Adultery Sakshi's Universe

[yodam69420]

The SUV hummed quietly as it rolled through the winding streets of Agra, weaving past honking auto-rickshaws, sleepy paan stalls, and the occasional monkey perched like a chhota nawab on sagging electric wires. The morning sun cast long golden stripes across the dusty windshield, and the air inside the vehicle was cool thanks to the AC, but the tension in the backseat crackled like hot mustard seeds sputtering in a steel tadka pan. Ramu sat calm and grounded on the right, legs spread in quiet authority, his fingers grazing Sakshi's like someone testing the pulse of power—silent, steady, full of promise.

Sakshi sat beside him like a scene straight out of a Tamil devotional poster—graceful, radiant, and just slightly dangerous. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, her plum silk saree pulled taut over her thighs, the pleats sharp enough to cut. The gold zari border of her pallu shimmered as it hugged her bosom. Her posture was ramrod straight, her chin slightly lifted, her kohl-lined eyes half-lidded with indifference. The air carried the faint scent of jasmine from her braid and something older—older than perfume, older than shame.
In the rearview mirror, the grandson's eyes flicked back again. Just once. Then again. His grip on the steering wheel was as stiff as the collar of a new FabIndia kurta.
She smiled. That kind of smile. The one women from the South are trained to wield like a veena—sweet in sound, sharp in effect.
"So quiet up there," Sakshi said airily, adjusting her glass bangles with a slow clink-clink. "Is Agra always this shaant? Or is our driver saab too deep in his socha-vichar?"
No answer.
She leaned into Ramu, her voice lowered like a temple bell at dusk—meant only for him, but loud enough to tease the wind. "These city rides, Ramu... they make me miss our village roads. At least wahan, the boys had the guts to look a woman in the eye. Not like these half-baked shehzadas—sab dikhawa."
Ramu chuckled, nodding with the amused calm of a pensioned patriarch. "Haan. Sheher ke ladke toh naachne wale bandaron jaise ho gaye hain. Always twitching, always peeking."
The SUV hit a pothole, and Sakshi let out a soft gasp—just enough to seem accidental. Ramu’s hand found her thigh like it was a returning pilgrim. She didn’t stop him. She barely blinked.
Her pleats shifted with the motion. His fingers settled beneath the edge of her saree, warm and firm on skin he already knew. Not vulgar. Not rushed. Just… rightful.
The grandson up front didn’t speak, but the air around him changed. His back stiffened. His hands clenched the wheel like it owed him answers.
Sakshi tilted slightly, her full profile gleaming in the mirror. She let him watch. She wanted him to. "I wonder," she said in a tone dipped in malai and chillies, "how it must feel... to keep losing things you once thought were yours."
Ramu murmured, eyes half-lidded, "Zindagi sikhati hai, Sakshi. Kabhi narmi se, kabhi chaata maar ke."
Then he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her temple. He whispered in a voice soaked in old Lucknowi tehzeeb and dirty delight: "Bechara. Usko kya pata he's driving the baarat of his own heartbreak."
Sakshi laughed under her breath. "Kya karein, Ramu... aaj kal ke jawaan toh bas reels banate hain. Shaadi ka asli maza toh buddho ke haath mein hai ab."
Ramu’s fingers squeezed gently. "Aur jo buddhe haath mein lete hain, unki pakad chhutti nahi."
She looked back toward the mirror, this time not smiling but smirking. "Now it’s all older men and younger brides. Girls want power, not puppy faces. Security, not six packs."
The car turned onto a narrower street. Potholes thudded under their tyres. The boy in front blinked rapidly, as if trying to drive through fog made of humiliation.
Sakshi leaned just a little closer to Ramu and said, loud enough to cut: "Maybe next time, he won’t treat a queen like a fling."
No reply.
But every word landed.
And Sakshi’s smile returned—calm, slow, lethal. Like a diya flame burning steady while the ghee boils beneath it.