21-06-2025, 05:20 PM
(This post was last modified: 21-06-2025, 05:30 PM by prady12191. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Ramlal clutched the paper with Devika's measurements in his gnarled hand as he descended the apartment stairs, his legs unsteady beneath him. His heart hammered against his ribs like a drum in a temple festival, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool corridor. What had just happened in that apartment seemed like a dream – the kind that visited him on lonely nights when the darkness was too thick and memories too thin to keep him company.
He paused at the landing, leaning against the wall to steady himself. The numbers scrawled in his shaky handwriting – bust: 96 centimeters, waist: 78 centimeters – weren't just measurements. They were secrets, intimate knowledge of a woman's body. Her body. Devika's body.
"God," he whispered, though he wasn't particularly religious. "What magic is this?"
The memory of her standing before the mirror, unwinding her pallu to reveal the fitted blouse beneath, played again in his mind with cinematic clarity. The swell of her breasts against the fabric, the gentle curve of her waist, the flash of skin at her navel – these images were now burned into his consciousness with more precision than any measurement he'd taken.
He'd touched her. Actually touched her. His rough, weathered hands had made contact with skin softer than any fabric he'd ever felt in his tailoring days. The contrast between his calloused fingers and her silken flesh had been almost painful in its beauty.
"She let me touch her," he murmured to himself, still disbelieving. "A woman like that, allowing an old man like me..."
In the privacy of the stairwell, Ramlal allowed himself to revisit the moment when everything had shifted – when she'd pushed back against him, when she'd asked him directly if he wanted to touch her. The memory of her voice, low and uncertain yet somehow commanding, sent a renewed flush of heat through his aged body.
"I should have been bolder," he whispered to the empty stairwell. "Should have taken what she was offering."
In his mind, an alternate version of events unfolded – one where his hands didn't just rest at her waist but moved upward, cupping the weight of her breasts through her blouse. Where his fingers didn't just circle her navel but slipped beneath the edge of her saree, finding the heat between her thighs. Where her head thrown back against his shoulder wasn't the end of their encounter but the beginning.
"I could have removed her blouse," he thought, his breathing quickening. "Could have torn it from her body and tasted her skin, could have laid her on that bed and—"
"Good afternoon, Ramlal-ji."
The voice of a passing resident shattered his fantasy, bringing him abruptly back to reality – a sixty-five-year-old security guard standing awkwardly in a stairwell, clutching a paper of measurements and sporting an embarrassing bulge in his trousers. He nodded quickly at the woman, a middle-aged resident whose name he couldn't recall, and continued his descent, shame washing over him.
"What am I thinking?" he scolded himself as he reached the ground floor. "She is a professor, an educated woman. Not some cheap film heroine for an old man's fantasies."
Yet as he returned to his post by the security booth, slipping the paper of measurements into his shirt pocket, he couldn't help but feel a strange pride. Devika had chosen him – not some professional tailor, not one of those young men who always looked at her with hungry eyes, but him – to take her measurements, to touch her body, to see her in a state of undress no other man in Pune had seen.
"She trusts me," he realized, and this thought brought a different warmth to his chest. "She knows I won't force her, won't take more than she offers."
And perhaps that was better than any fantasy – to be the man she trusted when her world was falling apart, when her husband had betrayed her. To be worthy of that trust, even if it meant containing his desire within the boundaries she set.
"I will wait," he decided, settling into his chair beside the security booth. "If she wants more, she will tell me. If not..." He patted the pocket containing her measurements. "I have this moment. More than I ever expected to have."
The next morning, Ramlal arrived at his post earlier than usual, his uniform freshly pressed, his thin white hair combed neatly. He'd spoken to his tailor friend the previous evening, passing along Devika's measurements with a fabricated story about a niece who needed blouses. The tailor had raised an eyebrow at the sophisticated design requests but asked no questions beyond the expected delivery date.
Now, Ramlal found himself watching the stairwell entrance with unusual intensity, his heart leaping at every sound that might herald Devika's appearance. Each time the door opened to reveal another resident, disappointment settled in his chest, only to be replaced by renewed anticipation moments later.
When she finally emerged shortly after nine, the sight of her stole his breath. She wore a deep purple saree, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that reminded him acutely of how she had felt pressed against him. Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, her eyes downcast as she moved across the courtyard toward the gate.
"Good morning, Devika," he called, unable to help himself, the intimacy of using her name without the respectful suffix still new and thrilling on his tongue.
She startled visibly at his voice, her steps faltering. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, and Ramlal saw what he hadn't expected – not warmth or shared secret understanding, but discomfort. Embarrassment, even.
"Morning," she replied, the word clipped and formal, her gaze already sliding away from his as she quickened her pace.
Ramlal felt the chill of her response like a physical blow. The warmth that had sustained him since yesterday's encounter drained away, leaving a hollow ache in its place. She hadn't stopped for their usual brief exchange, hadn't smiled or acknowledged what had passed between them. Instead, she hurried past as if he were a stranger – or worse, something unpleasant she wished to avoid.
"The blouses will be ready next week," he called after her, a desperate attempt to establish some connection.
She gave a small nod without looking back, her steps never slowing until she passed through the gate and disappeared from view.
Ramlal sank back into his chair, the weight of his age suddenly heavy on his shoulders. "Fool," he muttered to himself. "Old fool. Did you think yesterday changed anything? That a woman like that would want anything real from you?"
Yet even as bitterness rose in his throat, he remembered the genuine vulnerability in her eyes as she'd asked him to touch her, the sincerity in her voice when she'd thanked him. That hadn't been pretense. Whatever regrets had followed, whatever embarrassment now colored her response to him, the connection they'd shared had been real, if fleeting.
"Give her time," he told himself, settling in for the long day ahead. "She is confused, ashamed perhaps. But she will remember that I respected her boundaries. That I stopped when she asked."
And maybe, just maybe, she would return to him when she was ready – not because she needed measurements taken or packages delivered, but because she had seen something in him worth returning to.
"She's completely broken," Vishnu said, leaning back against the hostel room wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. "You saw her in class yesterday—barely keeping it together, avoiding eye contact with everyone." He took a deep drag, the smoke escaping his lips in a thin stream as he smiled. "It's perfect timing. She's vulnerable, questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. If we don't act now, we might lose our chance."
Pathan reclined on his bed, arms folded behind his head, his silver tooth catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the dusty window. "You're right. Once the initial shock passes, she'll rebuild those walls—probably higher than before. Women like her don't stay broken for long."
"Exactly." Vishnu tapped ash onto the floor, ignoring the ashtray on the bedside table. "The question is how to approach her. We can't be too direct. She still thinks of us as her students."
"We need to change how she sees us," Pathan mused, sitting up and reaching for the water bottle beside his bed. "Make her think of us as men, not boys."
Vishnu nodded, a sly smile spreading across his face. "We need to trigger something in her. Something she's probably been suppressing during her entire marriage."
"Lust," Pathan said simply, the word hanging in the air between them like Vishnu's cigarette smoke.
"Pure, simple lust." Vishnu stood, pacing the small room with restless energy. "Think about it—her husband's been fucking around in Dubai while she's been alone here for months. When's the last time someone touched her? Really touched her?"
Pathan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So what's your plan? We can't exactly seduce her directly. She'd report us to the principal."
"No, no." Vishnu waved his cigarette dismissively. "We need to be subtle. Plant the seed in her mind, let it grow on its own." He stopped pacing suddenly, turning to face Pathan with eyes bright with inspiration. "Adult films."
"What?" Pathan's expression shifted from confusion to skepticism. "You want to give our professor porn? Are you insane?"
"Not directly from us," Vishnu clarified, excitement building in his voice. "Through Sharada. Her colleague, her friend. Someone she trusts."
Pathan sat up straighter, interest piqued despite his reservations. "And why would Sharada agree to this?"
"Because she has no choice." Vishnu's smile turned cold. "Remember what we discovered about her little arrangement with the librarian? The married librarian?"
"That's dangerous territory," Pathan warned, lowering his voice though they were alone in the room. "If we push too hard, she might decide she has nothing to lose by exposing us instead."
"She won't." Vishnu crushed his cigarette beneath his heel. "She has too much to lose—her job, her reputation, her marriage. All we're asking is for her to pass along some DVDs. Easy enough."
Pathan considered this, rolling his water bottle between his palms. "It's risky. Devika might be disgusted, might see through the whole thing."
"Or," Vishnu countered, "she might be curious. Might be desperate enough for some release that she actually watches them. And once those images are in her head..." He made an explosion gesture with his hands. "We just need to be there when the dam breaks."
After a moment's hesitation, Pathan nodded. "Fine. Let's try it. But if it backfires—"
"It won't." Vishnu reached for his phone. "I'll call Sharada now."
"Now?" Pathan raised an eyebrow. "It's nearly nine."
"Perfect time. Late enough that she'll be home alone, early enough that she won't be asleep." Vishnu scrolled through his contacts, finding Sharada's number. "Watch and learn."
The phone rang several times before Sharada answered, her voice tight with irritation. "Vishnu. It's rather late for a student to be calling a professor."
"Apologies, ma'am." Vishnu's voice transformed, taking on a respectful tone that made Pathan smirk. "I wouldn't disturb you if it wasn't important."
"What is it?" Sharada's impatience crackled through the speaker.
"It's about Professor Nair. Pathan and I are concerned about her."
A pause. "Concerned how?"
"She seems... unwell since discovering her husband's betrayal. Distracted in class, sometimes on the verge of tears."
"That's hardly surprising given the circumstances," Sharada replied, her voice softening slightly. "But it's kind of you to notice. She'll be fine with time."
"Of course, ma'am." Vishnu caught Pathan's eye, signaling him to listen closely. "We just thought, since you're close to her, you might help her through this difficult period."
"I am helping her," Sharada said defensively. "As her friend and colleague. What exactly are you suggesting?"
"Well..." Vishnu hesitated, manufacturing uncertainty in his voice. "Pathan and I were discussing ways to help distract her from her troubles. Something to... lift her spirits."
"And what might that be?" Suspicion had returned to Sharada's tone.
"This might sound inappropriate," Vishnu continued, lowering his voice as if embarrassed, "but we thought perhaps some adult entertainment might help her... release some tension."
The silence that followed was so complete that for a moment Vishnu thought Sharada had hung up. Then came her voice, tight with shock and anger. "What kind of suggestion is that? How dare you even think of such a thing!"
"Please, ma'am, hear me out," Vishnu said quickly. "It's not as crude as it sounds. Many psychologists recommend self-pleasure as a way of coping with stress and loneliness. We just thought—"
"You thought what? That I would give pornography to my colleague? Have you lost your minds?" Sharada's voice had risen to a near-shout.
"We only want to help," Vishnu insisted, winking at Pathan, who was now watching with rapt attention. "Professor Nair is suffering, and we thought this might be a way for her to reconnect with her own needs, her own body."
"This is completely inappropriate," Sharada snapped. "I'm ending this call."
"Before you do," Vishnu leaned in, his voice low and calculating, "consider how Professor Nair would react if she found out about your little rendezvous with the librarian. You know, the one you couldn’t resist despite your supposed professionalism."
"Are you blackmailing me?" The question emerged strangled, disbelieving.
"I'm simply asking for your help in supporting Professor Nair during a difficult time," Vishnu replied smoothly. "The decision is yours, of course."
Pathan leaned closer to the phone, adding his voice to the conversation. "We have the DVDs already, ma'am. Nothing too extreme—just enough to remind her she's a woman with needs. You wouldn't even have to say they're from us."
"This is absurd," Sharada muttered, but the fight had drained from her voice. "She would never accept such things from me."
"You might be surprised," Vishnu countered. "From what we understand, you've been encouraging her to be more modern, more liberated since she arrived in Pune. This is just another step in that direction."
"One time," Sharada said finally, defeat evident in her tone. "I'll try once. If she refuses or is offended, that's the end of it. I won't mention it again."
"That's all we ask," Vishnu agreed, triumph gleaming in his eyes. "I'll put the DVDs in your bag tomorrow morning before classes begin. Just find the right moment to offer them to her."
"And after this, we're done," Sharada insisted. "Whatever you think you know about me and the librarian—"
"Will remain between us," Vishnu assured her. "As long as you help us help Professor Nair."
After Sharada reluctantly agreed and ended the call, Vishnu turned to Pathan with a victorious grin. "See? Easy."
"She hates us," Pathan observed, though he was smiling too. "And if this goes wrong—"
"It won't," Vishnu interrupted, moving to his desk drawer and pulling out several unmarked DVDs in plain cases. "I've selected these carefully. Nothing too hardcore to start—just enough to awaken something in our proper professor."
"And if she actually watches them?" Pathan asked.
Vishnu's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth that contrasted with the calculated cruelty in his eyes. "Then we'll be there to help her process her... reactions. To offer understanding, support, and eventually, a practical demonstration."
"You're a devil," Pathan said, but his tone held admiration rather than censure.
"No," Vishnu corrected, sliding the DVDs into a plain envelope. "I'm just a man who sees what he wants and knows how to get it. And what I want is our beautiful professor, coming apart in my hands, begging for more."
Pathan raised an imaginary glass in a toast. "To Professor Nair's sexual awakening."
"May we be there to witness every moment," Vishnu replied, sealing the envelope with a decisive lick.
Sharada clutched her leather satchel close to her side as she walked through the college gates, her usual confident stride replaced by something more cautious. She had just spotted Vishnu leaning against a pillar near the entrance, his eyes fixed on her with predatory focus. Before she could change course, he pushed away from his perch and intercepted her, a plain brown envelope extended in his hand.
"Good morning, Professor," he greeted, his voice pitched low despite the early hour and relative absence of other faculty or students. "As promised."
Sharada glanced around nervously before snatching the envelope from his hand. "This is completely inappropriate," she hissed, shoving it deep into her bag without looking at its contents.
"Yet necessary," Vishnu replied with a smirk that made her skin crawl. "Remember our agreement. One honest attempt."
"I haven't forgotten," she snapped, brushing past him with renewed purpose. "Now leave me alone."
His soft laughter followed her across the courtyard, settling between her shoulder blades like an unwelcome touch. The envelope seemed to burn through her bag, its presence a tangible reminder of her compromise, her shame. How had she allowed herself to become a pawn in these boys' twisted game? What would Devika think if she knew the truth?
By mid-morning, the staff room had emptied save for Sharada and Devika, the latter staring absently out the window, a cup of tea cooling untouched before her. Sharada observed her friend's distant expression, the slight furrow between her brows that spoke of inner turmoil. The envelope weighed heavily in her bag, its presence a constant prod at her conscience.
"You seem far away today," Sharada ventured, breaking the silence.
Devika started slightly, turning from the window with a forced smile. "Just thinking."
"About your husband?" Sharada asked gently, moving to sit beside her.
"No," Devika replied, surprising both of them with her directness. "Not about him." She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "Sharada, can I tell you something... personal?"
"Of course." Sharada leaned closer, genuine concern temporarily overriding her guilt. "That's what friends are for."
Devika drew a deep breath, her eyes fixed on her tea. "I've been having these... feelings. Sensations, really. A kind of... ache."
"An ache?" Sharada repeated, confusion evident in her tone.
"For touch," Devika clarified, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "For intimacy. I find myself... noticing men in ways I never did before. Thinking about them. About their hands, their bodies." A flush crept up her neck as she spoke, color blooming across her cheeks. "It's as if discovering Anand's betrayal has unlocked something in me. Something I've kept contained for years."
Sharada blinked, taken aback by the confession. This was exactly what Vishnu had predicted—Devika's awakening sexual awareness in the aftermath of her husband's betrayal—but hearing it from Devika's own lips made it suddenly real, human, complex in a way that Vishnu's calculated predictions had not been.
"That's perfectly natural," Sharada said carefully. "You're a young woman whose husband has been absent for months, who's just discovered he's been unfaithful. Of course you're having these feelings."
"But I don't know what to do with them," Devika confessed, finally meeting Sharada's eyes. "Yesterday, I..." She stopped, seeming to reconsider her words. "I found myself in a situation where I could have... acted on these feelings. With someone I barely know. I almost did something I might have regretted."
Sharada nodded, understanding dawning. "Did this involve a student?" she asked cautiously, thinking of Vishnu and Pathan.
"No!" Devika looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. "Nothing like that. Just... someone unexpected. Someone I never would have considered before all this happened." She sighed, pushing her teacup away. "I feel lost, Sharada. I don't recognize myself anymore."
Sharada felt a pang of genuine empathy, followed immediately by deepened guilt about the envelope in her bag. Yet wasn't this exactly the opening Vishnu had anticipated? The moment to introduce his "solution" to Devika's awakening desires?
"There are ways," Sharada began hesitantly, "to address these feelings without involving another person. Ways to... satisfy yourself."
Devika's brow furrowed. "Satisfy myself? I don't understand."
Sharada took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue despite her discomfort. "I mean, there are ways to explore these feelings privately. Some women find that watching certain types of films can help them... process their desires in a safe way."
"Films?" Devika repeated, then understanding dawned in her eyes. "You mean... adult films? Pornography?" Her voice rose slightly on the last word, a mixture of shock and embarrassment coloring her tone.
"It's more common than you might think," Sharada pressed on, hating herself for every word. "Many women watch them, especially when they're alone or... unsatisfied in their relationships. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"That's—" Devika shook her head sharply. "Sharada, I could never. Those films are degrading to women, exploitative. How could you suggest such a thing?"
"Not all of them are like that," Sharada argued, the words feeling false in her mouth though she knew they contained some truth. "There are films made with women's pleasure in mind, films that can be... educational, even liberating."
Devika stared at her, disbelief written across her features. "Do you watch such things?"
Caught off guard by the direct question, Sharada hesitated too long before answering. "Sometimes," she admitted finally. "When my husband is away. Many women do, though few admit it. It's just another way of taking care of your needs."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Devika muttered, rising from her chair and gathering her belongings. "There must be other ways to address these feelings."
"There are," Sharada acknowledged, seeing an opportunity to appear balanced in her advice. "You could consider a new relationship, if you're truly done with Anand. Someone who—"
"No," Devika cut her off firmly. "I'm not ready for that. After what Anand did, I can't imagine trusting another man that way." She shook her head, moving toward the door. "I should go. My next class starts soon."
"Devika," Sharada called after her, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to help."
Devika paused at the doorway, her expression softening slightly. "I know. And I appreciate that you listened without judgment. But this—" she gestured vaguely, encompassing their conversation, "—is too much for me right now. I need to think."
With that, she was gone, leaving Sharada alone with her guilt and the damning envelope still nestled in her bag. She'd tried, as promised. Surely Vishnu couldn't expect more from her than this.
But when evening fell and classes ended, Sharada was surprised to find Devika waiting beside her scooter in the nearly empty parking lot, her expression a mixture of determination and embarrassment.
"You were right," Devika said without preamble, her voice low despite the absence of others nearby. "I do need something to... distract me. To help me understand these feelings."
Sharada stared at her, momentarily speechless. "You mean...?"
"The films you mentioned," Devika clarified, her gaze fixed somewhere over Sharada's shoulder. "I've been thinking about what you said all day. And maybe you're right. Maybe this is something I need to explore on my own before I..." She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
"Are you sure?" Sharada asked, guilt and surprise warring within her. "This morning you seemed so against the idea."
"I've never been less sure of anything in my life," Devika admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "But I've spent years being certain, being proper, being exactly who everyone expected me to be. And where has that gotten me? Alone in Pune while my husband entertains other women in Dubai."
Sharada nodded slowly, understanding despite her misgivings. "I actually have some films with me," she said, the admission feeling like a betrayal even as she reached for her bag. "Nothing too... extreme. Just things that might help you explore these feelings safely."
Devika's eyes widened slightly. "You carry such things with you?"
"No! I mean, not usually," Sharada fumbled for an explanation. "I just thought, after our conversation yesterday about your husband, that you might... that this might help."
It was a flimsy explanation, but Devika seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice its inadequacy. She extended her hand, palm up, a gesture both tentative and resolute. "I'll try," she said simply. "No promises that I'll actually watch them, but I'll try."
Sharada withdrew the envelope from her bag and passed it to Devika, who quickly tucked it into her own satchel without examining its contents. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. "For understanding. For not judging me."
"That's what friends are for," Sharada replied, the phrase now tasting bitter on her tongue. As Devika walked away toward the college gates, Sharada couldn't help but wonder what she had just set in motion—and whether her friendship with Devika would survive the inevitable fallout.
Devika clutched her bag close as she walked home, the envelope inside seeming to pulse with a strange energy. Part of her couldn't believe what she had just done—asked for pornography from a colleague, accepted it with the intention of watching it alone in her apartment. What had happened to the proper Kerala woman who had arrived in Pune just months ago? Who was this new Devika emerging from the ashes of her marriage?
Yet beneath the shock and embarrassment lay something else—a current of anticipation, of curiosity about what the films might show her, what they might awaken. The same current she had felt in her bedroom mirror, with Ramlal's hands on her skin and his breath on her neck. The current that whispered there might be more to life, to pleasure, to her own body than what her carefully structured existence had allowed her to experience.
As she entered her apartment building, she kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead, avoiding Ramlal's station near the security booth. Whatever journey she was embarking on, whatever exploration these films might lead her toward, she would face it alone—at least for now.
He paused at the landing, leaning against the wall to steady himself. The numbers scrawled in his shaky handwriting – bust: 96 centimeters, waist: 78 centimeters – weren't just measurements. They were secrets, intimate knowledge of a woman's body. Her body. Devika's body.
"God," he whispered, though he wasn't particularly religious. "What magic is this?"
The memory of her standing before the mirror, unwinding her pallu to reveal the fitted blouse beneath, played again in his mind with cinematic clarity. The swell of her breasts against the fabric, the gentle curve of her waist, the flash of skin at her navel – these images were now burned into his consciousness with more precision than any measurement he'd taken.
He'd touched her. Actually touched her. His rough, weathered hands had made contact with skin softer than any fabric he'd ever felt in his tailoring days. The contrast between his calloused fingers and her silken flesh had been almost painful in its beauty.
"She let me touch her," he murmured to himself, still disbelieving. "A woman like that, allowing an old man like me..."
In the privacy of the stairwell, Ramlal allowed himself to revisit the moment when everything had shifted – when she'd pushed back against him, when she'd asked him directly if he wanted to touch her. The memory of her voice, low and uncertain yet somehow commanding, sent a renewed flush of heat through his aged body.
"I should have been bolder," he whispered to the empty stairwell. "Should have taken what she was offering."
In his mind, an alternate version of events unfolded – one where his hands didn't just rest at her waist but moved upward, cupping the weight of her breasts through her blouse. Where his fingers didn't just circle her navel but slipped beneath the edge of her saree, finding the heat between her thighs. Where her head thrown back against his shoulder wasn't the end of their encounter but the beginning.
"I could have removed her blouse," he thought, his breathing quickening. "Could have torn it from her body and tasted her skin, could have laid her on that bed and—"
"Good afternoon, Ramlal-ji."
The voice of a passing resident shattered his fantasy, bringing him abruptly back to reality – a sixty-five-year-old security guard standing awkwardly in a stairwell, clutching a paper of measurements and sporting an embarrassing bulge in his trousers. He nodded quickly at the woman, a middle-aged resident whose name he couldn't recall, and continued his descent, shame washing over him.
"What am I thinking?" he scolded himself as he reached the ground floor. "She is a professor, an educated woman. Not some cheap film heroine for an old man's fantasies."
Yet as he returned to his post by the security booth, slipping the paper of measurements into his shirt pocket, he couldn't help but feel a strange pride. Devika had chosen him – not some professional tailor, not one of those young men who always looked at her with hungry eyes, but him – to take her measurements, to touch her body, to see her in a state of undress no other man in Pune had seen.
"She trusts me," he realized, and this thought brought a different warmth to his chest. "She knows I won't force her, won't take more than she offers."
And perhaps that was better than any fantasy – to be the man she trusted when her world was falling apart, when her husband had betrayed her. To be worthy of that trust, even if it meant containing his desire within the boundaries she set.
"I will wait," he decided, settling into his chair beside the security booth. "If she wants more, she will tell me. If not..." He patted the pocket containing her measurements. "I have this moment. More than I ever expected to have."
The next morning, Ramlal arrived at his post earlier than usual, his uniform freshly pressed, his thin white hair combed neatly. He'd spoken to his tailor friend the previous evening, passing along Devika's measurements with a fabricated story about a niece who needed blouses. The tailor had raised an eyebrow at the sophisticated design requests but asked no questions beyond the expected delivery date.
Now, Ramlal found himself watching the stairwell entrance with unusual intensity, his heart leaping at every sound that might herald Devika's appearance. Each time the door opened to reveal another resident, disappointment settled in his chest, only to be replaced by renewed anticipation moments later.
When she finally emerged shortly after nine, the sight of her stole his breath. She wore a deep purple saree, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that reminded him acutely of how she had felt pressed against him. Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, her eyes downcast as she moved across the courtyard toward the gate.
"Good morning, Devika," he called, unable to help himself, the intimacy of using her name without the respectful suffix still new and thrilling on his tongue.
She startled visibly at his voice, her steps faltering. For a brief moment, her eyes met his, and Ramlal saw what he hadn't expected – not warmth or shared secret understanding, but discomfort. Embarrassment, even.
"Morning," she replied, the word clipped and formal, her gaze already sliding away from his as she quickened her pace.
Ramlal felt the chill of her response like a physical blow. The warmth that had sustained him since yesterday's encounter drained away, leaving a hollow ache in its place. She hadn't stopped for their usual brief exchange, hadn't smiled or acknowledged what had passed between them. Instead, she hurried past as if he were a stranger – or worse, something unpleasant she wished to avoid.
"The blouses will be ready next week," he called after her, a desperate attempt to establish some connection.
She gave a small nod without looking back, her steps never slowing until she passed through the gate and disappeared from view.
Ramlal sank back into his chair, the weight of his age suddenly heavy on his shoulders. "Fool," he muttered to himself. "Old fool. Did you think yesterday changed anything? That a woman like that would want anything real from you?"
Yet even as bitterness rose in his throat, he remembered the genuine vulnerability in her eyes as she'd asked him to touch her, the sincerity in her voice when she'd thanked him. That hadn't been pretense. Whatever regrets had followed, whatever embarrassment now colored her response to him, the connection they'd shared had been real, if fleeting.
"Give her time," he told himself, settling in for the long day ahead. "She is confused, ashamed perhaps. But she will remember that I respected her boundaries. That I stopped when she asked."
And maybe, just maybe, she would return to him when she was ready – not because she needed measurements taken or packages delivered, but because she had seen something in him worth returning to.
"She's completely broken," Vishnu said, leaning back against the hostel room wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. "You saw her in class yesterday—barely keeping it together, avoiding eye contact with everyone." He took a deep drag, the smoke escaping his lips in a thin stream as he smiled. "It's perfect timing. She's vulnerable, questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. If we don't act now, we might lose our chance."
Pathan reclined on his bed, arms folded behind his head, his silver tooth catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the dusty window. "You're right. Once the initial shock passes, she'll rebuild those walls—probably higher than before. Women like her don't stay broken for long."
"Exactly." Vishnu tapped ash onto the floor, ignoring the ashtray on the bedside table. "The question is how to approach her. We can't be too direct. She still thinks of us as her students."
"We need to change how she sees us," Pathan mused, sitting up and reaching for the water bottle beside his bed. "Make her think of us as men, not boys."
Vishnu nodded, a sly smile spreading across his face. "We need to trigger something in her. Something she's probably been suppressing during her entire marriage."
"Lust," Pathan said simply, the word hanging in the air between them like Vishnu's cigarette smoke.
"Pure, simple lust." Vishnu stood, pacing the small room with restless energy. "Think about it—her husband's been fucking around in Dubai while she's been alone here for months. When's the last time someone touched her? Really touched her?"
Pathan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So what's your plan? We can't exactly seduce her directly. She'd report us to the principal."
"No, no." Vishnu waved his cigarette dismissively. "We need to be subtle. Plant the seed in her mind, let it grow on its own." He stopped pacing suddenly, turning to face Pathan with eyes bright with inspiration. "Adult films."
"What?" Pathan's expression shifted from confusion to skepticism. "You want to give our professor porn? Are you insane?"
"Not directly from us," Vishnu clarified, excitement building in his voice. "Through Sharada. Her colleague, her friend. Someone she trusts."
Pathan sat up straighter, interest piqued despite his reservations. "And why would Sharada agree to this?"
"Because she has no choice." Vishnu's smile turned cold. "Remember what we discovered about her little arrangement with the librarian? The married librarian?"
"That's dangerous territory," Pathan warned, lowering his voice though they were alone in the room. "If we push too hard, she might decide she has nothing to lose by exposing us instead."
"She won't." Vishnu crushed his cigarette beneath his heel. "She has too much to lose—her job, her reputation, her marriage. All we're asking is for her to pass along some DVDs. Easy enough."
Pathan considered this, rolling his water bottle between his palms. "It's risky. Devika might be disgusted, might see through the whole thing."
"Or," Vishnu countered, "she might be curious. Might be desperate enough for some release that she actually watches them. And once those images are in her head..." He made an explosion gesture with his hands. "We just need to be there when the dam breaks."
After a moment's hesitation, Pathan nodded. "Fine. Let's try it. But if it backfires—"
"It won't." Vishnu reached for his phone. "I'll call Sharada now."
"Now?" Pathan raised an eyebrow. "It's nearly nine."
"Perfect time. Late enough that she'll be home alone, early enough that she won't be asleep." Vishnu scrolled through his contacts, finding Sharada's number. "Watch and learn."
The phone rang several times before Sharada answered, her voice tight with irritation. "Vishnu. It's rather late for a student to be calling a professor."
"Apologies, ma'am." Vishnu's voice transformed, taking on a respectful tone that made Pathan smirk. "I wouldn't disturb you if it wasn't important."
"What is it?" Sharada's impatience crackled through the speaker.
"It's about Professor Nair. Pathan and I are concerned about her."
A pause. "Concerned how?"
"She seems... unwell since discovering her husband's betrayal. Distracted in class, sometimes on the verge of tears."
"That's hardly surprising given the circumstances," Sharada replied, her voice softening slightly. "But it's kind of you to notice. She'll be fine with time."
"Of course, ma'am." Vishnu caught Pathan's eye, signaling him to listen closely. "We just thought, since you're close to her, you might help her through this difficult period."
"I am helping her," Sharada said defensively. "As her friend and colleague. What exactly are you suggesting?"
"Well..." Vishnu hesitated, manufacturing uncertainty in his voice. "Pathan and I were discussing ways to help distract her from her troubles. Something to... lift her spirits."
"And what might that be?" Suspicion had returned to Sharada's tone.
"This might sound inappropriate," Vishnu continued, lowering his voice as if embarrassed, "but we thought perhaps some adult entertainment might help her... release some tension."
The silence that followed was so complete that for a moment Vishnu thought Sharada had hung up. Then came her voice, tight with shock and anger. "What kind of suggestion is that? How dare you even think of such a thing!"
"Please, ma'am, hear me out," Vishnu said quickly. "It's not as crude as it sounds. Many psychologists recommend self-pleasure as a way of coping with stress and loneliness. We just thought—"
"You thought what? That I would give pornography to my colleague? Have you lost your minds?" Sharada's voice had risen to a near-shout.
"We only want to help," Vishnu insisted, winking at Pathan, who was now watching with rapt attention. "Professor Nair is suffering, and we thought this might be a way for her to reconnect with her own needs, her own body."
"This is completely inappropriate," Sharada snapped. "I'm ending this call."
"Before you do," Vishnu leaned in, his voice low and calculating, "consider how Professor Nair would react if she found out about your little rendezvous with the librarian. You know, the one you couldn’t resist despite your supposed professionalism."
"Are you blackmailing me?" The question emerged strangled, disbelieving.
"I'm simply asking for your help in supporting Professor Nair during a difficult time," Vishnu replied smoothly. "The decision is yours, of course."
Pathan leaned closer to the phone, adding his voice to the conversation. "We have the DVDs already, ma'am. Nothing too extreme—just enough to remind her she's a woman with needs. You wouldn't even have to say they're from us."
"This is absurd," Sharada muttered, but the fight had drained from her voice. "She would never accept such things from me."
"You might be surprised," Vishnu countered. "From what we understand, you've been encouraging her to be more modern, more liberated since she arrived in Pune. This is just another step in that direction."
"One time," Sharada said finally, defeat evident in her tone. "I'll try once. If she refuses or is offended, that's the end of it. I won't mention it again."
"That's all we ask," Vishnu agreed, triumph gleaming in his eyes. "I'll put the DVDs in your bag tomorrow morning before classes begin. Just find the right moment to offer them to her."
"And after this, we're done," Sharada insisted. "Whatever you think you know about me and the librarian—"
"Will remain between us," Vishnu assured her. "As long as you help us help Professor Nair."
After Sharada reluctantly agreed and ended the call, Vishnu turned to Pathan with a victorious grin. "See? Easy."
"She hates us," Pathan observed, though he was smiling too. "And if this goes wrong—"
"It won't," Vishnu interrupted, moving to his desk drawer and pulling out several unmarked DVDs in plain cases. "I've selected these carefully. Nothing too hardcore to start—just enough to awaken something in our proper professor."
"And if she actually watches them?" Pathan asked.
Vishnu's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth that contrasted with the calculated cruelty in his eyes. "Then we'll be there to help her process her... reactions. To offer understanding, support, and eventually, a practical demonstration."
"You're a devil," Pathan said, but his tone held admiration rather than censure.
"No," Vishnu corrected, sliding the DVDs into a plain envelope. "I'm just a man who sees what he wants and knows how to get it. And what I want is our beautiful professor, coming apart in my hands, begging for more."
Pathan raised an imaginary glass in a toast. "To Professor Nair's sexual awakening."
"May we be there to witness every moment," Vishnu replied, sealing the envelope with a decisive lick.
Sharada clutched her leather satchel close to her side as she walked through the college gates, her usual confident stride replaced by something more cautious. She had just spotted Vishnu leaning against a pillar near the entrance, his eyes fixed on her with predatory focus. Before she could change course, he pushed away from his perch and intercepted her, a plain brown envelope extended in his hand.
"Good morning, Professor," he greeted, his voice pitched low despite the early hour and relative absence of other faculty or students. "As promised."
Sharada glanced around nervously before snatching the envelope from his hand. "This is completely inappropriate," she hissed, shoving it deep into her bag without looking at its contents.
"Yet necessary," Vishnu replied with a smirk that made her skin crawl. "Remember our agreement. One honest attempt."
"I haven't forgotten," she snapped, brushing past him with renewed purpose. "Now leave me alone."
His soft laughter followed her across the courtyard, settling between her shoulder blades like an unwelcome touch. The envelope seemed to burn through her bag, its presence a tangible reminder of her compromise, her shame. How had she allowed herself to become a pawn in these boys' twisted game? What would Devika think if she knew the truth?
By mid-morning, the staff room had emptied save for Sharada and Devika, the latter staring absently out the window, a cup of tea cooling untouched before her. Sharada observed her friend's distant expression, the slight furrow between her brows that spoke of inner turmoil. The envelope weighed heavily in her bag, its presence a constant prod at her conscience.
"You seem far away today," Sharada ventured, breaking the silence.
Devika started slightly, turning from the window with a forced smile. "Just thinking."
"About your husband?" Sharada asked gently, moving to sit beside her.
"No," Devika replied, surprising both of them with her directness. "Not about him." She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "Sharada, can I tell you something... personal?"
"Of course." Sharada leaned closer, genuine concern temporarily overriding her guilt. "That's what friends are for."
Devika drew a deep breath, her eyes fixed on her tea. "I've been having these... feelings. Sensations, really. A kind of... ache."
"An ache?" Sharada repeated, confusion evident in her tone.
"For touch," Devika clarified, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "For intimacy. I find myself... noticing men in ways I never did before. Thinking about them. About their hands, their bodies." A flush crept up her neck as she spoke, color blooming across her cheeks. "It's as if discovering Anand's betrayal has unlocked something in me. Something I've kept contained for years."
Sharada blinked, taken aback by the confession. This was exactly what Vishnu had predicted—Devika's awakening sexual awareness in the aftermath of her husband's betrayal—but hearing it from Devika's own lips made it suddenly real, human, complex in a way that Vishnu's calculated predictions had not been.
"That's perfectly natural," Sharada said carefully. "You're a young woman whose husband has been absent for months, who's just discovered he's been unfaithful. Of course you're having these feelings."
"But I don't know what to do with them," Devika confessed, finally meeting Sharada's eyes. "Yesterday, I..." She stopped, seeming to reconsider her words. "I found myself in a situation where I could have... acted on these feelings. With someone I barely know. I almost did something I might have regretted."
Sharada nodded, understanding dawning. "Did this involve a student?" she asked cautiously, thinking of Vishnu and Pathan.
"No!" Devika looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion. "Nothing like that. Just... someone unexpected. Someone I never would have considered before all this happened." She sighed, pushing her teacup away. "I feel lost, Sharada. I don't recognize myself anymore."
Sharada felt a pang of genuine empathy, followed immediately by deepened guilt about the envelope in her bag. Yet wasn't this exactly the opening Vishnu had anticipated? The moment to introduce his "solution" to Devika's awakening desires?
"There are ways," Sharada began hesitantly, "to address these feelings without involving another person. Ways to... satisfy yourself."
Devika's brow furrowed. "Satisfy myself? I don't understand."
Sharada took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue despite her discomfort. "I mean, there are ways to explore these feelings privately. Some women find that watching certain types of films can help them... process their desires in a safe way."
"Films?" Devika repeated, then understanding dawned in her eyes. "You mean... adult films? Pornography?" Her voice rose slightly on the last word, a mixture of shock and embarrassment coloring her tone.
"It's more common than you might think," Sharada pressed on, hating herself for every word. "Many women watch them, especially when they're alone or... unsatisfied in their relationships. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"That's—" Devika shook her head sharply. "Sharada, I could never. Those films are degrading to women, exploitative. How could you suggest such a thing?"
"Not all of them are like that," Sharada argued, the words feeling false in her mouth though she knew they contained some truth. "There are films made with women's pleasure in mind, films that can be... educational, even liberating."
Devika stared at her, disbelief written across her features. "Do you watch such things?"
Caught off guard by the direct question, Sharada hesitated too long before answering. "Sometimes," she admitted finally. "When my husband is away. Many women do, though few admit it. It's just another way of taking care of your needs."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Devika muttered, rising from her chair and gathering her belongings. "There must be other ways to address these feelings."
"There are," Sharada acknowledged, seeing an opportunity to appear balanced in her advice. "You could consider a new relationship, if you're truly done with Anand. Someone who—"
"No," Devika cut her off firmly. "I'm not ready for that. After what Anand did, I can't imagine trusting another man that way." She shook her head, moving toward the door. "I should go. My next class starts soon."
"Devika," Sharada called after her, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to help."
Devika paused at the doorway, her expression softening slightly. "I know. And I appreciate that you listened without judgment. But this—" she gestured vaguely, encompassing their conversation, "—is too much for me right now. I need to think."
With that, she was gone, leaving Sharada alone with her guilt and the damning envelope still nestled in her bag. She'd tried, as promised. Surely Vishnu couldn't expect more from her than this.
But when evening fell and classes ended, Sharada was surprised to find Devika waiting beside her scooter in the nearly empty parking lot, her expression a mixture of determination and embarrassment.
"You were right," Devika said without preamble, her voice low despite the absence of others nearby. "I do need something to... distract me. To help me understand these feelings."
Sharada stared at her, momentarily speechless. "You mean...?"
"The films you mentioned," Devika clarified, her gaze fixed somewhere over Sharada's shoulder. "I've been thinking about what you said all day. And maybe you're right. Maybe this is something I need to explore on my own before I..." She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
"Are you sure?" Sharada asked, guilt and surprise warring within her. "This morning you seemed so against the idea."
"I've never been less sure of anything in my life," Devika admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "But I've spent years being certain, being proper, being exactly who everyone expected me to be. And where has that gotten me? Alone in Pune while my husband entertains other women in Dubai."
Sharada nodded slowly, understanding despite her misgivings. "I actually have some films with me," she said, the admission feeling like a betrayal even as she reached for her bag. "Nothing too... extreme. Just things that might help you explore these feelings safely."
Devika's eyes widened slightly. "You carry such things with you?"
"No! I mean, not usually," Sharada fumbled for an explanation. "I just thought, after our conversation yesterday about your husband, that you might... that this might help."
It was a flimsy explanation, but Devika seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice its inadequacy. She extended her hand, palm up, a gesture both tentative and resolute. "I'll try," she said simply. "No promises that I'll actually watch them, but I'll try."
Sharada withdrew the envelope from her bag and passed it to Devika, who quickly tucked it into her own satchel without examining its contents. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible. "For understanding. For not judging me."
"That's what friends are for," Sharada replied, the phrase now tasting bitter on her tongue. As Devika walked away toward the college gates, Sharada couldn't help but wonder what she had just set in motion—and whether her friendship with Devika would survive the inevitable fallout.
Devika clutched her bag close as she walked home, the envelope inside seeming to pulse with a strange energy. Part of her couldn't believe what she had just done—asked for pornography from a colleague, accepted it with the intention of watching it alone in her apartment. What had happened to the proper Kerala woman who had arrived in Pune just months ago? Who was this new Devika emerging from the ashes of her marriage?
Yet beneath the shock and embarrassment lay something else—a current of anticipation, of curiosity about what the films might show her, what they might awaken. The same current she had felt in her bedroom mirror, with Ramlal's hands on her skin and his breath on her neck. The current that whispered there might be more to life, to pleasure, to her own body than what her carefully structured existence had allowed her to experience.
As she entered her apartment building, she kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead, avoiding Ramlal's station near the security booth. Whatever journey she was embarking on, whatever exploration these films might lead her toward, she would face it alone—at least for now.
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