23-06-2025, 12:25 AM
Devika paused at the college entrance, the weight of her bag hanging from her shoulder like the weight of her decision this morning. The sleeveless blouse beneath her forest-green saree felt foreign against her skin, cool air brushing places usually hidden under fabric. A small rebellion, she thought, straightening her back as students streamed past her. Her husband wouldn't approve—but he was in Dubai, and she was here, trying to carve out a space that felt like her own.
The staff room was mercifully empty when she arrived. Devika set her bag down on her designated desk, extracting the day's lecture notes and arranging them in neat stacks. Her fingers lingered on the edge of her saree pallu, instinctively pulling it to cover the exposed skin of her arms. The golden border of her saree caught the fluorescent light as she moved, sending warm reflections across the institutional beige walls.
"Did I walk into the wrong staff room?" Saradha's voice, bright and teasing, cut through the quiet.
Devika turned, her hand automatically clutching the saree pallu tighter around her shoulders. "Good morning, Saradha."
Saradha's eyes widened as she approached, her gaze traveling over Devika's attire with undisguised interest. "Well, well, look at you! I've never seen you in a sleeveless blouse before." She circled Devika once, nodding approvingly. "It suits you perfectly. About time you showed off those lovely arms."
Heat crept up Devika's neck, spreading across her cheeks. "It's nothing," she murmured, adjusting her saree nervously. "Just... trying something different."
"Different is good," Saradha said, setting down her own bag. "You know, most women would kill for your figure. Those curves were made to be flaunted, not hidden away." She gestured toward Devika's arms, which were once again partially covered by the dbang of her saree. "Why are you hiding them again? The whole point of a sleeveless blouse is to show off, isn't it?"
Devika looked down, studying the pattern on the floor tiles. "I'm not used to it. It feels... exposed."
"That's exactly what it's supposed to feel like!" Saradha laughed, the sound echoing in the empty room. "Being exposed isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's liberating." She reached out, gently tugging the saree pallu away from Devika's shoulder. "Don't be shy, girl. Be bold, be proud of your beauty."
"I don't know, Saradha..." Devika hesitated, her grip on the fabric loosening slightly.
"What's the point of wearing a sleeveless blouse if you're going to keep it covered? Might as well have worn your usual high-necked ones." Saradha's tone was gentle but insistent. "Try it. Just for today. See how it feels to own your space."
Something in Saradha's words resonated with Devika. She'd been trying so hard to fit in since moving to Pune, to find her footing in this new phase of her life. Perhaps this small act of boldness could be a beginning. With a deep breath, she released the saree pallu, letting it fall away from her shoulders, exposing the smooth skin of her arms.
"There you go," Saradha said with approval. "Beautiful."
Devika smiled, a tentative expression that gradually relaxed into something more genuine. "Thank you."
---
In his office, Seenu sat forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the security monitor on his desk. The grainy CCTV footage from the staff room showed Devika in perfect, if pixelated, detail. His mouth fell open slightly as he registered her attire—the sleeveless blouse revealed arms he'd never seen before, and the way her saree dbangd around her curves made his throat go dry.
"What happened to her?" he muttered to himself, adjusting his glasses with unsteady fingers. "When did she start wearing such blouses?"
He watched as Saradha pulled the saree away from Devika's shoulders, revealing more of her smooth skin. Seenu felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a quickening of his pulse. In his fifteen years at the college, he'd cultivated a careful image—respectable department head, dedicated academic—but behind his office door, his eyes lingered on screens like this one, cataloging the women around him.
"She'll make every man mad wearing sarees like this," he whispered, his voice thicker than before. He wiped his palms on his trousers, his wedding ring catching briefly on the fabric. His wife would be in court now, arguing some corporate case, worlds away from this moment, from him.
He reached for his phone, punching in the extension for the staff room. "I want to see her," he decided, watching on screen as Devika moved toward the phone. "Need to call her to my office."
On the monitor, he saw Devika answer, her free hand absently touching her neck where her mangalsutra rested against her collarbone.
"Dr. Devika," he said, his voice carefully modulated to sound professional, authoritative. "Could you come to my office right away? I need to discuss something important with you."
"Of course, sir," came her reply, the South Indian lilt in her voice more pronounced over the phone. "I'll be there immediately."
Seenu watched her hang up, say something to Saradha, and gather a notepad before heading toward the door. He switched off the monitor, straightened his tie, and prepared his expression to greet her.
In the staff room, Devika tucked her notepad under her arm, suddenly conscious again of her exposed skin as she prepared to meet with the department head. Something about Seenu's tone had felt different, but she dismissed the thought. She was becoming paranoid, reading too much into simple interactions. Academic life was straightforward—it was personal boundaries that confused her.
"I'll be back soon," she told Saradha, who gave her a casual wave in response.
As Devika stepped into the corridor, she fought the urge to pull her saree pallu up again. Be bold, she reminded herself. Be proud. Still, as she walked toward Seenu's office, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that she was walking into a situation she didn't fully understand.
Devika stood at the threshold of Seenu's office, her knuckles poised to knock on the already-open door. He looked up, his eyes immediately abandoning whatever document lay on his desk. She watched as his gaze traveled from her feet upward—lingering at her waist where the saree hugged her curves—before finally reaching her face. The attention lasted only seconds, but it left a trail of discomfort on her skin, like invisible fingerprints.
"Dr. Devika, please come in," Seenu said, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk. His voice carried the practiced warmth of authority, but something else lurked beneath it, something that made Devika hesitate before stepping fully into the room.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, her voice maintaining its professional timbre despite the unease settling in her stomach.
Seenu nodded, his eyes dropping again to her arms before darting back to her face. "I must say, this is quite a new look for you. It suits you remarkably well."
Devika's hand twitched, nearly reaching for her saree pallu before she remembered Saradha's encouragement. "Thank you, sir," she replied, the words coming out softer than she'd intended.
"Please, sit." He shuffled some papers on his desk. "I wanted to discuss the upcoming department review. Your contribution will be essential, especially regarding the biotechnology curriculum."
As Devika settled into the chair, she relaxed slightly. Work discussions were safe territory, and she spoke confidently about her ideas for the program. Seenu nodded occasionally, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the light as he tilted his head.
"You've raised some excellent points," he said after she finished outlining her suggestions. "I have some notes here that might complement your approach." He gestured toward a stack of papers at the corner of his desk. "Would you mind coming around to look at them? It might be easier to explain side by side."
Something in his tone gave her pause, but the request itself was innocuous enough. Devika stood and walked around the desk, conscious of how her saree swayed with her movement. She stopped beside his chair, leaving what she thought was a professional distance between them.
"Here," Seenu said, sliding his chair closer to the desk and pointing to some highlighted sections. "These research methodologies align with what you were saying about practical applications."
Devika leaned forward to examine the notes, unaware of how the motion positioned her hips near Seenu's face. She began explaining her interpretation of the data, her finger tracing lines of text as she spoke.
"The integration of computational models with laboratory experiments creates a more robust framework for students to understand biological systems," she said, engrossed in the content.
Seenu made a sound of agreement, but his attention had drifted to the narrow gap between the edge of her blouse and the saree's dbang, where a sliver of her midriff was visible. The golden brown of her skin disappeared into the fabric of her saree, and his eyes traced the path it took around her waist.
Devika glanced down, catching the direction of his gaze. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he abruptly pointed to another paragraph.
"This point about interdisciplinary approaches," he said quickly, his voice slightly higher than before. "How would you implement that within our current structure?"
She straightened, putting a few more inches between them. "It would require coordination with the chemistry and physics departments, but I believe we could develop joint modules that—"
"I just remembered," Seenu interrupted, swiveling in his chair. "There's a reference text that would be perfect for this discussion. It's up there." He pointed to a shelf above his filing cabinet, where rows of academic journals and books were neatly arranged. "The green binding, third from the left on the top shelf. Would you mind?"
Devika looked up at the shelf, which was positioned high enough that she would need to stretch to reach it. She hesitated, an instinct warning her that this request wasn't entirely innocent.
"Of course," she said finally, moving toward the shelf.
She reached up, her arms extending fully as her fingers searched for the book he'd indicated. The motion caused her saree to pull snug against her hips and her blouse to ride up slightly at the back. Seenu's breath caught as he watched her, his heart pounding harder in his chest.
The stretch exposed the gentle curve where her arm met her chest, the soft hollow of her armpit visible in the sleeveless blouse. Seenu's hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles whitening. He imagined pressing his face against that hollow, tasting the salt of her skin. The thought was so vivid he almost flinched with the force of it.
"Is this the one?" Devika asked, her fingers closing around a green spine.
She turned her head toward him, still reaching, and caught him staring. Something dark and hungry flashed across his face before he managed to compose his expression.
"Yes, that's it," he said, his voice rougher than before.
As Devika pulled the book from the shelf, her movement was halted by a sudden tug at her neck. The delicate gold chain of her mangalsutra had caught on a small metal protrusion from the shelf door. She felt the clasp give way at the back of her neck, and then the weight of the pendant was gone, the necklace falling to the floor with a soft clink.
"What happened?" Seenu asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Devika touched her bare neck, alarmed. "My mangalsutra—the hook caught on something." She knelt to retrieve the fallen necklace, examining it in her palm. "The clasp bent a little."
She attempted to straighten the small gold hook with her fingernail, bending it back into shape. Holding the ends of the chain, she tried to fasten it behind her neck, but the clasp wouldn't stay closed.
"Is it damaged?" Seenu asked, watching her struggle.
"The hook isn't tight enough to hold anymore." She frowned at the necklace in her hands, feeling oddly vulnerable without the symbol of her marriage around her neck.
Her first instinct was to excuse herself, to return to the staff room where Saradha could help her. Yet something kept her rooted to the spot—a curiosity perhaps, or a dangerous whisper of power she'd felt when she'd caught Seenu watching her. She knew what his eyes had been doing all this time, knew the effect she was having on him.
A thought formed in her mind, reckless and thrilling. Later, she would question where it had come from, this impulse so contrary to her usual careful nature. But in this moment, she found herself looking at Seenu with a deliberate softness in her eyes.
"Sir," she said, her voice dropping to a tone she barely recognized as her own, "if you don't mind, could you help tie my chain around my neck?" The words came out with an unexpected seductive quality that surprised even her.
Seenu's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock. He stared at her as if unsure he'd heard correctly.
Devika held his gaze, the mangalsutra dangling from her fingers. "Could you help me?" she repeated, more explicitly this time. "Or I can go to the staff room if you'd prefer."
Seenu remained frozen, caught between disbelief and desperate hope, as Devika waited for his answer, her heart racing with the boldness of her own request.
Seenu's paralysis broke as he processed Devika's words. An opportunity like this—her standing before him, asking for his touch—it was fantasy materialized. He wouldn't let it slip away. "Stay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll help you." He rose from his chair, moved past her to the door, and turned the lock with a soft click. "Just in case anyone comes," he explained, avoiding her eyes. "They might think... something wrong."
Devika watched him lock the door, a flutter of apprehension rising in her chest. The sound of the lock engaging seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet office. She stood holding the mangalsutra, suddenly uncertain about the path she'd set them on.
Seenu approached her, his hands visibly trembling as she placed the gold chain in his palm. The metal felt warm from her touch, and he closed his fingers around it as if it were something precious.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.
"Yes," she replied, though the word came out softer than she'd intended. "It's just a clasp that needs fixing."
He nodded and stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper—filling the narrow space between them. Reaching forward, he attempted to place the chain around her neck from the front, his arms extending on either side of her face.
The pendant settled perfectly at the center of her collarbone, catching the light as it rose and fell with her quickened breath. Seenu tried to connect the clasp behind her neck, but his fingers fumbled with the tiny hook. Each failed attempt brought his hands brushing against her skin, sending involuntary shivers down her spine.
"I can't quite..." he muttered, frustration and desire battling in his voice. His fingers were clumsy, too aware of the woman standing so close to him, her eyes watching his face, her breath warm against his cheek.
Devika observed his struggle, noting the beads of sweat forming at his temples, the way his eyes kept darting to her lips, her neck, the exposed skin of her arms. "You're having trouble," she said, her words cutting through the tension. "Should I turn around?"
Relief and disappointment warred in his expression. "Yes, that might be easier."
She turned, presenting her back to him, and gathered her hair to one side, exposing the nape of her neck. The simple movement felt strangely intimate, a gesture usually reserved for her husband in the privacy of their bedroom.
Seenu stared at her revealed neck and shoulders, transfixed by the smooth expanse of skin, the elegant curve where her neck met her shoulder. He moved forward until his body nearly touched hers, her curved form just inches from him. The soft roundness of her backside brushed against his thighs as he reached around to secure the clasp.
"So soft," he thought, fighting the urge to press closer.
With her facing away, he found the clasp more easily this time. His fingers worked the bent hook into the small loop, securing the mangalsutra around her neck. But even after the necklace was fastened, his fingers lingered, tracing a feather-light path across her skin.
"There," he said, his lips close to her ear, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. "I've tied the mangalsutra around your neck. Does that make me your husband now?"
Devika closed her eyes, a strange heat coursing through her body at his words. "No," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "You just helped me tie the chain. It was already tied by my husband."
Seenu's hands moved to hover just above her bare arms, not quite touching. "Can I feel your arms?" he asked, the words rushing out as if he feared his courage would fail him.
"No," she said, but the word lacked conviction, barely more than a whisper.
He didn't heed her weak protest. His hands descended onto her skin, his palms gliding along her upper arms in a slow caress. The contact sent an electric current through Devika's body, a sensation so unexpected and intense that a small sound escaped her lips.
"So soft," Seenu murmured, echoing his earlier thought aloud.
His fingers traced down to her wrists and back up again, exploring the texture of her skin, the subtle curve of her muscles. Behind her, Devika could feel his body's response, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her.
Emboldened by her lack of resistance, Seenu leaned forward and inhaled deeply at her neck, drawing in the scent of jasmine from her hair, the faint trace of sandalwood soap on her skin. His lips pressed against the curve of her shoulder, then moved up to the sensitive spot where her neck met her collarbone.
The taste of her skin—salt and sweetness—was overwhelming. His hands continued their exploration, fingers intertwining with hers, then traveling back up her arms in a possessive caress.
Devika stood frozen, caught in a storm of conflicting sensations. Her body responded to his touch with treacherous pleasure, while her mind screamed warnings. This was her department head, a married man twice her age. This was wrong, dangerous, a violation of everything she believed about herself.
The thought of her husband—their wedding day, the sacred vows—crashed through the haze of unexpected desire. She stepped forward abruptly, breaking the contact between their bodies.
"I have to go," she said, her voice shaking. She turned to face him, putting distance between them.
Seenu reached out, catching her wrist. His eyes pleaded with her, dark with need. "Please," he said, the single word heavy with implication.
"Let me go," Devika insisted, pulling her arm free. "I got carried away. This shouldn't have happened."
Something in her tone—perhaps the renewed conviction, the flash of regret—made him release her. He stood with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides as she gathered her composure and moved toward the door.
She paused with her hand on the lock. "I need to return to my class," she said without looking back, her voice almost normal again. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Seenu remained rooted to the spot, his mind replaying what had just occurred. She had asked him to tie her mangalsutra—had allowed him to touch her arms, to kiss her neck. Yet she'd pulled away so suddenly, as if waking from a trance. His body still hummed with unfulfilled desire, his mind racing with possibilities. What had happened? What had she meant by "got carried away"? And most importantly, would it happen again?
---
Devika entered the staff room in a daze, heading straight for the water dispenser. Her hands trembled as she filled a paper cup and drank deeply, the cool water doing little to quench the heat that still coursed through her body.
"What happened to me?" she thought, touching the mangalsutra at her neck, the gold warm against her fingers. She had asked that man—that old, married man—to tie her necklace. She had stood still while he touched her, kissed her neck. She had become someone she didn't recognize in that office.
The worst part was not that it had happened, but that for a moment, she had wanted it to. The feeling of being desired so intensely, of holding power over someone with just her presence—it had been intoxicating. She'd never felt that way with her husband, whose affection was steady but predictable, who had never looked at her with the naked hunger she'd seen in Seenu's eyes.
"He was the first man to feel my arms in this blouse," she realized, glancing down at her exposed skin. "The first man besides my husband to kiss my neck." The thought should have disgusted her, but instead, it left her confused, trapped between shame and a forbidden thrill.
No one in the staff room seemed to notice her distress. Saradha was engaged in conversation with another teacher, their laughter piercing through Devika's thoughts. How could everything seem so normal when her world had just tilted on its axis?
She gathered her teaching materials without speaking to anyone and left the staff room. She needed space, time to think, to understand what had happened and ensure it never happened again. As she walked through the college corridors, she felt the weight of the mangalsutra against her skin—a reminder of promises made, of boundaries crossed, of the dangerous territory between desire and duty.
The staff room was mercifully empty when she arrived. Devika set her bag down on her designated desk, extracting the day's lecture notes and arranging them in neat stacks. Her fingers lingered on the edge of her saree pallu, instinctively pulling it to cover the exposed skin of her arms. The golden border of her saree caught the fluorescent light as she moved, sending warm reflections across the institutional beige walls.
"Did I walk into the wrong staff room?" Saradha's voice, bright and teasing, cut through the quiet.
Devika turned, her hand automatically clutching the saree pallu tighter around her shoulders. "Good morning, Saradha."
Saradha's eyes widened as she approached, her gaze traveling over Devika's attire with undisguised interest. "Well, well, look at you! I've never seen you in a sleeveless blouse before." She circled Devika once, nodding approvingly. "It suits you perfectly. About time you showed off those lovely arms."
Heat crept up Devika's neck, spreading across her cheeks. "It's nothing," she murmured, adjusting her saree nervously. "Just... trying something different."
"Different is good," Saradha said, setting down her own bag. "You know, most women would kill for your figure. Those curves were made to be flaunted, not hidden away." She gestured toward Devika's arms, which were once again partially covered by the dbang of her saree. "Why are you hiding them again? The whole point of a sleeveless blouse is to show off, isn't it?"
Devika looked down, studying the pattern on the floor tiles. "I'm not used to it. It feels... exposed."
"That's exactly what it's supposed to feel like!" Saradha laughed, the sound echoing in the empty room. "Being exposed isn't always bad, you know. Sometimes it's liberating." She reached out, gently tugging the saree pallu away from Devika's shoulder. "Don't be shy, girl. Be bold, be proud of your beauty."
"I don't know, Saradha..." Devika hesitated, her grip on the fabric loosening slightly.
"What's the point of wearing a sleeveless blouse if you're going to keep it covered? Might as well have worn your usual high-necked ones." Saradha's tone was gentle but insistent. "Try it. Just for today. See how it feels to own your space."
Something in Saradha's words resonated with Devika. She'd been trying so hard to fit in since moving to Pune, to find her footing in this new phase of her life. Perhaps this small act of boldness could be a beginning. With a deep breath, she released the saree pallu, letting it fall away from her shoulders, exposing the smooth skin of her arms.
"There you go," Saradha said with approval. "Beautiful."
Devika smiled, a tentative expression that gradually relaxed into something more genuine. "Thank you."
---
In his office, Seenu sat forward in his chair, eyes fixed on the security monitor on his desk. The grainy CCTV footage from the staff room showed Devika in perfect, if pixelated, detail. His mouth fell open slightly as he registered her attire—the sleeveless blouse revealed arms he'd never seen before, and the way her saree dbangd around her curves made his throat go dry.
"What happened to her?" he muttered to himself, adjusting his glasses with unsteady fingers. "When did she start wearing such blouses?"
He watched as Saradha pulled the saree away from Devika's shoulders, revealing more of her smooth skin. Seenu felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a quickening of his pulse. In his fifteen years at the college, he'd cultivated a careful image—respectable department head, dedicated academic—but behind his office door, his eyes lingered on screens like this one, cataloging the women around him.
"She'll make every man mad wearing sarees like this," he whispered, his voice thicker than before. He wiped his palms on his trousers, his wedding ring catching briefly on the fabric. His wife would be in court now, arguing some corporate case, worlds away from this moment, from him.
He reached for his phone, punching in the extension for the staff room. "I want to see her," he decided, watching on screen as Devika moved toward the phone. "Need to call her to my office."
On the monitor, he saw Devika answer, her free hand absently touching her neck where her mangalsutra rested against her collarbone.
"Dr. Devika," he said, his voice carefully modulated to sound professional, authoritative. "Could you come to my office right away? I need to discuss something important with you."
"Of course, sir," came her reply, the South Indian lilt in her voice more pronounced over the phone. "I'll be there immediately."
Seenu watched her hang up, say something to Saradha, and gather a notepad before heading toward the door. He switched off the monitor, straightened his tie, and prepared his expression to greet her.
In the staff room, Devika tucked her notepad under her arm, suddenly conscious again of her exposed skin as she prepared to meet with the department head. Something about Seenu's tone had felt different, but she dismissed the thought. She was becoming paranoid, reading too much into simple interactions. Academic life was straightforward—it was personal boundaries that confused her.
"I'll be back soon," she told Saradha, who gave her a casual wave in response.
As Devika stepped into the corridor, she fought the urge to pull her saree pallu up again. Be bold, she reminded herself. Be proud. Still, as she walked toward Seenu's office, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that she was walking into a situation she didn't fully understand.
Devika stood at the threshold of Seenu's office, her knuckles poised to knock on the already-open door. He looked up, his eyes immediately abandoning whatever document lay on his desk. She watched as his gaze traveled from her feet upward—lingering at her waist where the saree hugged her curves—before finally reaching her face. The attention lasted only seconds, but it left a trail of discomfort on her skin, like invisible fingerprints.
"Dr. Devika, please come in," Seenu said, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk. His voice carried the practiced warmth of authority, but something else lurked beneath it, something that made Devika hesitate before stepping fully into the room.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, her voice maintaining its professional timbre despite the unease settling in her stomach.
Seenu nodded, his eyes dropping again to her arms before darting back to her face. "I must say, this is quite a new look for you. It suits you remarkably well."
Devika's hand twitched, nearly reaching for her saree pallu before she remembered Saradha's encouragement. "Thank you, sir," she replied, the words coming out softer than she'd intended.
"Please, sit." He shuffled some papers on his desk. "I wanted to discuss the upcoming department review. Your contribution will be essential, especially regarding the biotechnology curriculum."
As Devika settled into the chair, she relaxed slightly. Work discussions were safe territory, and she spoke confidently about her ideas for the program. Seenu nodded occasionally, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the light as he tilted his head.
"You've raised some excellent points," he said after she finished outlining her suggestions. "I have some notes here that might complement your approach." He gestured toward a stack of papers at the corner of his desk. "Would you mind coming around to look at them? It might be easier to explain side by side."
Something in his tone gave her pause, but the request itself was innocuous enough. Devika stood and walked around the desk, conscious of how her saree swayed with her movement. She stopped beside his chair, leaving what she thought was a professional distance between them.
"Here," Seenu said, sliding his chair closer to the desk and pointing to some highlighted sections. "These research methodologies align with what you were saying about practical applications."
Devika leaned forward to examine the notes, unaware of how the motion positioned her hips near Seenu's face. She began explaining her interpretation of the data, her finger tracing lines of text as she spoke.
"The integration of computational models with laboratory experiments creates a more robust framework for students to understand biological systems," she said, engrossed in the content.
Seenu made a sound of agreement, but his attention had drifted to the narrow gap between the edge of her blouse and the saree's dbang, where a sliver of her midriff was visible. The golden brown of her skin disappeared into the fabric of her saree, and his eyes traced the path it took around her waist.
Devika glanced down, catching the direction of his gaze. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he abruptly pointed to another paragraph.
"This point about interdisciplinary approaches," he said quickly, his voice slightly higher than before. "How would you implement that within our current structure?"
She straightened, putting a few more inches between them. "It would require coordination with the chemistry and physics departments, but I believe we could develop joint modules that—"
"I just remembered," Seenu interrupted, swiveling in his chair. "There's a reference text that would be perfect for this discussion. It's up there." He pointed to a shelf above his filing cabinet, where rows of academic journals and books were neatly arranged. "The green binding, third from the left on the top shelf. Would you mind?"
Devika looked up at the shelf, which was positioned high enough that she would need to stretch to reach it. She hesitated, an instinct warning her that this request wasn't entirely innocent.
"Of course," she said finally, moving toward the shelf.
She reached up, her arms extending fully as her fingers searched for the book he'd indicated. The motion caused her saree to pull snug against her hips and her blouse to ride up slightly at the back. Seenu's breath caught as he watched her, his heart pounding harder in his chest.
The stretch exposed the gentle curve where her arm met her chest, the soft hollow of her armpit visible in the sleeveless blouse. Seenu's hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles whitening. He imagined pressing his face against that hollow, tasting the salt of her skin. The thought was so vivid he almost flinched with the force of it.
"Is this the one?" Devika asked, her fingers closing around a green spine.
She turned her head toward him, still reaching, and caught him staring. Something dark and hungry flashed across his face before he managed to compose his expression.
"Yes, that's it," he said, his voice rougher than before.
As Devika pulled the book from the shelf, her movement was halted by a sudden tug at her neck. The delicate gold chain of her mangalsutra had caught on a small metal protrusion from the shelf door. She felt the clasp give way at the back of her neck, and then the weight of the pendant was gone, the necklace falling to the floor with a soft clink.
"What happened?" Seenu asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Devika touched her bare neck, alarmed. "My mangalsutra—the hook caught on something." She knelt to retrieve the fallen necklace, examining it in her palm. "The clasp bent a little."
She attempted to straighten the small gold hook with her fingernail, bending it back into shape. Holding the ends of the chain, she tried to fasten it behind her neck, but the clasp wouldn't stay closed.
"Is it damaged?" Seenu asked, watching her struggle.
"The hook isn't tight enough to hold anymore." She frowned at the necklace in her hands, feeling oddly vulnerable without the symbol of her marriage around her neck.
Her first instinct was to excuse herself, to return to the staff room where Saradha could help her. Yet something kept her rooted to the spot—a curiosity perhaps, or a dangerous whisper of power she'd felt when she'd caught Seenu watching her. She knew what his eyes had been doing all this time, knew the effect she was having on him.
A thought formed in her mind, reckless and thrilling. Later, she would question where it had come from, this impulse so contrary to her usual careful nature. But in this moment, she found herself looking at Seenu with a deliberate softness in her eyes.
"Sir," she said, her voice dropping to a tone she barely recognized as her own, "if you don't mind, could you help tie my chain around my neck?" The words came out with an unexpected seductive quality that surprised even her.
Seenu's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock. He stared at her as if unsure he'd heard correctly.
Devika held his gaze, the mangalsutra dangling from her fingers. "Could you help me?" she repeated, more explicitly this time. "Or I can go to the staff room if you'd prefer."
Seenu remained frozen, caught between disbelief and desperate hope, as Devika waited for his answer, her heart racing with the boldness of her own request.
Seenu's paralysis broke as he processed Devika's words. An opportunity like this—her standing before him, asking for his touch—it was fantasy materialized. He wouldn't let it slip away. "Stay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll help you." He rose from his chair, moved past her to the door, and turned the lock with a soft click. "Just in case anyone comes," he explained, avoiding her eyes. "They might think... something wrong."
Devika watched him lock the door, a flutter of apprehension rising in her chest. The sound of the lock engaging seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet office. She stood holding the mangalsutra, suddenly uncertain about the path she'd set them on.
Seenu approached her, his hands visibly trembling as she placed the gold chain in his palm. The metal felt warm from her touch, and he closed his fingers around it as if it were something precious.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.
"Yes," she replied, though the word came out softer than she'd intended. "It's just a clasp that needs fixing."
He nodded and stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper—filling the narrow space between them. Reaching forward, he attempted to place the chain around her neck from the front, his arms extending on either side of her face.
The pendant settled perfectly at the center of her collarbone, catching the light as it rose and fell with her quickened breath. Seenu tried to connect the clasp behind her neck, but his fingers fumbled with the tiny hook. Each failed attempt brought his hands brushing against her skin, sending involuntary shivers down her spine.
"I can't quite..." he muttered, frustration and desire battling in his voice. His fingers were clumsy, too aware of the woman standing so close to him, her eyes watching his face, her breath warm against his cheek.
Devika observed his struggle, noting the beads of sweat forming at his temples, the way his eyes kept darting to her lips, her neck, the exposed skin of her arms. "You're having trouble," she said, her words cutting through the tension. "Should I turn around?"
Relief and disappointment warred in his expression. "Yes, that might be easier."
She turned, presenting her back to him, and gathered her hair to one side, exposing the nape of her neck. The simple movement felt strangely intimate, a gesture usually reserved for her husband in the privacy of their bedroom.
Seenu stared at her revealed neck and shoulders, transfixed by the smooth expanse of skin, the elegant curve where her neck met her shoulder. He moved forward until his body nearly touched hers, her curved form just inches from him. The soft roundness of her backside brushed against his thighs as he reached around to secure the clasp.
"So soft," he thought, fighting the urge to press closer.
With her facing away, he found the clasp more easily this time. His fingers worked the bent hook into the small loop, securing the mangalsutra around her neck. But even after the necklace was fastened, his fingers lingered, tracing a feather-light path across her skin.
"There," he said, his lips close to her ear, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. "I've tied the mangalsutra around your neck. Does that make me your husband now?"
Devika closed her eyes, a strange heat coursing through her body at his words. "No," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "You just helped me tie the chain. It was already tied by my husband."
Seenu's hands moved to hover just above her bare arms, not quite touching. "Can I feel your arms?" he asked, the words rushing out as if he feared his courage would fail him.
"No," she said, but the word lacked conviction, barely more than a whisper.
He didn't heed her weak protest. His hands descended onto her skin, his palms gliding along her upper arms in a slow caress. The contact sent an electric current through Devika's body, a sensation so unexpected and intense that a small sound escaped her lips.
"So soft," Seenu murmured, echoing his earlier thought aloud.
His fingers traced down to her wrists and back up again, exploring the texture of her skin, the subtle curve of her muscles. Behind her, Devika could feel his body's response, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her.
Emboldened by her lack of resistance, Seenu leaned forward and inhaled deeply at her neck, drawing in the scent of jasmine from her hair, the faint trace of sandalwood soap on her skin. His lips pressed against the curve of her shoulder, then moved up to the sensitive spot where her neck met her collarbone.
The taste of her skin—salt and sweetness—was overwhelming. His hands continued their exploration, fingers intertwining with hers, then traveling back up her arms in a possessive caress.
Devika stood frozen, caught in a storm of conflicting sensations. Her body responded to his touch with treacherous pleasure, while her mind screamed warnings. This was her department head, a married man twice her age. This was wrong, dangerous, a violation of everything she believed about herself.
The thought of her husband—their wedding day, the sacred vows—crashed through the haze of unexpected desire. She stepped forward abruptly, breaking the contact between their bodies.
"I have to go," she said, her voice shaking. She turned to face him, putting distance between them.
Seenu reached out, catching her wrist. His eyes pleaded with her, dark with need. "Please," he said, the single word heavy with implication.
"Let me go," Devika insisted, pulling her arm free. "I got carried away. This shouldn't have happened."
Something in her tone—perhaps the renewed conviction, the flash of regret—made him release her. He stood with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides as she gathered her composure and moved toward the door.
She paused with her hand on the lock. "I need to return to my class," she said without looking back, her voice almost normal again. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Seenu remained rooted to the spot, his mind replaying what had just occurred. She had asked him to tie her mangalsutra—had allowed him to touch her arms, to kiss her neck. Yet she'd pulled away so suddenly, as if waking from a trance. His body still hummed with unfulfilled desire, his mind racing with possibilities. What had happened? What had she meant by "got carried away"? And most importantly, would it happen again?
---
Devika entered the staff room in a daze, heading straight for the water dispenser. Her hands trembled as she filled a paper cup and drank deeply, the cool water doing little to quench the heat that still coursed through her body.
"What happened to me?" she thought, touching the mangalsutra at her neck, the gold warm against her fingers. She had asked that man—that old, married man—to tie her necklace. She had stood still while he touched her, kissed her neck. She had become someone she didn't recognize in that office.
The worst part was not that it had happened, but that for a moment, she had wanted it to. The feeling of being desired so intensely, of holding power over someone with just her presence—it had been intoxicating. She'd never felt that way with her husband, whose affection was steady but predictable, who had never looked at her with the naked hunger she'd seen in Seenu's eyes.
"He was the first man to feel my arms in this blouse," she realized, glancing down at her exposed skin. "The first man besides my husband to kiss my neck." The thought should have disgusted her, but instead, it left her confused, trapped between shame and a forbidden thrill.
No one in the staff room seemed to notice her distress. Saradha was engaged in conversation with another teacher, their laughter piercing through Devika's thoughts. How could everything seem so normal when her world had just tilted on its axis?
She gathered her teaching materials without speaking to anyone and left the staff room. She needed space, time to think, to understand what had happened and ensure it never happened again. As she walked through the college corridors, she felt the weight of the mangalsutra against her skin—a reminder of promises made, of boundaries crossed, of the dangerous territory between desire and duty.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)