Fantasy Devika, a rich high class housewife, with angel heart

[prady12191]

Morning light filled the staff room as Devika stepped inside, her spine straight as a ruler despite the weight pressing down on her shoulders. The word Anand had hurled at her yesterday—slut—still burned in her mind, a hot coal refusing to cool. She had barely slept, lying awake as scenarios played out in her imagination: Anand with another woman, laughing at her naiveté, dismissing their marriage with casual cruelty. By dawn, the hurt had crystallized into something harder, sharper. She needed proof—something concrete that would either confirm her suspicions or lay them to rest. Either way, she couldn't continue in this limbo of doubt and accusation.



Sharada looked up from her desk, her shrewd eyes immediately noting the shadows beneath Devika's eyes, the tight set of her jaw. "You look like you've been through war," she said, pulling out the chair beside her. "Sit. Have you eaten anything?"



Devika shook her head, dropping her bag onto the desk with unusual carelessness. "I couldn't stomach food. I just kept hearing his voice, that word he called me, and then her voice in the background. 'Darling.' As if she had every right."



"Men," Sharada muttered, pushing a thermos toward her. "At least drink some tea. You need something."



The familiar scent of cardamom and ginger rose as Devika unscrewed the cap, a small comfort in a world that had tilted off its axis. She took a sip, letting the warmth travel down her throat, into her chest.



"I need to know for certain," she said finally, setting the thermos down with deliberate care. "I can't just sit here in Pune while my husband may be carrying on with someone else in Dubai. I need proof."



Sharada studied her, the usual briskness of her manner softening. "What would you do with this proof? Confront him? Leave him? What's your endgame here, Devika?"



"I don't know yet." Devika's fingers traced the edge of the desk, finding a small nick in the wood, pressing against it until her fingertip whitened. "But I need to make decisions based on truth, not suspicion. I can't let things continue as they are."



"And how exactly do you plan to get this proof from halfway around the world?"



"That's why I'm talking to you." Devika leaned forward, her voice dropping despite the empty staff room. "Do you know anyone in Dubai? Someone who could... observe him, perhaps? Take photos if he's with this woman?"



Sharada's eyebrows rose. "You want to hire a private investigator? On a professor's salary?"



"Not a professional, just... someone. Anyone." The desperation in Devika's voice surprised even herself. "I have some savings. I could pay something reasonable."



Sharada sat back, tapping her pen against her notebook as she considered. "I don't know anyone in Dubai personally. My cousin's daughter is in Sharjah, but that's not close enough to be useful." She fell silent, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Wait. There might be someone..."



"Who?" Devika leaned closer, hope flickering to life.



"It's not ideal," Sharada warned, hesitation clear in her voice. "But Vishnu Patil—that student of yours—I believe his uncle or cousin works for some shipping company in Dubai. He mentioned it once when explaining why he had connections for imported goods."



"Vishnu?" The hope in Devika's chest curdled into something sour. "You can't be serious."



"I told you it wasn't ideal." Sharada's expression was sympathetic but pragmatic. "But we're limited in our options here. Unless you want to fly to Dubai yourself?"



"I can't afford that." Devika pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to think clearly. "But Vishnu? After everything I've told you about how he and Pathan behave in the practicals?"



"I know, I know." Sharada reached out to touch Devika's arm. "But think about it—who else do we know with direct connections to Dubai? The college community is mostly local or from other parts of India."



Devika lowered her hands, staring at nothing as she weighed her limited options. "He'd want something in return. Both of them would."



"Probably," Sharada agreed, her voice matter-of-fact. "But you don't have to give them anything inappropriate. Maybe some extra credit, or a good reference letter when they graduate."



"You think they'd settle for that?" Devika couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice.



Sharada sighed, leaning closer. "Look, I wouldn't suggest this if I thought you had better options. But I also..." She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "I also feel terrible about what's happening to you. Your husband—who should cherish you—is likely cheating, while you're alone in a new city, trying to build a career. It's not fair."



"Life rarely is," Devika murmured.



"True. But I still hate to see it." Sharada's voice softened further. "You're beautiful, intelligent, kind. Any man would be lucky to have you. For your husband to betray that..." She shook her head, genuine anger flashing in her eyes. "It makes my blood boil."



The simple validation—the acknowledgment that she didn't deserve this, that the fault lay with Anand rather than her—brought fresh tears to Devika's eyes. She blinked them away hastily, unwilling to break down again in the staff room.



"So what do you think I should do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.



"I think you should talk to Vishnu after class today. Explain enough of the situation to get his help, but not so much that he thinks you're completely vulnerable. Be firm about what you're asking for and what you're offering in return." Sharada squeezed her arm. "And remember—you're still his professor. You still hold the authority in that relationship."



Devika nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but seeing no better alternative. "I'll think about it."



"That's all I'm suggesting." Sharada glanced at the wall clock. "You should eat something before your first lecture. There's still time to grab a vada pav from the canteen."



"I'm not hungry." Devika gathered her lecture notes, her movements mechanical. "But thank you, Sharada. For listening. For trying to help."



"That's what friends do." Sharada's smile held a warmth that briefly pierced the cold fog surrounding Devika's heart. "Now go teach those students something useful about cell biology."



---



The lecture hall buzzed with the usual pre-class chatter as Devika entered, her notes clutched tightly against her chest like armor. Her eyes immediately found Vishnu and Pathan in their usual seats near the back, heads bent in conversation, Pathan's silver tooth flashing as he laughed at something Vishnu had said. They straightened as they noticed her entrance, their gazes following her path to the podium with the predatory focus she had come to expect.



For two hours, Devika lectured on membrane transport mechanisms, her voice steady and professional despite the turmoil beneath her composed exterior. She moved through the material methodically, answering questions, guiding discussions, all while acutely aware of Vishnu's eyes tracking her movements, of Pathan's smirk when she accidentally dropped her chalk and had to bend to retrieve it.



When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, Devika took a deep breath before calling out over the scbang of chairs and shuffle of papers:



"Mr. Patil, Mr. Khan—a moment of your time, please."



The two exchanged glances, triumphant smiles playing at the corners of their mouths as they made their way down to the podium while other students filtered out. Devika waited until the last stragglers had left before addressing them.



"I need to speak with you privately," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "Could you both come to my office in fifteen minutes?"



"Of course, Professor," Vishnu replied, his tone a study in false deference. "Is this about the practical assignments?"



"No. It's a personal matter." The words tasted strange on her tongue—the admission that she needed something from them beyond the professional relationship they were meant to maintain. "I'll explain when we're alone."



Pathan's eyebrows rose, a slow smile spreading across his face. "We're honored by your trust, Professor. Fifteen minutes."



Devika nodded curtly and gathered her materials, refusing to meet their curious gazes as she left the lecture hall. In her small office, she paced the confined space, rehearsing what she would say, how she would maintain her dignity while asking for their help. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness until a knock at her door announced their arrival.



"Come in," she called, moving behind her desk as if the wooden barrier might offer some protection.



They entered with unusual restraint, Vishnu closing the door carefully behind them. Both took seats without being invited, their postures relaxed, expectant.



"Thank you for coming," Devika began, her hands clasped tightly on the desktop. "What I'm about to discuss is highly personal and confidential. I would appreciate your discretion."



"Of course, Professor," Vishnu replied, leaning forward slightly. "You can trust us completely."



The earnestness in his voice might have been convincing if she hadn't seen the flash of anticipation in his eyes. Devika took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue.



"I'm having some... difficulties in my marriage," she said, each word carefully chosen. "My husband works in Dubai, as you may know, and I have reason to believe he may be... involved with someone there."



Pathan's expression shifted to one of exaggerated concern. "That's terrible, Professor. How could any man betray a woman like you?"



"I don't need sympathy," Devika replied sharply. "What I need is information. Confirmation of whether my suspicions are correct."



"And how can we help with that?" Vishnu asked, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he had already guessed.



"I understand you have relatives in Dubai, Mr. Patil." Devika met his gaze steadily, refusing to show weakness. "I need someone there who could observe my husband, perhaps take photographs if he's seen with this woman. I would compensate them for their time, of course."



Vishnu and Pathan exchanged looks, a silent communication passing between them that made Devika's skin crawl.



"Your husband is a fool," Vishnu said finally, his voice dropping to a lower register. "To have a wife like you and look elsewhere."



"That's not relevant to my request," Devika said coldly. "Can you help me or not?"



"Of course we can help," Pathan interjected, his tone soothing. "Vishnu's cousin works for a shipping company with offices all over Dubai. He knows the city well."



"The bastard deserves to be caught," Vishnu added, sudden vehemence in his voice. "Pardon my language, Professor, but a man who would cheat on his wife—especially a wife like you—is lower than dirt."



"Please don't speak of my husband that way," Devika said, though the defense felt hollow after everything that had happened. "Whatever is occurring, he is still my husband. I simply need facts, not judgments."



"Facts we can provide," Vishnu assured her, his anger smoothly transitioning to helpful eagerness. "I'll need his full name, a photograph, his workplace details, and usual haunts in Dubai. My cousin can start observing him within days."



"And what do you want in return?" Devika asked bluntly. "I can pay a reasonable fee, but that's all I'm offering."



Pathan raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Professor, you wound us. We're helping because it's the right thing to do. Because we respect you."



"I'm not naive, Mr. Khan," Devika replied, her voice hard. "Everyone wants something. Name your price so we understand each other clearly."



Another look passed between the two men, this one lingering longer.



"Your friendship," Vishnu said finally. "That's all we want. To be seen as more than just troublesome students. To have a... closer relationship with our favorite professor."



The implication hung in the air between them, ambiguous enough to deny if challenged, clear enough to make Devika's stomach tighten with apprehension.



"I can offer my gratitude and perhaps a letter of recommendation when you graduate," she countered. "The relationship remains professional. Are we clear?"



"Crystal clear," Pathan said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "We understand boundaries, Professor. We're simply offering friendly support in your time of need."



Devika wanted to believe them, needed to believe them, despite every instinct warning her of danger. She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a photograph of Anand she kept there—a formal portrait from his company's website that she had printed months ago.



"His name is Anand Menon," she said, sliding the photograph across the desk. "He works for Gulf Construction Partners as a structural engineer. Their offices are in the Business Bay area."



Vishnu took the photograph, studying it with unsettling intensity. "Handsome man," he observed. "Though clearly not very smart, if he's neglecting you."



Devika ignored the comment. "He usually leaves the office around six. Often mentions meeting colleagues at a place called Barasti on the marina." She hesitated, then added, "The woman's voice I heard called him 'Anu.' It's a nickname only family and close friends use."



"This is very helpful," Vishnu said, tucking the photograph into his notebook. "I'll contact my cousin today. We should have preliminary information within a week."



"Thank you," Devika said stiffly, already questioning her decision. "Remember, this is strictly confidential. I don't want anyone else at the college knowing about my personal situation."



"Your secrets are safe with us, Professor," Pathan assured her, rising from his chair. "We only want to help you find the truth. Whatever it may be."



After they left, Devika remained at her desk, a strange hollowness expanding in her chest. She had crossed a line, involving students in her personal life, creating a connection that went beyond the professional boundaries she had fought so hard to maintain. Yet what choice did she have? The need to know—to confirm or disprove Anand's betrayal—outweighed all other considerations.



She opened her desk drawer again, staring at the empty space where Anand's photograph had been. It felt symbolic somehow, this small erasure—the first tangible step toward whatever came next.



---



"Can you believe this?" Vishnu's voice was thick with excitement as he closed the door to their shared room in the college hostel. "She came to us. She actually came to us."



Pathan sprawled on his bed, arms folded behind his head, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. "The universe provides, my friend. I told you something would break in our favor."



"Her husband is cheating on her," Vishnu marveled, pacing the small room with restless energy. "Fucking idiot. Do you know what this means for us?"



"It means she's vulnerable," Pathan replied, his voice dropping to a contemplative murmur. "Questioning her marriage, her value as a woman. Seeking validation."



"Exactly." Vishnu stopped pacing, turning to face his friend with gleaming eyes. "And we're the ones she turned to for help. Not her female colleagues, not the administration. Us."



"She had little choice," Pathan pointed out. "We have the Dubai connection. But still..." His silver tooth caught the light as his smile widened. "It creates an intimacy. A dependency."



Vishnu dropped onto his own bed, pulling out the photograph of Anand. "Look at this guy. Traditional type. Probably arranged marriage." He tapped the image with his finger. "No wonder she's been so uptight. Living by his rules even when he's not here."



"While he's free to do whatever—and whoever—he wants in Dubai." Pathan laughed, the sound devoid of humor. "What a hypocrite."



"Should we actually help her?" Vishnu asked, setting the photograph aside. "Have my cousin follow him?"



"Of course," Pathan replied without hesitation. "We need to deliver something of value. Build trust." He sat up, eyes narrowing with calculation. "Besides, if he is cheating—and it sounds like he is—having evidence gives us leverage with her."



"How?"



"Think, Vishnu." Pathan tapped his temple. "If we confirm her husband's betrayal, we become her confidants. The ones who supported her when her world fell apart. The ones who saw her value when her husband didn't."



Understanding dawned on Vishnu's face. "And a woman like that—educated, sophisticated, but emotionally wounded—might look for comfort in unexpected places."



"Precisely." Pathan reached for his phone. "Call your cousin now. Tell him exactly what we need. Photos, video if possible. The more evidence of the husband's betrayal, the better."



Vishnu nodded, already scrolling through his contacts. "This might be easier than we thought. No more weeks of careful manipulation during practicals. She's practically delivering herself to us."



"Don't get ahead of yourself," Pathan cautioned, though his eyes sparkled with the same anticipation. "She's still maintaining boundaries. Still the proper professor. We need to be patient, strategic."



"But it will happen," Vishnu insisted, finding the number he sought. "Soon, she'll have nowhere to turn but to us. And then..."



"And then," Pathan finished, his voice silky with anticipation, "the real education begins."