Wicked Whispers

[rinxox]

Ali’s POV

Whenever I caught a glimpse of her cleavage at home, even in the simplest moments, my mind betrayed me. His words echoed relentlessly—“Sheeza’s cream… I missed it so much.”


At work, I was haunted by the fear that Ashish might be coming over when I wasn’t there. But every evening, the house looked untouched. No proof. No signs.Then, two nights later, Sheeza casually said:Come back early tomorrow."Why?
Sheeza: “You forgot? Ashish invited us for dinner.”Dinner? With him?She expected us to go.

Ali: “I don’t want to go.”

Her expression didn’t change. It was unreadable—cool, distant.
Sheeza: “It would be rude not to.”

Ali: “Sheeza, try to understand. I don’t want to spend time with that guy. I don’t like him.”

She blinked, once.
Sheeza: “What has he done to you that you don’t like him? Don’t be such a crybaby.”

Crybaby? That stung.
Ali: “It’s not that. It’s just… something about—”

She cut me off.
Sheeza: “That’s what I told you before. I want you to get along with him.”

I opened my mouth again, but she hit me with a line that turned my stomach inside out.

Sheeza: “Do you want your wife to go with him alone?”

The room spun slightly. I hadn't expected that.
Dinner. Her. Ashish. Alone.

Ali: “I... I don’t—”

Sheeza : “Then you decide. Do you want him to spend the entire evening alone with your wife, in your absence? Because I will go. It would be rude not to.”

My mouth was dry. My heart raced.
I couldn’t tell if she was bluffing or if she genuinely didn’t care how it sounded.


Ali: “I’ll come.”
I reluctantly agreed.

The dinner was next day.


The next day 
When I returned from the office, I saw a red saree laid out on the bed. She rarely wore saree.Sheeza, standing by the mirror, didn’t look at me as I entered.Sheeza:“Go get fresh and change. We’re already getting late.”
After a quick shower, I stepped out—and froze for a second.

She was doing her makeup now, bent slightly toward the mirror. Her saree shimmered blood-red under the soft light. The back of her blouse was little exposed. My eyes drifted downward. The saree sat dangerously low on her hips, teasing just above her inner curves. A hint of creamy waist peeked between the folds.

I with concerd I ask her“You’re wearing… that?

She turned her head slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Sheeza:“What’s wrong with it?”

Ali: “Your waist is… quite visible. People will stare.”

She let out a dry little laugh, like she’d been waiting for me to say it.

Sheeza: “Perverts will stare no matter what I wear. Saree, jeans… burkha. What difference does it make?”

I didn’t know how to respond. She dabbed a bit of perfume on her neck, then glanced at me again.

Sheeza: “Go get ready. We’re not going to keep Ashish waiting.”

And as I walked toward the wardrobe, I couldn’t help but look once more at that exposed curve of her waist… wondering if it was meant just for Ashish to see.


Ashish’s apartment was… impressive. Clean, minimalist, but with expensive touches—like the sleek bar counter and the dim ambient lighting. 

He opened the door himself, dressed in a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, veins visible on his muscular forearms. 

As we stepped in, he gave me a polite nod, but then turned to Sheeza, guiding her in first. His hand hovered for a second at the small of her back, just above her exposed waist from the low-dbangd saree. Almost touching… but not quite.He pulled out a chair for her.
Sheeza smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear.

Sheeza: “You’ve maintained your physique well… just like college days.”

Ashish gave a light chuckle.

Ashish: “But you have changed a little, Sheeza. I’d say… even better now. Curvier. Prettier.”

Sheeza looked down and blushed. Blushed.  
That little curve of her lips sent a sharp twist in my gut. Why wasn’t she shutting him down? Why did she like that?

Ashish walked toward the open kitchen, but not before resting his hand lightly—too lightly—on Sheeza’s shoulder. A friendly touch, but his fingers lingered just a bit longer than they should.

I stared at my plate, barely tasting anything as dinner began.

Then Ashish spoke again, casual, mid-bite.Ashish: “So, Ali... how’s the job going?”
I

Ali: “It’s fine. Usual pressure.”

Ashish smirked.

Ashish: “Come on, there must be something big happening. You’ve always been ambitious.”

I hesitated for a second, then replied, trying to keep it casual.

Ali: “My company’s looking to acquire land in a village... near Boda district. If I can help secure it, it could mean a big career jump. It’s a bit complicated, though.”

Ashish leaned back, his smirk deepening.
Ashish: “What a coincidence... “Really? That’s close to my village too… just a couple kilometers off.”

We talked a little about the area—roads, development, some local gossip—but honestly, I wasn’t interested. My replies were half-hearted. My focus kept drifting… to Sheeza. To her smile. To her posture. To the way her arm rested so comfortably on the table near him.

I just wanted to go home.

As I fell silent, Sheeza and Ashish naturally slipped into their own rhythm of conversation, like I wasn’t even at the table anymore. She asked him about his gym routine, his food habits. He teased her about how she never liked waking up early in college.

Then…Ashish: “You still go on those morning walks?”
Sheeza: laughing softly “Yes… I try to stay consistent.”

Ashish: “Ali doesn’t join you?”

Sheeza: “He’s always busy… stuck with his boss even in the morning.”
Just then, it hit me—like a knife in the chest.
The file.
I had to submit that damn file to my boss before 9:30. I had completely forgotten.

I panicked for a second, checking my pockets—no phone.

“I—I forgot my phone. I have to send something urgently,” I said, trying to stand up.

Ashish: “Why don’t you go get it? You can send it from here once you have it. Let Sheeza finish her food in peace.”He turned to her.

Ashish: “Right, Sheeza?”

She gave a small nod, not even looking at me.

Sheeza: “Yeah… I’m almost done here anyway.”

She didn’t say “I’ll come with you.”  
She didn’t say “I’ll wait.”

I looked at her, then him—his relaxed posture, his rolled-up sleeves, the soft candlelight making his muscles look even more defined. His legs spread slightly under the table. So damn comfortable in my wife's presence.

I felt a rock in my chest as I grabbed the keys and left.

Back home, I found my phone on the table.But the file... it was on my laptop.I opened it. Some formatting issue. It took longer than expected. Fixing the graphs, rewriting the subject line, checking the attachments.By the time I sent the email, I glanced at the clock.

25 minutes.My breath caught in my throat.Twenty-five minutes alone.With my wife.In his apartment.

 
I almost ran to the lift.Why was the door locked?i knocked ,rang the bell.Why were they taking time to open?It clicked finally. Ashish stood there, calm as ever, a faint glisten on his forehead… or maybe not.I stepped in,Sheeza sat on the couch, legs crossed, a bowl of ice cream resting lightly in her hand .

I looked at Ashish and ask him why door was locked ,to which he said it is automatic lock system.

“Have some ice cream,” Sheeza said casually.

I nodded. But I wasn’t hungry for sweets.


Then I saw it—her saree.

It was a little crumpled across her waist. The pleats weren’t tight anymore; the fabric clung loose, slightly twisted.Her pallu rested lazily over one shoulder, exposing the creamy expanse of her waist.

And there—just above her hip—a faint smear of something pale, glistening under the light. A sheen of moisture on her smooth, buttery skin. She bent slightly to adjust her anklet, and the saree slipped even lower.

The soft curve of her lower belly peeked out, taut and flushed.Then, just as fast, she readjusted, pulling the pallu forward.

Ashish passed behind her, one hand brushing the top of the couch—just close enough to her back to feel familiar.

I stared down at the ice cream bowl in my hand. It was cold.

But something inside me twisted—hot, restless, humiliated.I didn’t speak. Just sat there, spoon in hand, watching the ice cream melt slowly into a pale puddle.

Sheeza licked her spoon.Ashish leaned back in his chair, legs spread wide, looking completely at ease.Sheeza turned to me with a 
small smile. Maybe I was overthinking.Maybe it was just ice cream on her waist.Maybe the pleats had slipped when she adjusted her saree.Maybe…

 To be continued.....