05-04-2025, 10:02 PM
Episode 3: Quiet Fire
The midday sun spilled into the corridors of St. Mark’s, making the floors warm underfoot. Fans spun lazily in the classrooms, struggling against the rising heat. But for Arjun, temperature wasn’t the problem. His thoughts were doing enough to keep him flushed.
Over the past week, his attention in Meera Ma’am’s class had only intensified. His eyes were drawn to her the moment she walked in—how the folds of her saree moved with every step, how her curves shifted with even the smallest gesture. And it wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper. Almost personal.
Arjun had always had a particular taste when it came to women—not that he talked about it much, even with Rahul and Vikram. While most of his classmates fawned over slim girls they saw on Instagram, Arjun liked something else.
He liked women with softness. Medium-built, as he described it to himself. Not too skinny, not too heavy—just enough to fill a saree perfectly, with the kind of figure that made every curve look like it was placed there on purpose. A full waist, a generous bust, and rounded hips—all the fat in the right places. Feminine. Real.
Meera was the living embodiment of that image.
Today, she was in a sky-blue cotton saree. It clung just slightly around her hips, the pleats flowing neatly down. Her blouse was modest, but it hugged her upper body in a way that left little to Arjun’s imagination. As she leaned over the desk to help a student in the front row, the shape of her body curved beautifully—her blouse tightening across her back, her waist narrowing before flaring out again.
Arjun sat two rows behind, pretending to take notes but watching everything. The faint bounce of her bangles. The rustle of her saree when she turned. The soft indentation her hips left against the edge of the desk when she leaned in.
She wasn’t trying to be attractive. That was what made it worse. Or better.
She moved with grace, unaware—or maybe just unbothered—by the effect she had on at least one boy in the room.
And Arjun? He was drowning in it.
The bell rang. Students began packing their bags. Meera wrapped up the lecture and reminded them of the assignment due Monday.
"Please don’t wait until Sunday night to do it," she said, smiling. "I will be able to tell."
As she turned back to the board to wipe it down, Arjun paused. One last look. The soft indent of her waist, the snug stretch of the saree across her backside. It was too much.
Rahul tapped him. "Bro. You good?"
"Huh?"
"You’ve been in a trance all class. Staring like she’s some goddess or something."
Arjun gave a faint, distracted smile. He didn’t respond. How could he explain it?
Meera wasn’t just a crush. She was exactly the kind of woman he always imagined being with—even before he knew what that meant. And now, she was standing just a few feet away, brushing chalk off her hands, completely unaware that a boy in her class saw her as nothing less than a dream, in real form.
To be continued...
The midday sun spilled into the corridors of St. Mark’s, making the floors warm underfoot. Fans spun lazily in the classrooms, struggling against the rising heat. But for Arjun, temperature wasn’t the problem. His thoughts were doing enough to keep him flushed.
Over the past week, his attention in Meera Ma’am’s class had only intensified. His eyes were drawn to her the moment she walked in—how the folds of her saree moved with every step, how her curves shifted with even the smallest gesture. And it wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper. Almost personal.
Arjun had always had a particular taste when it came to women—not that he talked about it much, even with Rahul and Vikram. While most of his classmates fawned over slim girls they saw on Instagram, Arjun liked something else.
He liked women with softness. Medium-built, as he described it to himself. Not too skinny, not too heavy—just enough to fill a saree perfectly, with the kind of figure that made every curve look like it was placed there on purpose. A full waist, a generous bust, and rounded hips—all the fat in the right places. Feminine. Real.
Meera was the living embodiment of that image.
Today, she was in a sky-blue cotton saree. It clung just slightly around her hips, the pleats flowing neatly down. Her blouse was modest, but it hugged her upper body in a way that left little to Arjun’s imagination. As she leaned over the desk to help a student in the front row, the shape of her body curved beautifully—her blouse tightening across her back, her waist narrowing before flaring out again.
Arjun sat two rows behind, pretending to take notes but watching everything. The faint bounce of her bangles. The rustle of her saree when she turned. The soft indentation her hips left against the edge of the desk when she leaned in.
She wasn’t trying to be attractive. That was what made it worse. Or better.
She moved with grace, unaware—or maybe just unbothered—by the effect she had on at least one boy in the room.
And Arjun? He was drowning in it.
The bell rang. Students began packing their bags. Meera wrapped up the lecture and reminded them of the assignment due Monday.
"Please don’t wait until Sunday night to do it," she said, smiling. "I will be able to tell."
As she turned back to the board to wipe it down, Arjun paused. One last look. The soft indent of her waist, the snug stretch of the saree across her backside. It was too much.
Rahul tapped him. "Bro. You good?"
"Huh?"
"You’ve been in a trance all class. Staring like she’s some goddess or something."
Arjun gave a faint, distracted smile. He didn’t respond. How could he explain it?
Meera wasn’t just a crush. She was exactly the kind of woman he always imagined being with—even before he knew what that meant. And now, she was standing just a few feet away, brushing chalk off her hands, completely unaware that a boy in her class saw her as nothing less than a dream, in real form.
To be continued...
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