27-09-2024, 12:38 AM
Sohail at Afrah’s Home
Sohail sat in Afrah’s living room, his cup of tea growing cold in his hands as he half-listened to the conversation around him. The soft clinking of cups, the polite laughter—it all felt like background noise compared to the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.
Across the room, Afrah was seated with her mother and sister, seemingly engaged in the discussion about wedding preparations. But Sohail noticed the way her attention kept shifting to her phone, lying quietly in her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the screen absentmindedly, and at one point, she bit her lip as if contemplating something.
The light from her phone screen flickered, and her eyes quickly darted down to read the message. Sohail's heart sank as she typed back quickly, her lips curling into a faint smile. His grip tightened around the cup, the porcelain digging into his palm. "Who was she texting?" His mind raced with suspicion. Was it a friend? Or was it... someone else?
Suddenly, Afrah’s mother called her name, snapping her out of her phone’s hold. Afrah blinked and hurriedly locked the screen, placing the phone back on the table. She turned to her mother with a sweet, composed smile, slipping effortlessly back into the conversation. To everyone else, it looked like nothing unusual—but Sohail saw the shift. That brief moment of distraction had rattled him more than it should have.
His stomach churned with a gnawing doubt. The ease with which she returned to the conversation, her seemingly innocent gestures—it all felt like a facade. He glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed. They hadn't.
Afrah’s father asked Sohail something about the wedding, but he barely heard him. He forced a polite nod and mumbled a response, but his eyes stayed locked on Afrah. Her laughter, her polite words—they felt distant, as if she were already slipping away from him.
Sohail’s gaze kept drifting back to Afrah’s phone, sitting on the table, screen dark. The conversation around him faded into the background, his focus sharpening on that little device. It felt like the key to unlocking all the doubts swirling in his mind.
Afrah had left the room for a moment, and Sohail seized the opportunity. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he leaned forward and carefully reached for her phone. His heart raced, hands slightly trembling as he held it.
Just as he considered unlocking it, the screen lit up. A notification from Vishal: "Send me the pic."
Sohail’s blood ran cold. Vishal? Who was he? And what picture was he asking for? His thoughts spiraled, imagining the worst. His chest tightened as a wave of jealousy washed over him.
He stared at the message for a moment, frozen, before the sound of approaching footsteps jolted him back to reality. Afrah was coming. Panicking, Sohail quickly placed the phone back exactly where it had been and straightened up, forcing himself to look calm.
Afrah entered the room with a casual smile, unaware of the storm brewing inside him. He watched her sit down, her fingers brushing the phone, and it took all his strength not to confront her right then.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Sohail, but his mind was fixated on one thing: Vishal. Her boss. Afrah was irritated the last time they’d talked about him. She had brushed off Sohail’s concerns, subtly implying that his insecurity was the problem. But now, that notification—"Send me the pic"—echoed in his mind, raising doubts he couldn't shake.
Why is Vishal asking for a picture? What kind of picture does he want? His imagination spiraled. Was Afrah sending pictures to him? The memory of her biting her lip, smiling at her phone, suddenly felt more sinister. Was that when she had been texting Vishal?
As the family continued to chat, Sohail could hardly participate. His thoughts spiraled, consumed by jealousy. He wondered if Afrah was exchanging pictures with Vishal at that very moment. His stomach churned with suspicion, feeding on every small, insignificant detail from earlier that afternoon.
By the time Sohail returned home that night, those thoughts had followed him into his bedroom. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind unable to stop replaying the scene in the living room. Did she send him the picture?And worse—what kind of picture?
No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, his thoughts drifted toward racy possibilities.
To distract himself he started scrolling through his phone.
As he was scrolling instagram he saw a pic of
model in bed the pic was quite alluring.she was in short ,bitting her lips.Suddenly Sohail minds drift.
Sohail’s mind swirled with images he wished he could erase. He imagined Afrah in a provocative pose, the way she might look in a risqué picture. She’d be dbangd in delicate silk, the fabric clinging to her curves, accentuating her hourglass figure. The low-cut neckline would tease, hinting at her soft skin without revealing too much, leaving just enough to the imagination.[img]<a href=[/img]![[Image: Casual.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/TtD5dBs/Casual.jpg)
Her long legs would be elegantly crossed, showcasing her smooth thighs, perhaps peeking out from beneath a short hemline. He could picture her hair cascading over her shoulders, tousled just enough to appear effortlessly seductive. Her lips, slightly parted in a soft smile, would draw the viewer in, her eyes glinting with a mix of innocence and allure.
In this fantasy, she would exude confidence, a playful glimmer in her gaze as if daring the observer to see her in a new light—one that was both tantalizing and forbidden. The image felt so foreign yet so compelling, shattering his perceptions of the modest girl he knew.
But as soon as these thoughts took shape, guilt crashed over him like a wave. Afrah was not that girl—she was sweet, reserved, and committed to their future. Yet the doubt gnawed at him, intertwining with a dark curiosity that he couldn't quite suppress.
His heart raced, and a wave of guilt washed over him as he imagined Afrah—his modest, traditional fiancée—sending revealing pictures to another man. The very thought, as wrong as it was, stirred something in him. His body responded, despite the overwhelming insecurity clouding his mind.
He caught himself, forcing his thoughts to slow. *No, Afrah wouldn’t do that*, he tried to convince himself. The picture had to be work-related, something innocent. But doubt lingered, gnawing at him, refusing to let him rest.
----------
---
Office the Day Before the Party (Afrah’s POV)
Afrah sat at her desk, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to the dress she had tried on. Vishal had barely been able to hide his excitement when she teased him about waiting until the party to see her in it.
Just then, a familiar buzz interrupted her thoughts—another message from Vishal.
**Vishal:** *“How’s my bad girl looking today?”*
Her breath hitched as she glanced around the office, a blush creeping up her cheeks. The words alone made her heart race. She quickly typed back, keeping it playful.
**Afrah:** *“Wouldn’t you like to know?”*
Moments later, Vishal appeared at her cubicle, leaning casually against the frame. His dark eyes lingered on her, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Your phone says you’re being a tease,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Afrah bit her lip, the same way she had the last time he’d complimented her. “Isn’t that part of the fun?” she shot back, matching his energy.
Vishal stepped closer, leaning down just enough to let his breath tickle her ear. “You know, I’m still thinking about that dress,” he murmured, his voice smooth, with just a hint of danger. “I can’t wait to see you in it tomorrow... unless you want to give me a sneak peek today?”
The suggestion sent a jolt of excitement through Afrah, but she kept her composure, lifting her chin. “You’re going to have to be patient,” she teased, her voice softer now. “Good things come to those who wait.”
He chuckled, straightening up but keeping his eyes locked on hers. “You’re making it hard for me to focus on anything else.”
Afrah felt a thrill run through her, her pulse quickening at the boldness of his words. Part of her wanted to give in, to indulge in this playful dance they’d been having for weeks now. But the other part of her, the one that still heard her mother’s voice in the back of her mind, held her back.
“Then you better keep your imagination busy,” she said with a smirk, enjoying the game just as much as he did.
Vishal’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned in closer, his hand resting casually on the edge of her desk. “Trust me, Afrah... my imagination is working overtime.”
The words lingered in the air between them, thick with tension. Afrah’s breath quickened, but she fought to keep her cool. “Too bad that’s all you’re getting—for now.”
Vishal’s smirk widened, but before he could say anything more, Afrah’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at it—this time, it was her mother.
Her heart skipped a beat, the contrast between Vishal’s intense energy and the reminder of her family’s expectations pulling her in two directions at once. She silenced the phone, looking up at Vishal, who had noticed her hesitation.
“Got somewhere else to be?” he asked, one brow raised.
“Maybe,” Afrah replied, standing up from her desk and brushing past him. “Or maybe I’m just leaving you wanting more.”
Vishal watched her go, his eyes following the sway of her hips. “I’ll be counting the hours.”
As she walked away, Afrah felt a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but the thrill of it was intoxicating. Tomorrow’s party would be the ultimate test of her self-control—or maybe the perfect chance to lose it.
---
Afrah sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The dress Vishal had gifted her hung in the closet, waiting for the party. Her heart raced at the thought of wearing it, of stepping into that world with him. But before she could even think about that, she had to figure out what to tell her family.
Her mother, Zubeda, was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while her father was engrossed in the evening news. There was no way she could tell them the truth about the party—it wasn’t the kind of event they would approve of. She had never been the rebellious daughter, always respectful of the boundaries her family had set. But tonight, she was ready to step outside those lines.
*Maybe I should say it’s a work function*, she thought. That seemed believable, given her growing responsibilities at the office. She could tell them Vishal was hosting a formal gathering for the company’s employees. It wasn’t completely a lie, though the nature of the party was far from the professional image she’d paint.
As Afrah practiced her story in her head, she felt a pang of guilt. She had always been honest with her family, especially her mother. But this—this was for her. For once, she wanted to explore a side of herself that she had kept hidden. She couldn’t let her family’s conservative expectations hold her back this time.
Taking a deep breath, Afrah stood up and walked toward the kitchen, rehearsing the words she would say.
“Ammi, there’s a work event tomorrow night,” Afrah said, keeping her tone light. “Vishal is hosting it, and I need to attend.”
Zubeda looked up, her expression neutral. “So late? Will anyone go with you?”
“Vishal will be there, it’s important for work.”
After a pause, her mother nodded. “Be back on time, and wear something modest.
”
Afrah smiled, relieved. “I will, Ammi.”
She walked away, feeling both triumphant and uneasy about the lie she just told.
Sohail sat in Afrah’s living room, his cup of tea growing cold in his hands as he half-listened to the conversation around him. The soft clinking of cups, the polite laughter—it all felt like background noise compared to the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.
Across the room, Afrah was seated with her mother and sister, seemingly engaged in the discussion about wedding preparations. But Sohail noticed the way her attention kept shifting to her phone, lying quietly in her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the screen absentmindedly, and at one point, she bit her lip as if contemplating something.
The light from her phone screen flickered, and her eyes quickly darted down to read the message. Sohail's heart sank as she typed back quickly, her lips curling into a faint smile. His grip tightened around the cup, the porcelain digging into his palm. "Who was she texting?" His mind raced with suspicion. Was it a friend? Or was it... someone else?
Suddenly, Afrah’s mother called her name, snapping her out of her phone’s hold. Afrah blinked and hurriedly locked the screen, placing the phone back on the table. She turned to her mother with a sweet, composed smile, slipping effortlessly back into the conversation. To everyone else, it looked like nothing unusual—but Sohail saw the shift. That brief moment of distraction had rattled him more than it should have.
His stomach churned with a gnawing doubt. The ease with which she returned to the conversation, her seemingly innocent gestures—it all felt like a facade. He glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed. They hadn't.
Afrah’s father asked Sohail something about the wedding, but he barely heard him. He forced a polite nod and mumbled a response, but his eyes stayed locked on Afrah. Her laughter, her polite words—they felt distant, as if she were already slipping away from him.
Sohail’s gaze kept drifting back to Afrah’s phone, sitting on the table, screen dark. The conversation around him faded into the background, his focus sharpening on that little device. It felt like the key to unlocking all the doubts swirling in his mind.
Afrah had left the room for a moment, and Sohail seized the opportunity. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he leaned forward and carefully reached for her phone. His heart raced, hands slightly trembling as he held it.
Just as he considered unlocking it, the screen lit up. A notification from Vishal: "Send me the pic."
Sohail’s blood ran cold. Vishal? Who was he? And what picture was he asking for? His thoughts spiraled, imagining the worst. His chest tightened as a wave of jealousy washed over him.
He stared at the message for a moment, frozen, before the sound of approaching footsteps jolted him back to reality. Afrah was coming. Panicking, Sohail quickly placed the phone back exactly where it had been and straightened up, forcing himself to look calm.
Afrah entered the room with a casual smile, unaware of the storm brewing inside him. He watched her sit down, her fingers brushing the phone, and it took all his strength not to confront her right then.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Sohail, but his mind was fixated on one thing: Vishal. Her boss. Afrah was irritated the last time they’d talked about him. She had brushed off Sohail’s concerns, subtly implying that his insecurity was the problem. But now, that notification—"Send me the pic"—echoed in his mind, raising doubts he couldn't shake.
Why is Vishal asking for a picture? What kind of picture does he want? His imagination spiraled. Was Afrah sending pictures to him? The memory of her biting her lip, smiling at her phone, suddenly felt more sinister. Was that when she had been texting Vishal?
As the family continued to chat, Sohail could hardly participate. His thoughts spiraled, consumed by jealousy. He wondered if Afrah was exchanging pictures with Vishal at that very moment. His stomach churned with suspicion, feeding on every small, insignificant detail from earlier that afternoon.
By the time Sohail returned home that night, those thoughts had followed him into his bedroom. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind unable to stop replaying the scene in the living room. Did she send him the picture?And worse—what kind of picture?
No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, his thoughts drifted toward racy possibilities.
To distract himself he started scrolling through his phone.
As he was scrolling instagram he saw a pic of
model in bed the pic was quite alluring.she was in short ,bitting her lips.Suddenly Sohail minds drift.
Sohail’s mind swirled with images he wished he could erase. He imagined Afrah in a provocative pose, the way she might look in a risqué picture. She’d be dbangd in delicate silk, the fabric clinging to her curves, accentuating her hourglass figure. The low-cut neckline would tease, hinting at her soft skin without revealing too much, leaving just enough to the imagination.[img]<a href=[/img]
Her long legs would be elegantly crossed, showcasing her smooth thighs, perhaps peeking out from beneath a short hemline. He could picture her hair cascading over her shoulders, tousled just enough to appear effortlessly seductive. Her lips, slightly parted in a soft smile, would draw the viewer in, her eyes glinting with a mix of innocence and allure.
In this fantasy, she would exude confidence, a playful glimmer in her gaze as if daring the observer to see her in a new light—one that was both tantalizing and forbidden. The image felt so foreign yet so compelling, shattering his perceptions of the modest girl he knew.
But as soon as these thoughts took shape, guilt crashed over him like a wave. Afrah was not that girl—she was sweet, reserved, and committed to their future. Yet the doubt gnawed at him, intertwining with a dark curiosity that he couldn't quite suppress.
His heart raced, and a wave of guilt washed over him as he imagined Afrah—his modest, traditional fiancée—sending revealing pictures to another man. The very thought, as wrong as it was, stirred something in him. His body responded, despite the overwhelming insecurity clouding his mind.
He caught himself, forcing his thoughts to slow. *No, Afrah wouldn’t do that*, he tried to convince himself. The picture had to be work-related, something innocent. But doubt lingered, gnawing at him, refusing to let him rest.
----------
---
Office the Day Before the Party (Afrah’s POV)
Afrah sat at her desk, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to the dress she had tried on. Vishal had barely been able to hide his excitement when she teased him about waiting until the party to see her in it.
Just then, a familiar buzz interrupted her thoughts—another message from Vishal.
**Vishal:** *“How’s my bad girl looking today?”*
Her breath hitched as she glanced around the office, a blush creeping up her cheeks. The words alone made her heart race. She quickly typed back, keeping it playful.
**Afrah:** *“Wouldn’t you like to know?”*
Moments later, Vishal appeared at her cubicle, leaning casually against the frame. His dark eyes lingered on her, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Your phone says you’re being a tease,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Afrah bit her lip, the same way she had the last time he’d complimented her. “Isn’t that part of the fun?” she shot back, matching his energy.
Vishal stepped closer, leaning down just enough to let his breath tickle her ear. “You know, I’m still thinking about that dress,” he murmured, his voice smooth, with just a hint of danger. “I can’t wait to see you in it tomorrow... unless you want to give me a sneak peek today?”
The suggestion sent a jolt of excitement through Afrah, but she kept her composure, lifting her chin. “You’re going to have to be patient,” she teased, her voice softer now. “Good things come to those who wait.”
He chuckled, straightening up but keeping his eyes locked on hers. “You’re making it hard for me to focus on anything else.”
Afrah felt a thrill run through her, her pulse quickening at the boldness of his words. Part of her wanted to give in, to indulge in this playful dance they’d been having for weeks now. But the other part of her, the one that still heard her mother’s voice in the back of her mind, held her back.
“Then you better keep your imagination busy,” she said with a smirk, enjoying the game just as much as he did.
Vishal’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned in closer, his hand resting casually on the edge of her desk. “Trust me, Afrah... my imagination is working overtime.”
The words lingered in the air between them, thick with tension. Afrah’s breath quickened, but she fought to keep her cool. “Too bad that’s all you’re getting—for now.”
Vishal’s smirk widened, but before he could say anything more, Afrah’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at it—this time, it was her mother.
Her heart skipped a beat, the contrast between Vishal’s intense energy and the reminder of her family’s expectations pulling her in two directions at once. She silenced the phone, looking up at Vishal, who had noticed her hesitation.
“Got somewhere else to be?” he asked, one brow raised.
“Maybe,” Afrah replied, standing up from her desk and brushing past him. “Or maybe I’m just leaving you wanting more.”
Vishal watched her go, his eyes following the sway of her hips. “I’ll be counting the hours.”
As she walked away, Afrah felt a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but the thrill of it was intoxicating. Tomorrow’s party would be the ultimate test of her self-control—or maybe the perfect chance to lose it.
---
Afrah sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The dress Vishal had gifted her hung in the closet, waiting for the party. Her heart raced at the thought of wearing it, of stepping into that world with him. But before she could even think about that, she had to figure out what to tell her family.
Her mother, Zubeda, was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while her father was engrossed in the evening news. There was no way she could tell them the truth about the party—it wasn’t the kind of event they would approve of. She had never been the rebellious daughter, always respectful of the boundaries her family had set. But tonight, she was ready to step outside those lines.
*Maybe I should say it’s a work function*, she thought. That seemed believable, given her growing responsibilities at the office. She could tell them Vishal was hosting a formal gathering for the company’s employees. It wasn’t completely a lie, though the nature of the party was far from the professional image she’d paint.
As Afrah practiced her story in her head, she felt a pang of guilt. She had always been honest with her family, especially her mother. But this—this was for her. For once, she wanted to explore a side of herself that she had kept hidden. She couldn’t let her family’s conservative expectations hold her back this time.
Taking a deep breath, Afrah stood up and walked toward the kitchen, rehearsing the words she would say.
“Ammi, there’s a work event tomorrow night,” Afrah said, keeping her tone light. “Vishal is hosting it, and I need to attend.”
Zubeda looked up, her expression neutral. “So late? Will anyone go with you?”
“Vishal will be there, it’s important for work.”
After a pause, her mother nodded. “Be back on time, and wear something modest.
”
Afrah smiled, relieved. “I will, Ammi.”
She walked away, feeling both triumphant and uneasy about the lie she just told.
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