22-06-2025, 04:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 22-06-2025, 04:14 PM by Rajeev Gupta. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Amir sat at his desk, the laptop’s glow casting shadows across his small room. The house was quiet, the air cool and still, with Fatima asleep and her phone charging by her bed. His racing game was paused, forgotten as he stared at the Facebook messages between his mom and Vivaan. His eyes widened, his heart pounding with shock at what he read.
Vivaan’s words were relentless, probing deeper into his mom’s life, their family, and even his dad, Faizan. Amir didn’t suspect anything sinister—he was just looking, curious about this man who seemed so interested in his mom.
He didn’t know that Vivaan was Faizan’s biggest enemy, the man who had betrayed his dad in a business deal two years ago, leaving their family financially strained. If Fatima had known, she would’ve blocked Vivaan instantly, her loyalty to Faizan unwavering. But she didn’t, and the chats continued, innocent on her part but heavy with Vivaan’s persistence.
In Musslim culture, it was deeply frowned upon for a married woman like Fatima to chat with an unrelated man, especially at night. Such interactions could be seen as a breach of modesty, even if no wrongdoing occurred.
Marriage was sacred, and boundaries with other men were strictly upheld to protect the family’s honor and the wife’s fidelity. Fatima’s late-night chats with the Hiindu Vivaan, though polite and restrained, crossed a line she might not have fully realized.
Yet, to Amir, it seemed normal. He was only twelve, too young to grasp the cultural weight of his mom’s actions. To him, her Facebook was just a hobby, a way to pass time while his dad was away driving his rickshaw in the city. He trusted her faith, her prayers, her love for Faizan—she’d never do anything wrong.
Amir scrolled through the messages, his fingers moving slowly as he read the long conversation between Fatima and Vivaan. Vivaan’s questions were endless, digging into every corner of her life.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan (Recent Messages)
Vivaan: Fatima, your latest quote about love is so touching. Does it come from your heart? Tell me more about your life, what makes you so wise?
Fatima: Thank you, Vivaan. I just write what I feel. My life is simple—taking care of my son, Amir, and waiting for my husband, Faizan, to come home. That’s all.
Vivaan: Simple sounds beautiful. What’s Amir like? Is he a good student? And Faizan, he’s still driving that rickshaw, right? Must be tough for him, being away so much.
Fatima: Amir’s a good boy, always playing outside with his friends. He’s smart but loves his games more than books sometimes! Yes, Faizan works hard driving his rickshaw. It’s not easy, but he does it for us. Do you know him?
Vivaan: I do know Faizan. We’ve crossed paths in the city, just small deals. Nothing big. Your family sounds so close. What do you do when Amir’s at college and Faizan’s away? Any hobbies?
Fatima: I pray, cook, clean. Sometimes I listen to the radio and dance a little. It makes me happy. Your business sounds busy! Do you travel a lot for it?
Vivaan: I travel sometimes, but mostly I’m in my office here in Lucknow. Dancing sounds fun, Fatima. You must be good at it. Does Faizan ever dance with you when he’s home?
Fatima: No, Faizan’s too tired when he comes home. He just rests. I don’t mind, he works so hard. Do you dance, Vivaan? Or are you too busy being a big boss?
Vivaan: Haha, I’m no dancer, but I’d love to see you dance someday. Your life sounds so full of love. Do you and Faizan have any big dreams for the future? Maybe a bigger house or a business?
Fatima: We don’t dream big like that. We just want Amir to be happy and have a good life. Faizan tried business before, but it didn’t work out. What’s your big dream?
Vivaan: I want to grow my company, maybe take it overseas. But meeting someone like you, Fatima, feels like a dream too. You’re so different from anyone I know. Does Faizan ever talk about his old business days?
Fatima: Not really. He doesn’t like to talk about it. I think it makes him sad. I have to go now, Vivaan, it’s late. Amir needs me in the morning.
Vivaan: Alright, Fatima. I’ll be here. You’re special, you know that? Goodnight.
Amir’s eyes lingered on the screen, his mind spinning. Vivaan’s questions about his dad felt odd, but he didn’t think much of it. Maybe the guy was just curious.
He didn’t know about the feud—how Vivaan’s betrayal in a textile deal had cost Faizan his savings, plunging their family into debt. Two years ago, Faizan had trusted Vivaan, investing his hard-earned money in a deal to supply rickshaws with custom fabric seats.
Vivaan had promised profits but delivered faulty materials, leaving Faizan to face the loss when the cooperative rejected the goods. The debt crushed Faizan, forcing him to work longer hours, his anger toward Vivaan a silent fire.
Fatima was clueless about this history, seeing Vivaan only as a polite man who liked her quotes. Amir yawned, his eyelids heavy. He closed the laptop and climbed into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling him to sleep.
His mom was fine, he thought. She was just chatting, nothing more.
The next morning, Amir woke to lively music drifting through the house, a upbeat tune from the radio. He smiled, knowing it was his mom dancing, her way of finding joy in the quiet moments.
He shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes, and stepped into the living room. Fatima was there, her green salwar kameez swaying as she moved, her hips rolling to the beat, her long dark hair loose and bouncing.
She danced with a playful energy, her steps light and confident, as if she was having the time of her life. Her movements were graceful, almost professional, a spark of fun that lit up the room.
![[Image: file-1.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/NGpY1dvx/file-1.gif)
![[Image: file-2.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/9FkhkzMR/file-2.gif)
Amir remembered stories his mom had told him—she’d been a talented dancer in college, winning competitions with her friends before marrying Faizan at twenty-seven.
Back then, she’d twirled in colorful lehengas, her laughter filling the air. Now, her dancing was private, a burst of her younger self in their small home.
Fatima spotted Amir and grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. “Amir, beta, come dance with me! Just one song, it’ll be fun!”
Amir shook his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
“No, Mom, I’m not in the mood. I just woke up. You’re too good at this anyway.”
“Oh, come on, beta!” Fatima teased, spinning in place, her movements full of energy. “You used to dance with me when you were little. Don’t be shy now!”
“Maybe later, Mom,” Amir laughed, backing toward his room. “You keep dancing. You look like you’re having a blast!”
Fatima laughed, her voice musical. “Go eat your breakfast, lazy boy!” She kept dancing, her hips swaying, her face glowing with joy.
Amir chuckled to himself as he walked away, shaking his head.
“Mom and her dancing,” he muttered, amused. He loved seeing her happy, even if her phone obsession was a bit much. He grabbed a roti from the kitchen and ate, his thoughts drifting to his friends in the courtyard.
Later that morning, Fatima sat on the woven mat, her phone in hand. She scrolled through her gallery, sending a new dance video to Faizan, hoping he’d watch it during a break in the city. “Miss you,” she typed, her smile soft.
But she was also chatting with Vivaan, her fingers tapping quick replies to his messages. She didn’t send him any videos—those were for Faizan alone.
Her chats with Vivaan were polite, about her quotes or his business, but they filled a quiet space in her heart, a space Faizan’s absence left empty.
One night, the house was dark, the air thick with anticipation. Faizan was coming home, his rickshaw rumbling down the dirt street. Fatima’s heart raced—she hadn’t seen him in two weeks.
She glanced at her phone, her thumb hovering over the Facebook app. In Musslim culture, chatting with the kafir Vivaan, even innocently, was wrong.
She loved her husband Faizan deeply and didn’t want him to feel hurt or betrayed, even if she’d done nothing improper. Guilt tugged at her.
Before Faizan’s knock came, she uninstalled Facebook from her phone, the app vanishing with a tap. She didn’t want her husband Faizaan to see her chats, to question her loyalty.
She stood, smoothing her abaya, and rushed to the door as Faizan knocked.
“Faizan, you’re home!” Fatima exclaimed, opening the door and throwing her arms around him. She kissed his cheeks, her face glowing with joy.
“Fatima, my love,” Faizan said, his voice tired but warm. He hugged her tightly, his rough hands gentle on her back. “I missed you.”
“Dad!” Amir shouted, rushing from his room.
He hugged Faizan’s waist, grinning. “You’re back! Did you bring me anything?”
Faizan chuckled, ruffling Amir’s hair. “Just some sweets this time, beta. They’re in my bag. How’s my boy doing?”
“Good, Dad! I won a game today!” Amir said, bouncing with excitement.
“That’s my son,” Faizan said, smiling. “Now go get those sweets. I need to rest.”
That night, Faizan fucked Fatima and had sex with her, but he cummed fast, his body worn out from long hours driving his rickshaw. The moment was quick, intense, but fleeting, leaving Fatima wanting more.
She pretended to be satisfied, her smile soft but hollow, not wanting to make him feel inadequate.
“Faizan, that was wonderful,” she said, her voice gentle, her hand resting on his chest. “Can we fuck again, round 2? I missed you so much.”
Faizan sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Fatima. I’m so tired. I have to leave for work again tomorrow. Can we just sleep tonight?”
Fatima nodded, her heart sinking but understanding. “Of course, my love. Rest now.”
She turned away, pulling the blanket over her, and closed her eyes, sleep coming slowly.
In the next room, Amir was awake, his laptop open. He knew his mom had deleted Facebook from her phone—he’d seen her do it before his dad arrived.
But her account was still logged in on his laptop. He clicked on the messages, curious about Vivaan. The chat was full of new, unread messages from Vivaan, piling up since Fatima uninstalled the app.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan (Unread Messages)
Vivaan: Fatima, where are you? I miss your quotes. Did I say something wrong?
Vivaan: Your last post was so beautiful. Please reply, I want to know you’re okay.
(Still no reply because mom uninstalled facebook)
Vivaan: I was thinking about you today. Your life sounds so special. Is everything alright at home?
Vivaan: Fatima, I need to talk to you. I feel something for you, something I can’t explain. Please message me back.
Amir’s eyes widened at the last message. Vivaan’s words—“I feel something for you”—made his stomach twist. Why was this guy so obsessed with his mom?
He wondered why she wasn’t replying, not knowing she’d deleted the app to protect her marriage. That one message sparked a flicker of suspicion in Amir’s mind.
Don't miss on the next update, it's going to be awesome and erotic.
Vivaan’s words were relentless, probing deeper into his mom’s life, their family, and even his dad, Faizan. Amir didn’t suspect anything sinister—he was just looking, curious about this man who seemed so interested in his mom.
He didn’t know that Vivaan was Faizan’s biggest enemy, the man who had betrayed his dad in a business deal two years ago, leaving their family financially strained. If Fatima had known, she would’ve blocked Vivaan instantly, her loyalty to Faizan unwavering. But she didn’t, and the chats continued, innocent on her part but heavy with Vivaan’s persistence.
In Musslim culture, it was deeply frowned upon for a married woman like Fatima to chat with an unrelated man, especially at night. Such interactions could be seen as a breach of modesty, even if no wrongdoing occurred.
Marriage was sacred, and boundaries with other men were strictly upheld to protect the family’s honor and the wife’s fidelity. Fatima’s late-night chats with the Hiindu Vivaan, though polite and restrained, crossed a line she might not have fully realized.
Yet, to Amir, it seemed normal. He was only twelve, too young to grasp the cultural weight of his mom’s actions. To him, her Facebook was just a hobby, a way to pass time while his dad was away driving his rickshaw in the city. He trusted her faith, her prayers, her love for Faizan—she’d never do anything wrong.
Amir scrolled through the messages, his fingers moving slowly as he read the long conversation between Fatima and Vivaan. Vivaan’s questions were endless, digging into every corner of her life.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan (Recent Messages)
Vivaan: Fatima, your latest quote about love is so touching. Does it come from your heart? Tell me more about your life, what makes you so wise?
Fatima: Thank you, Vivaan. I just write what I feel. My life is simple—taking care of my son, Amir, and waiting for my husband, Faizan, to come home. That’s all.
Vivaan: Simple sounds beautiful. What’s Amir like? Is he a good student? And Faizan, he’s still driving that rickshaw, right? Must be tough for him, being away so much.
Fatima: Amir’s a good boy, always playing outside with his friends. He’s smart but loves his games more than books sometimes! Yes, Faizan works hard driving his rickshaw. It’s not easy, but he does it for us. Do you know him?
Vivaan: I do know Faizan. We’ve crossed paths in the city, just small deals. Nothing big. Your family sounds so close. What do you do when Amir’s at college and Faizan’s away? Any hobbies?
Fatima: I pray, cook, clean. Sometimes I listen to the radio and dance a little. It makes me happy. Your business sounds busy! Do you travel a lot for it?
Vivaan: I travel sometimes, but mostly I’m in my office here in Lucknow. Dancing sounds fun, Fatima. You must be good at it. Does Faizan ever dance with you when he’s home?
Fatima: No, Faizan’s too tired when he comes home. He just rests. I don’t mind, he works so hard. Do you dance, Vivaan? Or are you too busy being a big boss?
Vivaan: Haha, I’m no dancer, but I’d love to see you dance someday. Your life sounds so full of love. Do you and Faizan have any big dreams for the future? Maybe a bigger house or a business?
Fatima: We don’t dream big like that. We just want Amir to be happy and have a good life. Faizan tried business before, but it didn’t work out. What’s your big dream?
Vivaan: I want to grow my company, maybe take it overseas. But meeting someone like you, Fatima, feels like a dream too. You’re so different from anyone I know. Does Faizan ever talk about his old business days?
Fatima: Not really. He doesn’t like to talk about it. I think it makes him sad. I have to go now, Vivaan, it’s late. Amir needs me in the morning.
Vivaan: Alright, Fatima. I’ll be here. You’re special, you know that? Goodnight.
Amir’s eyes lingered on the screen, his mind spinning. Vivaan’s questions about his dad felt odd, but he didn’t think much of it. Maybe the guy was just curious.
He didn’t know about the feud—how Vivaan’s betrayal in a textile deal had cost Faizan his savings, plunging their family into debt. Two years ago, Faizan had trusted Vivaan, investing his hard-earned money in a deal to supply rickshaws with custom fabric seats.
Vivaan had promised profits but delivered faulty materials, leaving Faizan to face the loss when the cooperative rejected the goods. The debt crushed Faizan, forcing him to work longer hours, his anger toward Vivaan a silent fire.
Fatima was clueless about this history, seeing Vivaan only as a polite man who liked her quotes. Amir yawned, his eyelids heavy. He closed the laptop and climbed into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling him to sleep.
His mom was fine, he thought. She was just chatting, nothing more.
The next morning, Amir woke to lively music drifting through the house, a upbeat tune from the radio. He smiled, knowing it was his mom dancing, her way of finding joy in the quiet moments.
He shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes, and stepped into the living room. Fatima was there, her green salwar kameez swaying as she moved, her hips rolling to the beat, her long dark hair loose and bouncing.
She danced with a playful energy, her steps light and confident, as if she was having the time of her life. Her movements were graceful, almost professional, a spark of fun that lit up the room.
Amir remembered stories his mom had told him—she’d been a talented dancer in college, winning competitions with her friends before marrying Faizan at twenty-seven.
Back then, she’d twirled in colorful lehengas, her laughter filling the air. Now, her dancing was private, a burst of her younger self in their small home.
Fatima spotted Amir and grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. “Amir, beta, come dance with me! Just one song, it’ll be fun!”
Amir shook his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
“No, Mom, I’m not in the mood. I just woke up. You’re too good at this anyway.”
“Oh, come on, beta!” Fatima teased, spinning in place, her movements full of energy. “You used to dance with me when you were little. Don’t be shy now!”
“Maybe later, Mom,” Amir laughed, backing toward his room. “You keep dancing. You look like you’re having a blast!”
Fatima laughed, her voice musical. “Go eat your breakfast, lazy boy!” She kept dancing, her hips swaying, her face glowing with joy.
Amir chuckled to himself as he walked away, shaking his head.
“Mom and her dancing,” he muttered, amused. He loved seeing her happy, even if her phone obsession was a bit much. He grabbed a roti from the kitchen and ate, his thoughts drifting to his friends in the courtyard.
Later that morning, Fatima sat on the woven mat, her phone in hand. She scrolled through her gallery, sending a new dance video to Faizan, hoping he’d watch it during a break in the city. “Miss you,” she typed, her smile soft.
But she was also chatting with Vivaan, her fingers tapping quick replies to his messages. She didn’t send him any videos—those were for Faizan alone.
Her chats with Vivaan were polite, about her quotes or his business, but they filled a quiet space in her heart, a space Faizan’s absence left empty.
One night, the house was dark, the air thick with anticipation. Faizan was coming home, his rickshaw rumbling down the dirt street. Fatima’s heart raced—she hadn’t seen him in two weeks.
She glanced at her phone, her thumb hovering over the Facebook app. In Musslim culture, chatting with the kafir Vivaan, even innocently, was wrong.
She loved her husband Faizan deeply and didn’t want him to feel hurt or betrayed, even if she’d done nothing improper. Guilt tugged at her.
Before Faizan’s knock came, she uninstalled Facebook from her phone, the app vanishing with a tap. She didn’t want her husband Faizaan to see her chats, to question her loyalty.
She stood, smoothing her abaya, and rushed to the door as Faizan knocked.
“Faizan, you’re home!” Fatima exclaimed, opening the door and throwing her arms around him. She kissed his cheeks, her face glowing with joy.
“Fatima, my love,” Faizan said, his voice tired but warm. He hugged her tightly, his rough hands gentle on her back. “I missed you.”
“Dad!” Amir shouted, rushing from his room.
He hugged Faizan’s waist, grinning. “You’re back! Did you bring me anything?”
Faizan chuckled, ruffling Amir’s hair. “Just some sweets this time, beta. They’re in my bag. How’s my boy doing?”
“Good, Dad! I won a game today!” Amir said, bouncing with excitement.
“That’s my son,” Faizan said, smiling. “Now go get those sweets. I need to rest.”
That night, Faizan fucked Fatima and had sex with her, but he cummed fast, his body worn out from long hours driving his rickshaw. The moment was quick, intense, but fleeting, leaving Fatima wanting more.
She pretended to be satisfied, her smile soft but hollow, not wanting to make him feel inadequate.
“Faizan, that was wonderful,” she said, her voice gentle, her hand resting on his chest. “Can we fuck again, round 2? I missed you so much.”
Faizan sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Fatima. I’m so tired. I have to leave for work again tomorrow. Can we just sleep tonight?”
Fatima nodded, her heart sinking but understanding. “Of course, my love. Rest now.”
She turned away, pulling the blanket over her, and closed her eyes, sleep coming slowly.
In the next room, Amir was awake, his laptop open. He knew his mom had deleted Facebook from her phone—he’d seen her do it before his dad arrived.
But her account was still logged in on his laptop. He clicked on the messages, curious about Vivaan. The chat was full of new, unread messages from Vivaan, piling up since Fatima uninstalled the app.
Facebook Chat between Fatima Shaikh and Vivaan (Unread Messages)
Vivaan: Fatima, where are you? I miss your quotes. Did I say something wrong?
Vivaan: Your last post was so beautiful. Please reply, I want to know you’re okay.
(Still no reply because mom uninstalled facebook)
Vivaan: I was thinking about you today. Your life sounds so special. Is everything alright at home?
Vivaan: Fatima, I need to talk to you. I feel something for you, something I can’t explain. Please message me back.
Amir’s eyes widened at the last message. Vivaan’s words—“I feel something for you”—made his stomach twist. Why was this guy so obsessed with his mom?
He wondered why she wasn’t replying, not knowing she’d deleted the app to protect her marriage. That one message sparked a flicker of suspicion in Amir’s mind.
Don't miss on the next update, it's going to be awesome and erotic.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)