali—a 47-year-old woman—and has found himself compelled to submit to her will. Readers have been left astonished by Anjali’s ability to manipulate her 21-year-old son, Sunny, through her carefully constructed reasoning. Furthermore, readers are intrigued by the "peaceful" resolution reached regarding the perverse sexual acts that took place between Anjali and their landlord, Mr. Azad—an arrangement that previously required Sunny to wait outside the room for several hours at his mother’s request. It is anticipated that on the night of Saturday, December 6, 2025, Mr. Azad will return to their flat and, with the room door left wide open, engage in perverse sexual acts with Anjali right before Sunny’s eyes. As he watches this unfold from the sofa in the living room, Sunny is expected to become intensely aroused.

[mzafar]

Sunny has listened attentively to the persuasive arguments of his mother, Anjali—a 47-year-old woman—and has found himself compelled to submit to her will. Readers have been left astonished by Anjali’s ability to manipulate her 21-year-old son, Sunny, through her carefully constructed reasoning. Furthermore, readers are intrigued by the "peaceful" resolution reached regarding the perverse sexual acts that took place between Anjali and their landlord, Mr. Azad—an arrangement that previously required Sunny to wait outside the room for several hours at his mother’s request. It is anticipated that on the night of Saturday, December 6, 2025, Mr. Azad will return to their flat and, with the room door left wide open, engage in perverse sexual acts with Anjali right before Sunny’s eyes. As he watches this unfold from the sofa in the living room, Sunny is expected to become intensely aroused.

I agree with wxxxx.

[Paty@123]

No comments till next

[saranrama]

I honestly think that the son should take advantage or mother should go ahead and tease him. I believe other readers would agree.

Let me know if I am alone!

or let the MOM ask him how do you feel? Let them be more open going forward. Or it would be a circle of events.

By the way to author. It was a great update

[saka1981]

For the first time, Sunny has openly said that he didn’t like what his mother did. Anjali has also told him that he is the most important person to her and that everyone else comes only after him. Let’s see if she will say the same even when they are in the middle of their intimate moments. We’re eagerly waiting for the next update!

[Paty@123]

తన తల్లి చేసిన పని తనకు నచ్చలేదని సన్నీ మొదటిసారిగా బహిరంగంగా చెప్పాడు. అతనే తనకు అత్యంత ముఖ్యమైన వ్యక్తి అని, మిగతా వారందరూ అతని తర్వాతే వస్తారని అంజలి కూడా అతనికి చెప్పింది. వాళ్లిద్దరూ ఏకాంతంగా ఉన్నప్పుడు కూడా ఆమె ఇదే మాట చెబుతుందో లేదో చూడాలి. తదుపరి అప్‌డేట్ కోసం మేము ఆసక్తిగా ఎదురుచూస్తున్నాము!

She will not, Because she has become a submissive lady before Azad longback, and she lying to her son, and right from the beginning she is doing that

[Paty@123]

We are waiting and you early updates are appreciated

[mzafar]

The character of Anjali (47, a housewife, widowed for five years) is shaped by a complex, dual psychological conflict and the realities of her circumstances. Her relationships with two different men in her life reveal two entirely contrasting facets of her personality:

1. In relation to her son, Sunny: The ideal "maternal" figure

A. Affectionate and protective: To her 21-year-old son, Sunny—who is now employed—Anjali embodies the quintessential, loving mother. Her sacrifices are woven into the last five years, during which she raised him single-handedly and prepared him to be self-sufficient.
B. A source of refuge: She conceals all her vulnerabilities and loneliness from her son, ensuring that his perception of her as a nurturing and strong mother remains untarnished.

2. In relation to her landlord, Azad Saheb: The "submissive, loving" figure

A. A search for companionship and security: After five years of widowhood, Anjali’s suppressed womanhood and loneliness find a new outlet through her proximity to 49-year-old Azad Saheb (whose own wife has left him).
B. Social and financial subordination: The landlord-tenant dynamic inherently creates an imbalance of power. Furthermore, driven by love and a sense of dependency, Anjali has surrendered herself to Azad Saheb. This "submissive" behavior is a complex blend of love, the fear of losing social security, and a latent desire for a male guardian.

Anjali is not a one-dimensional or simple character. On one hand, she is a responsible and deeply revered mother to Sunny; on the other, she is an ordinary woman seeking love and shelter with Azad Saheb. She represents a realistic woman, grappling with the struggle for survival, profound loneliness, and the inherent tensions of motherhood.
The character of Anjali is a remarkably creative invention by the author, "Authorsunny."

[firing]

Now the story has taken a good turn. I have sunny encounter more of his mom and azad

[baddu]

When we expect update. The story is amazing. Waiting for update

[Paty@123]

అంజలి (47 ఏళ్ళు, గృహిణి, ఐదేళ్లుగా వితంతువు) పాత్ర ఒక సంక్లిష్టమైన, ద్వంద్వ మానసిక సంఘర్షణ మరియు ఆమె పరిస్థితుల వాస్తవాలచే రూపుదిద్దుకుంది. ఆమె జీవితంలోని ఇద్దరు వేర్వేరు పురుషులతో ఆమెకున్న సంబంధాలు ఆమె వ్యక్తిత్వంలోని రెండు పూర్తిగా విరుద్ధమైన కోణాలను వెల్లడిస్తాయి:

1. తన కొడుకు సన్నీతో సంబంధంలో: ఆదర్శవంతమైన "తల్లి" స్వరూపం

ఎ. ఆప్యాయత మరియు రక్షణ: ఇప్పుడు ఉద్యోగం చేస్తున్న తన 21 ఏళ్ల కొడుకు సన్నీకి, అంజలి ఒక సంపూర్ణమైన, ప్రేమగల తల్లికి ప్రతిరూపం. గత ఐదేళ్లుగా ఆమె చేసిన త్యాగాలు ఈ జీవితంలో అంతర్భాగంగా ఉన్నాయి, ఈ సమయంలో ఆమె అతన్ని ఒంటరిగా పెంచి, స్వయం సమృద్ధిగా ఉండేలా తీర్చిదిద్దింది.
బి. ఒక ఆశ్రయం: ఆమె తన బలహీనతలన్నింటినీ, ఒంటరితనాన్ని తన కొడుకు నుండి దాచిపెడుతుంది, తద్వారా ఆమెను ఒక ప్రేమగల మరియు బలమైన తల్లిగా అతను భావించే అభిప్రాయం చెక్కుచెదరకుండా ఉంటుంది.

2. తన ఇంటి యజమాని ఆజాద్ సాహెబ్‌తో సంబంధంలో: "విధేయతగల, ప్రేమగల" వ్యక్తిత్వం

ఎ. సహవాసం మరియు భద్రత కోసం అన్వేషణ: ఐదేళ్ల వైధవ్యం తర్వాత, అంజలిలో అణచివేయబడిన స్త్రీత్వం మరియు ఒంటరితనం, 49 ఏళ్ల ఆజాద్ సాహెబ్ (ఇతని భార్యే అతన్ని విడిచిపెట్టింది) సామీప్యం ద్వారా ఒక కొత్త మార్గాన్ని కనుగొంటాయి.
బి. సామాజిక మరియు ఆర్థిక అధీనత: ఇంటి యజమాని-అద్దెదారు సంబంధం సహజంగానే అధికార అసమతుల్యతను సృష్టిస్తుంది. అంతేకాకుండా, ప్రేమ మరియు పరాధీన భావనతో ప్రేరేపించబడి, అంజలి తనను తాను ఆజాద్ సాహెబ్‌కు అప్పగించుకుంది. ఈ "విధేయత" ప్రవర్తన ప్రేమ, సామాజిక భద్రతను కోల్పోతానేమోనన్న భయం, మరియు ఒక పురుష సంరక్షకుడి కోసం దాగివున్న కోరికల సంక్లిష్ట మిశ్రమం.

అంజలి ఏకపక్ష లేదా సరళమైన పాత్ర కాదు. ఒకవైపు, ఆమె సన్నీకి బాధ్యతగల మరియు ఎంతో గౌరవించబడే తల్లి; మరోవైపు, ఆమె ఆజాద్ సాహెబ్‌తో ప్రేమ మరియు ఆశ్రయం కోరుకునే ఒక సాధారణ మహిళ. ఆమె మనుగడ కోసం పోరాటం, తీవ్రమైన ఒంటరితనం, మరియు మాతృత్వంలోని సహజమైన ఒత్తిళ్లతో సతమతమవుతున్న ఒక వాస్తవిక మహిళకు ప్రతీక.
అంజలి పాత్ర రచయిత "ఆథర్‌సన్నీ" యొక్క అద్భుతమైన సృజనాత్మక సృష్టి.

The whole issue is Azad is not having any feelings towards Anjali, he is having only lust and by giving two notes of money, nothing but he has humiliated sunni for being outide getting humiliated by tenent uncle

[Morbius]

I read your story recently and enjoyed your writing there were some ups and downs of the story like 2 whole updates explaining the blouse was diabolical 
On the other hand the Tention between mother and son was very exciting 
The story is being told from son's POV so not able to get to know what happened when son wasn't witnessing her mom getting fucked felt frustrating 
Maybe you can give a bit more for readers even when son is not watching scenes 

Recent updates are very good and making the pace correct This latest update was nessesary The Talk between mom and son did cleared up many miss understandings and acknowledged the facts how son actually felt and how mom still loves him more than anyone making him her first priority 

I still don't trust Azad at all the things she mentioned azad did for Sunny like the bike diwali gift the money was only to get Anjali he doesn't really care about sunny which Sunny could have said to her as well

The hint of the upcoming office party and the HR and Sunny's mom constantly telling him to find someone says there could be a new relationship for Sunny so it will be interesting to see if Sunny focus on mom or his future as well 

Thanks for the update waiting for next 

[Paty@123]

Required an update plz

[Max Duncun]

Sunny is at a crossroad.. .. .how long Sunny will be her 1st priority ? will she abandon him ? hpw will he cope with this 'rupture' .who will take care emotionally of Sunny if Anjali decides for a bigger house with.Azad?