Adultery Between Nabila and Ranjeet

[naj0501]

The doorbell chimed once, then again, softer, as if the caller had all the time in the world.
I recognized that ring.
Adnan looked up, clutching his balloon. “Nani’s here!”
I grinned. “Haan, Ammi aayi.”
I opened the door, and there she was—my mother, dressed in her black abaya, holding a small purse and a tin of homemade nankhatai. Her eyes softened the moment they met mine, carrying the warmth of countless shared moments.
“Assalamu Alaikum,” she said, her voice gentle.
“Wa Alaikum Salaam, Ammi,” I replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Her hand brushed my face, lingering as she studied me with that quiet, knowing look. “Kitni sundar lag rahi ho, beta,” she said, her smile bright with pride.
“Bas, Ammi, aapki dua,” I said, warmth spreading through me.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the room. “Arre, yeh toh bilkul jashn ka mahaul hai!” she exclaimed, taking in the vibrant streamers, twinkling fairy lights, and balloons. “Sab kuch kitna pyaara hai!”
Adnan darted to her, tugging at her hand. “Nani, dekho mera naya toy!”
She bent down, wrapping him in a hug. “Mera pyara Shahzada, kitna bada ho gaya hai!” she said, her voice full of love.
Then her eyes caught Ranjeet, standing quietly by the table, hands clasped loosely. He offered a warm smile and a slight nod. “Namaste, Aunty,” he said respectfully.
Ammi turned to him, her gaze lingering briefly. “Namaste, beta,” she said, her tone kind but curious. “Tum… Ranjeet, sahi?”
“Jee, Aunty,” he confirmed with a nod.
Her eyes flicked to me, a question in them. I looked away, busying myself with the tin of nankhatai. “He helped set everything up today,” I said quickly.
Ammi’s smile returned, softer now, not quite reaching her eyes. “Achha, bahut acha kiya,” she said.
She moved to the sofa, Adnan still clinging to her hand, the faint jingle of her bangles filling the quiet moment.
I settled next to Ammi on the sofa, the soft jingle of my bangles breaking the quiet as I smoothed my dupatta. Her hands rested in her lap, but her eyes were fixed on Ranjeet, who stood by the dining table, meticulously adjusting the cutlery with calm precision.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just observed.
Then her voice came, soft but deliberate, the kind she used when she was weighing every word. “Yeh ladka....”
I kept my gaze forward. “Ranjeet? Haan, woh aaj help karne aaya hai.”
“Help, ya kuch aur?” she asked, her head tilting slightly toward me.
My chest tightened. “Ammi…”
She lifted a hand, gentle but firm. “Nabeela, main bas yeh keh rahi hoon—mushkil waqt mein kisi ki achhi baatein dil ko chhoo sakti hain, par woh sahara nahi hoti.”
I turned to her, my voice steady but sharp. “Woh ek dost hai, Ammi. Sab kuch akele karna asaan nahi tha. Usne madad ki offer ki, maine haan kaha.”
Her eyes flicked over me, lingering on my outfit. “Aur yeh jo tune pehna hai,” she said, not accusingly but with a knowing edge, “lagta nahi ke sirf apne liye hai.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I looked away, my voice quieter. “Mujhe achha lagta hai tayyar hona. Har cheez kisi ke liye kyun honi chahiye?”
Ammi’s face softened, but worry lingered in her eyes. “Main bas itna chahti hoon, Nabila, ke tu soch samajh kar kadam uthaye. Tera rishta toot raha hai....... duniya ke sawalon ka saamna tujhe hi karna padega.”
I exhaled, nodding once to acknowledge her words, even if they didn’t sit right. “Woh sirf dost hai,” I said, more firmly. “Aaj usne meri madad ki. Isse zyada kuch nahi.”
Ammi didn’t push further. She gave me a long, searching look, then rested her hand on mine briefly. “Main hamesha tere liye dua karti hoon. Bas samajhdari se faisle lena.”
She rose to fix Adnan’s hair, as if the conversation hadn’t happened.
But its weight lingered.
Ranjeet hadn’t overheard, but when our eyes met across the room, something in his glance told me he sensed it.