Yesterday, 05:10 AM
Episode 20: The Glimpse That Stuck
The next morning, the campus felt slower than usual. A light drizzle had left puddles along the corridor edges, and the sharp smell of wet chalk and floor cleaner lingered through the classrooms.
Arjun sat at his desk in silence, long before the bell rang. The auditorium moment had haunted him all night. He had played it again and again—Priya’s fingers, that pinch, Meera’s waist—like a loop with no end.
He’d barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, the image flared back into view. That flash of skin. That reactionless laugh. That comfort—the kind he could never have.
It wasn’t just that Priya had touched her.
It was that Meera had let it happen so casually. So openly.
It made Arjun’s fantasies feel small. Like no matter how long he stared or memorized, he was just... distant.
Invisible.
That spot—just above the pleats, right where the blouse ended—it wasn’t supposed to be touchable. Not to him. That part of her felt sacred. Secret. Something only his eyes were allowed to admire in silence.
But now that boundary had shattered.
It wasn’t just his anymore.
And that realization left a strange, frustrating ache in him. One he didn’t know what to do with.
--
The bell rang.
Students filed in. Voices rose, laughter echoed, someone dragged a wet umbrella across the floor. None of it touched him. His ears buzzed with the sound of her name in his head.
And then—
She walked in.
Meera.
In a sky-blue saree, rain-speckled at the hem, her blouse a plain white cotton that clung lightly to her skin from the morning humidity. No bindi. No makeup. Hair still a little damp, tied up in a loose knot.
She looked softer somehow. Fresh. Almost too real.
She greeted the class with her usual “Good morning,” flipping open her register, her bangles clinking faintly as she wrote the date.
Arjun couldn’t breathe.
Every detail—every inch of her—felt closer after what he’d seen. That pinch. That reaction. That casual intimacy had brought her body into sharper focus.
As she walked to the board, the fabric of her saree clung a little closer from the light rain, outlining her back and waist with startling clarity. And when she turned slightly to reach the top corner of the blackboard, the blouse shifted just enough to reveal the very edge of the same spot Priya had touched.
And there it was again.
That spot.
The one he couldn’t stop seeing.
The one he wanted—needed—to see again. Touch. Hold. Bury his face in.
He clenched his pen.
The rain had dampened the fabric just enough to make everything feel more alive. Her blouse clung gently across her ribs. The saree hugged her waist like it had been tied just for him.
His gaze didn’t waver. Not once.
The class was taking notes. Copying. Doodling.
But he was worshipping.
And Meera, like always, didn’t know.
---
Later That Night – Arjun's Room
The house was quiet. The rain had started again outside—soft, steady, constant. The kind of rain that made the world feel smaller. Private.
Arjun lay on his bed, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. His room was dim, lit only by the glow of his desk lamp. His collegebag still sat by the door, untouched.
His thoughts weren’t in the present.
They were back in the auditorium.
He could see it perfectly.
Meera, crouched near the chart, the pleats of her lavender saree pulled tight across her waist. The curve of her blouse stretching as she leaned forward. That one perfect sliver of skin exposed—smooth, soft, framed by the dip of her side.
Then Priya.
The sudden pinch.
The exact place Arjun had been looking.
And Meera’s laugh. Her touch to adjust the saree.
The way she didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
The memory was too vivid.
Too warm.
Too much.
His breath slowed. Then deepened.
His body tensed, caught in the pull of something he couldn’t name—but had chased in his mind over and over.
And without meaning to, without even fully realizing it was happening—
he let go.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, sudden, overwhelming rush—like something broke loose inside him.
He lay still afterward, chest rising and falling, blinking at the ceiling, skin damp, pulse thudding.
His first.
And all it had taken was that one second—
that waist,
that touch,
that laugh—
Burned into him now.
Forever.
---
To be continued…
The next morning, the campus felt slower than usual. A light drizzle had left puddles along the corridor edges, and the sharp smell of wet chalk and floor cleaner lingered through the classrooms.
Arjun sat at his desk in silence, long before the bell rang. The auditorium moment had haunted him all night. He had played it again and again—Priya’s fingers, that pinch, Meera’s waist—like a loop with no end.
He’d barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, the image flared back into view. That flash of skin. That reactionless laugh. That comfort—the kind he could never have.
It wasn’t just that Priya had touched her.
It was that Meera had let it happen so casually. So openly.
It made Arjun’s fantasies feel small. Like no matter how long he stared or memorized, he was just... distant.
Invisible.
That spot—just above the pleats, right where the blouse ended—it wasn’t supposed to be touchable. Not to him. That part of her felt sacred. Secret. Something only his eyes were allowed to admire in silence.
But now that boundary had shattered.
It wasn’t just his anymore.
And that realization left a strange, frustrating ache in him. One he didn’t know what to do with.
--
The bell rang.
Students filed in. Voices rose, laughter echoed, someone dragged a wet umbrella across the floor. None of it touched him. His ears buzzed with the sound of her name in his head.
And then—
She walked in.
Meera.
In a sky-blue saree, rain-speckled at the hem, her blouse a plain white cotton that clung lightly to her skin from the morning humidity. No bindi. No makeup. Hair still a little damp, tied up in a loose knot.
She looked softer somehow. Fresh. Almost too real.
She greeted the class with her usual “Good morning,” flipping open her register, her bangles clinking faintly as she wrote the date.
Arjun couldn’t breathe.
Every detail—every inch of her—felt closer after what he’d seen. That pinch. That reaction. That casual intimacy had brought her body into sharper focus.
As she walked to the board, the fabric of her saree clung a little closer from the light rain, outlining her back and waist with startling clarity. And when she turned slightly to reach the top corner of the blackboard, the blouse shifted just enough to reveal the very edge of the same spot Priya had touched.
And there it was again.
That spot.
The one he couldn’t stop seeing.
The one he wanted—needed—to see again. Touch. Hold. Bury his face in.
He clenched his pen.
The rain had dampened the fabric just enough to make everything feel more alive. Her blouse clung gently across her ribs. The saree hugged her waist like it had been tied just for him.
His gaze didn’t waver. Not once.
The class was taking notes. Copying. Doodling.
But he was worshipping.
And Meera, like always, didn’t know.
---
Later That Night – Arjun's Room
The house was quiet. The rain had started again outside—soft, steady, constant. The kind of rain that made the world feel smaller. Private.
Arjun lay on his bed, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. His room was dim, lit only by the glow of his desk lamp. His collegebag still sat by the door, untouched.
His thoughts weren’t in the present.
They were back in the auditorium.
He could see it perfectly.
Meera, crouched near the chart, the pleats of her lavender saree pulled tight across her waist. The curve of her blouse stretching as she leaned forward. That one perfect sliver of skin exposed—smooth, soft, framed by the dip of her side.
Then Priya.
The sudden pinch.
The exact place Arjun had been looking.
And Meera’s laugh. Her touch to adjust the saree.
The way she didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
The memory was too vivid.
Too warm.
Too much.
His breath slowed. Then deepened.
His body tensed, caught in the pull of something he couldn’t name—but had chased in his mind over and over.
And without meaning to, without even fully realizing it was happening—
he let go.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, sudden, overwhelming rush—like something broke loose inside him.
He lay still afterward, chest rising and falling, blinking at the ceiling, skin damp, pulse thudding.
His first.
And all it had taken was that one second—
that waist,
that touch,
that laugh—
Burned into him now.
Forever.
---
To be continued…
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