22-04-2025, 07:11 AM
(This post was last modified: 22-04-2025, 07:18 AM by shamson9571. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Episode 22: Hints and Habits
The afternoon light filtered into the staff room in long, quiet streaks. The fan hummed overhead, cutting through the humid stillness that followed a double period before lunch.
Meera sat at the far end of the table, flipping through notebooks with red pen in hand, her saree pleats neat as always, her blouse—a crisp half-sleeved indigo—pressed close to her back. Her hair was tied in a low bun, a pencil tucked into it without thought.
She looked completely at ease.
Completely unaware.
---
Priya walked in without knocking, carrying her coffee like a badge of permission. She moved easily, like she belonged in any room she stepped into. And when her eyes landed on Meera, a familiar smirk appeared.
“You look dangerously focused,” she said, flopping into the seat next to her.
“I’m not,” Meera replied without looking up. “I’m pretending to finish corrections.”
Priya laughed, then leaned in slightly. “You know you’ve developed a habit of standing too close to the board when you teach?”
Meera raised an eyebrow. “What kind of habit?”
“The kind that makes the fabric pull just enough at your waist to give certain students something else to focus on.”
Meera gave a short laugh. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mm. Am I?”
Without warning, Priya’s hand slid over Meera’s side, landing just at the curve of her waist, light and playful, her thumb brushing over the fabric at the pleats.
“This,” she said casually, “this little part right here—you don’t even know the kind of attention it draws.”
Meera flinched—just slightly—not from discomfort, but from surprise. She swatted her hand lightly. “Stop it.”
Priya didn’t move away immediately. “I’m serious. If I were a teenage boy with no impulse control and a seat three rows behind you, I’d fail math on purpose.”
“You’re the worst,” Meera muttered, smiling despite herself.
“I’m observant,” Priya said, finally pulling her hand away, letting it brush down the length of Meera’s pallu as she sat back. “And some of them are, too. Trust me.”
Meera shook her head and went back to her notebook.
But her fingers brushed down the same place Priya had touched, adjusting her saree without realizing.
---
Just Outside – Arjun’s View
Down the hallway, Arjun stood near the water cooler, flipping through a worksheet he wasn’t actually reading. The corridor was quiet, staffroom door half open. He glanced toward it absently—and froze.
Through the small gap, he saw them.
Meera, seated. Her posture relaxed. Her blouse pulled slightly across her side.
Priya, leaning close, smiling, saying something. Then—touching her waist.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t hidden. But it was deliberate.
Arjun’s breath caught.
He couldn’t hear a word, but the sight of someone else’s hand resting on that curve—the exact place he had imagined so often—tightened something in his chest.
Meera didn’t pull away.
She laughed.
It unsettled him. Not because it was wrong. But because it was effortless. Familiar.
He turned away before they could notice him, his throat dry, heart beating louder than it should.
And for the first time, Arjun wondered if he wasn’t the only one who had been noticing her all along.
---
That Evening – Arjun’s Room
The light outside faded into blue shadows, and the walls of Arjun’s room felt closer than usual. He sat on the edge of his bed, the fan spinning too slow, his chest still tight from something he hadn’t said, hadn’t even fully thought.
But he couldn’t stop seeing it—Priya’s hand on Meera’s waist.
Not imagined.
Not dreamed.
Real.
That soft curve he had worshipped from afar, claimed in silence, had been touched in daylight by someone else. And Meera had laughed—not just allowed it, but seemed used to it. Comfortable.
It twisted something inside him.
He lay back, eyes open to the ceiling, the image looping now—Meera seated, her blouse snug at the side, Priya leaning in close, brushing her hand along that place he’d memorized in still frames.
The feeling returned.
Low in his stomach.
Unavoidable.
He tried not to give in. But the more he resisted, the more vivid it became.
Meera smiling.
Her waist pulling slightly under Priya’s hand.
Her laugh—unbothered. Natural.
His hand drifted over himself before he even realized he’d moved.
And then it happened again—a sudden, quiet wave rising and breaking through him in a flash of breath and heat. No buildup this time. No fantasy invention.
Just that scene.
That touch.
That reality he couldn’t own—but couldn’t forget either.
When it passed, he lay still, chest rising and falling, his face turned toward the wall. Not ashamed. Not satisfied.
Just stung by how much it took out of him.
Because this time, it hadn’t been her voice or her eyes or her body that undid him.
It was someone else’s hand on the part of her he thought only he saw.
---
To be continued…
The afternoon light filtered into the staff room in long, quiet streaks. The fan hummed overhead, cutting through the humid stillness that followed a double period before lunch.
Meera sat at the far end of the table, flipping through notebooks with red pen in hand, her saree pleats neat as always, her blouse—a crisp half-sleeved indigo—pressed close to her back. Her hair was tied in a low bun, a pencil tucked into it without thought.
She looked completely at ease.
Completely unaware.
---
Priya walked in without knocking, carrying her coffee like a badge of permission. She moved easily, like she belonged in any room she stepped into. And when her eyes landed on Meera, a familiar smirk appeared.
“You look dangerously focused,” she said, flopping into the seat next to her.
“I’m not,” Meera replied without looking up. “I’m pretending to finish corrections.”
Priya laughed, then leaned in slightly. “You know you’ve developed a habit of standing too close to the board when you teach?”
Meera raised an eyebrow. “What kind of habit?”
“The kind that makes the fabric pull just enough at your waist to give certain students something else to focus on.”
Meera gave a short laugh. “You’re imagining things.”
“Mm. Am I?”
Without warning, Priya’s hand slid over Meera’s side, landing just at the curve of her waist, light and playful, her thumb brushing over the fabric at the pleats.
“This,” she said casually, “this little part right here—you don’t even know the kind of attention it draws.”
Meera flinched—just slightly—not from discomfort, but from surprise. She swatted her hand lightly. “Stop it.”
Priya didn’t move away immediately. “I’m serious. If I were a teenage boy with no impulse control and a seat three rows behind you, I’d fail math on purpose.”
“You’re the worst,” Meera muttered, smiling despite herself.
“I’m observant,” Priya said, finally pulling her hand away, letting it brush down the length of Meera’s pallu as she sat back. “And some of them are, too. Trust me.”
Meera shook her head and went back to her notebook.
But her fingers brushed down the same place Priya had touched, adjusting her saree without realizing.
---
Just Outside – Arjun’s View
Down the hallway, Arjun stood near the water cooler, flipping through a worksheet he wasn’t actually reading. The corridor was quiet, staffroom door half open. He glanced toward it absently—and froze.
Through the small gap, he saw them.
Meera, seated. Her posture relaxed. Her blouse pulled slightly across her side.
Priya, leaning close, smiling, saying something. Then—touching her waist.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t hidden. But it was deliberate.
Arjun’s breath caught.
He couldn’t hear a word, but the sight of someone else’s hand resting on that curve—the exact place he had imagined so often—tightened something in his chest.
Meera didn’t pull away.
She laughed.
It unsettled him. Not because it was wrong. But because it was effortless. Familiar.
He turned away before they could notice him, his throat dry, heart beating louder than it should.
And for the first time, Arjun wondered if he wasn’t the only one who had been noticing her all along.
---
That Evening – Arjun’s Room
The light outside faded into blue shadows, and the walls of Arjun’s room felt closer than usual. He sat on the edge of his bed, the fan spinning too slow, his chest still tight from something he hadn’t said, hadn’t even fully thought.
But he couldn’t stop seeing it—Priya’s hand on Meera’s waist.
Not imagined.
Not dreamed.
Real.
That soft curve he had worshipped from afar, claimed in silence, had been touched in daylight by someone else. And Meera had laughed—not just allowed it, but seemed used to it. Comfortable.
It twisted something inside him.
He lay back, eyes open to the ceiling, the image looping now—Meera seated, her blouse snug at the side, Priya leaning in close, brushing her hand along that place he’d memorized in still frames.
The feeling returned.
Low in his stomach.
Unavoidable.
He tried not to give in. But the more he resisted, the more vivid it became.
Meera smiling.
Her waist pulling slightly under Priya’s hand.
Her laugh—unbothered. Natural.
His hand drifted over himself before he even realized he’d moved.
And then it happened again—a sudden, quiet wave rising and breaking through him in a flash of breath and heat. No buildup this time. No fantasy invention.
Just that scene.
That touch.
That reality he couldn’t own—but couldn’t forget either.
When it passed, he lay still, chest rising and falling, his face turned toward the wall. Not ashamed. Not satisfied.
Just stung by how much it took out of him.
Because this time, it hadn’t been her voice or her eyes or her body that undid him.
It was someone else’s hand on the part of her he thought only he saw.
---
To be continued…
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