23-06-2025, 11:41 PM
Devika's fingers kept finding their way to the mangalsutra at her neck as she walked toward the laboratory, tracing the gold chain that Seenu had fastened there. The weight of it felt different now—heavier, tainted. In Kerala tradition, only a husband should tie this sacred necklace, yet she had allowed another man's fingers to brush against her skin, to restore the symbol of a marriage that was already broken. She wondered if the students would notice anything different about her, if the forbidden intimacy of that moment had somehow marked her visibly.
The truth clawed at her insides: the mangalsutra had lost its sanctity long before today. Anand's infidelities had hollowed out its meaning, leaving behind only a shell of gold and black beads that she wore out of habit, out of fear of what others might say if she removed it. The revelation of his affairs in Dubai—photographs of him with other women that these very students had somehow obtained and shown her—had already severed whatever bond the necklace once represented.
"Why am I still wearing it?" she murmured to herself, pausing outside the lab door. The corridor was empty, allowing her this brief moment of honesty. Perhaps it was easier to pretend, to maintain the façade of the devoted wife even as everything crumbled around her.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The familiar smell of chemicals greeted her, along with the immediate hush that fell over the room as she entered. Pathan and Vishnu sat at their usual workstation, heads bent together in conversation that ceased abruptly when they spotted her.
"Good afternoon," she said, setting her materials on the demonstration table at the front of the lab.
Their eyes widened in unison, tracking her movements with an intensity that made her skin prickle. Pathan leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. Vishnu's mouth hung slightly open, his usual affected nonchalance abandoned.
"Madam," Pathan finally managed, "you look... different today."
"Very different," Vishnu agreed, his gaze traveling over her exposed arms. "The sleeveless blouse—it's new, yes?"
Devika felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Yes, just a small change," she replied, busying herself with arranging test tubes in their rack. "Let's focus on today's practical, shall we? We need to complete the enzyme catalysis experiment."
"But madam," Pathan persisted, his voice carrying across the otherwise empty lab, "this is not a small change. This is..." He gestured broadly at her figure. "This is transformation. You can't stay low all the time because of what your bastard husband did to you. You are bold, madam. We like this new you."
Devika stiffened. "Pathan, please don't involve yourself in my personal matters," she said, her voice sharper than intended. "And I would appreciate if you refrained from using such language."
"Sorry, madam," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I'm only speaking facts. You are looking beautiful. Men are dying for women like you, but your husband doesn't have taste, having multiple affairs."
The words stung despite their crude delivery. She remembered the day they had shown her the photos—Anand with another woman outside a Dubai hotel, his arm around her waist, his lips at her ear. The same intimate gesture he had once reserved for Devika.
"That's entirely inappropriate," Devika said, feeling the control of the situation slipping away. "I'm your professor, and this discussion is completely out of line."
"Of course, madam," Vishnu said, his tone conciliatory but his eyes still lingering on her arms. "We are just happy to see you becoming more... free. After everything that happened."
Devika looked between them, these two young men who had inserted themselves into her personal life with a presumption that made her uncomfortable. Yet she couldn't deny they had done her a service, painful as it was. Without their interference, she might still be living in blissful ignorance, writing loving letters to a husband who was betraying her at every opportunity.
"I appreciate your concern," she said carefully, "but there are boundaries that need to be respected. What happened with my husband is my business to deal with. Your role in revealing certain truths doesn't grant you permission to comment on how I dress or how I live my life."
"You're right, madam," Pathan said, raising his hands in surrender. "We overstepped. It's just—" He paused, searching for words. "It's good to see you fighting back, in your own way."
There was something in his expression—a genuine admiration perhaps—that softened her stance slightly. These boys were crude and inappropriate, but they had, in their own misguided way, tried to help her.
"The sleeveless blouse suits you perfectly," Vishnu added, his voice gentler now. "You should always dress like this. It shows confidence."
"Thank you," she said, surprised to find she meant it. "But that's enough personal discussion for today. We have work to do."
She turned to the whiteboard and began outlining the experiment steps, conscious of their eyes still on her. Part of her was appalled at their boldness, at the way they spoke to her as if they were equals or friends rather than her students. Another part—a part she was increasingly unfamiliar with—felt a flutter of something like power at their obvious admiration.
"Let's begin with setting up the water bath," she said, determined to regain control of the class. "You'll need to maintain a constant temperature of 37 degrees Celsius throughout the experiment."
As Pathan and Vishnu finally moved to gather their equipment, Devika wondered what was happening to her. First Seenu, now these students—the boundaries that had once seemed so clear were blurring. She had always been Professor Devika, respected and somewhat feared for her exacting standards. Now she was becoming something else, someone who invited inappropriate attentions, who almost welcomed them.
"Focus," she told herself firmly, turning her attention to the day's lesson plan. But even as she began demonstrating the proper technique for the experiment, she couldn't help but notice the way Pathan and Vishnu watched her every movement, their eyes lingering on her bare arms each time she reached for something on the shelf above.
The experiment required precision, but precision required focus, and focus was the one thing neither Pathan nor Vishnu could maintain. They fumbled with pipettes and misread measurements as Devika moved through the laboratory, her saree rustling softly with each step. The sleeveless blouse exposed the graceful curve of her arms, skin catching the fluorescent light as she reached for reagents on the upper shelves. Every time she lifted her arms, the young men's eyes followed the movement like compass needles finding north.
"Remember to record all your observations," Devika said, writing the procedure on the whiteboard. She stretched upward to reach the top of the board, causing her saree to pull snug against her hips. Behind her, a test tube nearly slipped from Vishnu's fingers.
The air in the laboratory felt charged, heavy with something beyond the usual chemical scents. Devika found herself hyperaware of her body—the weight of the mangalsutra at her neck, the brush of fabric against skin, the eyes that tracked her every movement. She reached up to adjust her braid, which had begun to unravel slightly. As she raised both arms to twist her hair back into place, she caught Pathan's gaze fixed on the exposed curve where her arms met her chest.
"Is something wrong, Pathan?" she asked, letting her hands fall slowly to her sides.
"No, madam," he stammered, eyes darting back to his notebook. "Just... trying to understand the catalysis rate."
She moved toward their workstation, noting how they stiffened as she approached. "Show me your notes so far," she said, standing closer than strictly necessary.
As Pathan showed her his haphazard calculations, Devika felt a strange sensation unfurling within her—a dark thrill at their obvious discomfort, at the power she held over them simply by existing in this space, in this body. These were the same boys who had presumed to involve themselves in her personal life, who had spoken so casually about her husband's betrayal, who had somehow thought it appropriate to share pornographic material with her through Saradha.
An idea formed in her mind, slippery and dangerous. What if, instead of maintaining boundaries, she pushed them? What if she gave them a taste of the discomfort they so readily inflicted on her?
"Your titration technique needs work," she said to Vishnu, who was struggling with a burette. "Let me show you."
She moved behind him, closer than she had ever stood to a student before. Rather than demonstrating from across the bench as she normally would, she positioned herself directly behind his tall frame. Her body was close enough for him to feel the subtle curve of her hips pressing gently into his lower back. One of her hands covered his, steadying it, while the other wrapped lightly around the burette's glass body.
"Like this," she whispered, guiding his fingers with slow precision. "You need to control the flow rate by applying gentle pressure. Too much, and you'll overshoot your endpoint."
She felt Vishnu's breath catch, his hand trembling slightly beneath hers. The contact was innocent enough to be dismissed as instructional, yet intimate enough to be unmistakably inappropriate. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, sense the rigid tension in his shoulders as he fought to maintain composure.
"Do you understand?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, her breath warm against the back of his neck.
"Yes, madam," Vishnu managed, his voice strained. "I think I understand perfectly."
She pressed herself slightly closer, allowing her chest to make the barest contact with his back. "Good. Keep practicing that technique."
Devika stepped away, catching Pathan's shocked expression from across the bench. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. She met his gaze steadily, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Moving to Pathan's side of the bench, she noticed he had been taking notes on the experiment. "Let me check your observations," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen under her touch as she leaned forward to examine his notebook.
"Your handwriting is difficult to read," she commented, increasing the pressure of her hand slightly. "And you've recorded the wrong color change here."
She leaned closer, her side pressing against his shoulder. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, she could feel the warmth of his body, the tension in his muscles. Unlike her interaction with Vishnu, this position allowed her to see Pathan's face—the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his tongue across his lips.
"I'll fix it, madam," he said, voice uncharacteristically subdued.
After a few moments, she straightened and walked around the bench, observing both students as they attempted to continue their work with shaking hands. Vishnu had moved to sit beside Pathan, both of them now on the same side of the workstation, comparing notes in hushed voices.
An opportunity presented itself, and before she could reconsider, Devika approached them again. She stood beside Pathan and looked over at Vishnu's notebook.
"You've made the same mistake as Pathan," she said. But instead of walking around to Vishnu's side, she leaned across Pathan, placing one hand on the table between them and reaching with her other hand to point at Vishnu's notes.
The position forced her to stretch over Pathan, her body bent at the waist. She felt her saree slide slightly, exposing the bare skin of her midriff. With calculated precision, she adjusted her stance so that her waist pressed against Pathan's face, her navel coming to rest directly against his lips.
Time seemed to stretch as she remained in this position, explaining the correct procedure to Vishnu while acutely aware of Pathan's hot, shallow breaths against her skin. She could feel his lips—not moving, not kissing, but unmistakably touching the sensitive hollow of her navel. The sensation sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through her body.
"The catalyst affects the activation energy, not the reaction energy," she continued, her voice remarkably steady despite the intimate contact. "That's why your calculations aren't matching the expected values."
Pathan remained frozen, caught between propriety and desire, his face pressed against the soft expanse of her waist. She could feel the tremor in his body, the rigid self-control as he fought against instinct. Vishnu stared at them, unable to focus on a word she was saying, his eyes fixed on the point where his friend's face made contact with their professor's body.
After what felt like an eternity but was likely only thirty seconds, Devika straightened, smoothing her saree back into place with casual grace. Pathan exhaled sharply, his face flushed crimson, eyes fixed on the table before him.
"I think that clarifies the main issues with your experiment," she said, her tone returning to its professional cadence as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Review your notes, correct your calculations, and we'll discuss the results next time."
She walked back to her desk, heart pounding beneath her composed exterior. What had possessed her to act this way? These were her students, barely men, and she had just deliberately used her body to... to what? Punish them? Tease them? Express some newfound freedom?
"That will be all for today," she announced, gathering her materials. "Please clean your workstations before leaving. We'll continue with the next practical class on Thursday."
As she left the laboratory, she could feel their eyes following her, could sense the confused tension she had created. For the first time since discovering her husband's betrayal, Devika felt something other than hurt and humiliation. She felt powerful.
Pathan flung himself onto his narrow dormitory bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other hand pressed against his chest as if to contain his racing heart. Across the small room, Vishnu paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, stopping occasionally to point wordlessly at his friend before resuming his agitated movement. For several minutes, neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with the shared memory of what had just happened in the biology laboratory. Finally, Vishnu dropped into his desk chair, the plastic creaking under his weight.
"Bhai, what the fuck just happened?" he breathed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Did that really happen or am I hallucinating?"
Pathan lowered his arm from his face, staring at the ceiling. "It happened. She came in wearing that sleeveless blouse..." His voice trailed off, the image vivid in his mind—the smooth brown skin of her arms, the elegant curve of her shoulders, the way the light caught the gold border of her saree.
"Fucking sexy Kerala woman," Vishnu muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Did you see how different she looked? Like completely transformed."
"How could I not see?" Pathan sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I've never seen her arms before today. Always those high-necked, full-sleeve blouses. And then she walks in looking like..." He gestured vaguely, words failing him.
"And then—" Vishnu jumped up, unable to contain his energy. "—she almost hugged me from behind. Did you see that? She pressed herself against me, bhai. I could feel her..." He cupped his hands in front of his chest, the crude gesture conveying what he couldn't articulate.
"I saw," Pathan nodded, his expression serious. "Her chest was definitely touching your back. I couldn't believe my eyes."
"I almost dropped that damn burette," Vishnu laughed nervously. "My hands were shaking so bad. And her voice right in my ear, all soft like that..." He shivered dramatically. "I thought I was going to embarrass myself right there in the lab."
Pathan stood suddenly, moving to the small window that overlooked the college grounds. "That was nothing compared to what she did to me," he said, his voice low and intense.
Vishnu stopped his restless movement. "What do you mean? When she put her hand on your shoulder?"
"No, man. After that." Pathan turned to face his friend, his expression still carrying traces of disbelief. "When she leaned over me to explain something to you. She—" He paused, as if needing to collect himself. "She pressed her waist against my face."
"What the fuck?" Vishnu's eyes widened. "When did this happen?"
"When she was pointing at your notes. She stretched across me instead of walking around." Pathan's hands moved in the air, tracing the curve of an invisible woman. "Her saree slid a bit, and her navel was right on my lips, bhai. Right. On. My. Lips."
Vishnu collapsed back into his chair. "Holy shit. I didn't even notice. I was too focused on her arms reaching toward my notebook."
"I could feel the heat from her skin," Pathan continued, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "The softness of her stomach against my face. Her navel was literally touching my lips, and I just sat there, frozen, not knowing what to do."
"What did it feel like?" Vishnu leaned forward, hungry for details.
"Like silk, man. Warm silk." Pathan closed his eyes briefly, reliving the moment. "I could smell her—this mix of jasmine and something else, something sweet. And I could feel her breathing."
"Fuck," Vishnu exhaled sharply. "I can't believe I missed that. Did she act like it was an accident?"
Pathan shook his head slowly. "No way. She stayed like that for almost a minute, pretending to explain something to you. She knew exactly what she was doing."
"This is insane," Vishnu said, a grin spreading across his face. "We can definitely see the effect of her husband troubles and those videos Saradha shared with her."
"The porn definitely opened something in her mind," Pathan agreed. "Remember how shy she was when she first came here? Always pulling her saree pallu up to cover every inch of skin? And now look at her—sleeveless blouse, pressing herself against students."
"Her husband is a fucking idiot," Vishnu laughed. "Cheating on a woman like that."
"His loss, our gain," Pathan smirked. "She's finally letting herself go. Those videos must have shown her what she's been missing."
Vishnu leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Soon she'll be riding on our laps, bhai. I'm telling you. She's just getting started."
"We need to be patient," Pathan cautioned, though his eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Let her come to us. Each time she'll go a little further."
"Next practical class is Thursday," Vishnu reminded him. "What do you think she'll do then?"
"Maybe she'll drop something and bend over to pick it up," Pathan suggested, his smile turning wolfish. "Or maybe she'll wear an even more revealing blouse."
"Whatever happens," Vishnu said, "we need to be cool. Act like today was normal. Don't scare her off by being too eager."
Pathan nodded, moving back to sit on his bed. "We've already done the hard part—showing her those photos of her husband, making her realize what kind of man she's wasted herself on. Now she's starting to blossom."
"And we'll be right there to catch the flower when it falls," Vishnu added, his crude metaphor hanging in the air between them.
They fell silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts, replaying the events of the afternoon from slightly different angles, savoring the details that stood out most vividly in their memories: the press of her body, the scent of her skin, the unexpected boldness from a woman who had always seemed the epitome of propriety.
"I never thought those pictures of her husband would lead to this," Pathan finally said, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. "I just wanted to help her see the truth."
"And now she's helping us see a few truths of our own," Vishnu replied with a laugh. "Like what Professor Devika looks like when she decides to break the rules."
The apartment was silent when Devika returned, the emptiness greeting her like an old friend. She slipped off her sandals at the door, padding barefoot across the cool tile floor to the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of water. The day clung to her like a second skin—Seenu's fingers at her neck, Vishnu's body tense beneath her touch, Pathan's breath warm against her navel. What had gotten into her? She barely recognized the woman who had walked through the college today, seducing men with calculated touches and deliberate proximity.
She moved to the bedroom, where a framed photograph of her wedding day sat on the dresser. Devika and Anand, garlanded and solemn, their hands joined as they circled the sacred fire. She turned the frame facedown with a deliberate motion, then began removing her jewelry—earrings first, then the gold bangles that clinked softly against the wooden surface of the dresser.
Her fingers paused at the mangalsutra. The morning's scene played in her mind: standing in Seenu's office, the necklace broken, asking him—inviting him—to tie it around her neck. What madness had possessed her to make such a request? In all of Kerala tradition, this was an intimacy reserved solely for a husband. Yet she had stood there, watching Seenu's face flush with desire as his fingers fumbled with the clasp, feeling the heat of his breath against her skin.
"I asked the department head to tie my mangalsutra," she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, testing how the words felt in her mouth. They tasted of transgression, of boundaries not just crossed but deliberately dismantled.
And then, not satisfied with one impropriety, she had gone directly to her practical class and continued her strange, newfound boldness with her students. Students who were barely men—young, impressionable, and already far too involved in her personal life.
Devika unhooked the mangalsutra and laid it beside the upturned photo frame. She unwrapped her saree slowly, the forest-green fabric pooling at her feet like water. The sleeveless blouse came next, exposing her skin to the cool air of the bedroom. Standing in her petticoat, she examined her arms, the same arms that had drawn so many eyes today. They were just arms—ordinary, unremarkable. Yet the simple act of revealing them had transformed her in the eyes of the men around her.
She thought of Vishnu in the laboratory, the way he had stiffened when she stood behind him, her body close enough to feel the heat radiating from his. She had guided his hands on the burette, whispered instructions near his ear, allowed her breasts to brush against his back. The memory should have filled her with shame. Instead, she felt a strange thrill at the power she had wielded, the control she had exercised over his reactions.
But it was the moment with Pathan that lingered most vividly in her mind. The deliberate way she had leaned across him, positioning her body so that her waist pressed against his face, her navel resting against his lips. She had felt him freeze beneath her, felt the hot, quick breaths against her skin, sensed the tremor that ran through his body. In that moment, she had held him completely in her thrall.
"I pressed my waist against his face," she said aloud, the words hanging in the empty room. "I let a student's lips touch my stomach."
She closed her eyes, remembering the sensation—the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the slight moisture that had left her skin feeling sensitized even after she pulled away. It was inappropriate, unprofessional, potentially ruinous for her career. Yet in that moment, she had felt more alive than she had in months.
"What is happening to me?" Devika asked her reflection as she opened her eyes again. "Why am I suddenly making all these men mad for me?"
The question had no simple answer. Was it rebellion against Anand's betrayal? A reclaiming of her sexuality after learning of his infidelities? Or something deeper—a fundamental shift in how she saw herself, in what she believed she deserved?
She had spent years being the perfect wife, the dedicated academic. She had followed all the rules, maintained all the appropriate boundaries. And what had it gotten her? A husband who cheated, a marriage that existed only on paper, and a life half-lived in a city where she felt perpetually out of place.
Perhaps this new Devika—the one who wore sleeveless blouses and used her body as an instrument of power—was simply claiming space that had always been rightfully hers. Perhaps the transgressions of the day weren't transgressions at all, but liberations.
Yet as she slipped into her nightdress, doubt crept in around the edges of this rationalization. She had used these men—Seenu with his obvious longing, Pathan and Vishnu with their youthful desire—to feed something hungry inside herself. She had crossed lines that existed for good reasons. What would happen tomorrow, and the day after? How far would this new Devika go?
She moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner, her thoughts circling back to the moment in the lab when Pathan's face had pressed against her waist. The look in his eyes afterward—shock, desire, confusion—had mirrored her own internal state. She was playing with fire, and somewhere beneath the exhilaration, she knew she might get burned.
As she ate alone at her small dining table, Devika wondered if there was a middle path—some way to embrace this newfound sense of power without losing herself completely. Could she be both the respected professor and the woman who owned her sexuality? Could she find freedom without destruction?
The questions remained unanswered as she washed her plate and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would come, bringing with it choices and consequences. The mangalsutra lay on her dresser, unclasped, no longer a binding symbol but a reminder of how quickly certainties could unravel. Devika turned off the light, letting darkness envelop the room, feeling both lost and found in the new territory she had entered—a land without maps, where she would have to create her own path forward.
The truth clawed at her insides: the mangalsutra had lost its sanctity long before today. Anand's infidelities had hollowed out its meaning, leaving behind only a shell of gold and black beads that she wore out of habit, out of fear of what others might say if she removed it. The revelation of his affairs in Dubai—photographs of him with other women that these very students had somehow obtained and shown her—had already severed whatever bond the necklace once represented.
"Why am I still wearing it?" she murmured to herself, pausing outside the lab door. The corridor was empty, allowing her this brief moment of honesty. Perhaps it was easier to pretend, to maintain the façade of the devoted wife even as everything crumbled around her.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The familiar smell of chemicals greeted her, along with the immediate hush that fell over the room as she entered. Pathan and Vishnu sat at their usual workstation, heads bent together in conversation that ceased abruptly when they spotted her.
"Good afternoon," she said, setting her materials on the demonstration table at the front of the lab.
Their eyes widened in unison, tracking her movements with an intensity that made her skin prickle. Pathan leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. Vishnu's mouth hung slightly open, his usual affected nonchalance abandoned.
"Madam," Pathan finally managed, "you look... different today."
"Very different," Vishnu agreed, his gaze traveling over her exposed arms. "The sleeveless blouse—it's new, yes?"
Devika felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Yes, just a small change," she replied, busying herself with arranging test tubes in their rack. "Let's focus on today's practical, shall we? We need to complete the enzyme catalysis experiment."
"But madam," Pathan persisted, his voice carrying across the otherwise empty lab, "this is not a small change. This is..." He gestured broadly at her figure. "This is transformation. You can't stay low all the time because of what your bastard husband did to you. You are bold, madam. We like this new you."
Devika stiffened. "Pathan, please don't involve yourself in my personal matters," she said, her voice sharper than intended. "And I would appreciate if you refrained from using such language."
"Sorry, madam," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "But I'm only speaking facts. You are looking beautiful. Men are dying for women like you, but your husband doesn't have taste, having multiple affairs."
The words stung despite their crude delivery. She remembered the day they had shown her the photos—Anand with another woman outside a Dubai hotel, his arm around her waist, his lips at her ear. The same intimate gesture he had once reserved for Devika.
"That's entirely inappropriate," Devika said, feeling the control of the situation slipping away. "I'm your professor, and this discussion is completely out of line."
"Of course, madam," Vishnu said, his tone conciliatory but his eyes still lingering on her arms. "We are just happy to see you becoming more... free. After everything that happened."
Devika looked between them, these two young men who had inserted themselves into her personal life with a presumption that made her uncomfortable. Yet she couldn't deny they had done her a service, painful as it was. Without their interference, she might still be living in blissful ignorance, writing loving letters to a husband who was betraying her at every opportunity.
"I appreciate your concern," she said carefully, "but there are boundaries that need to be respected. What happened with my husband is my business to deal with. Your role in revealing certain truths doesn't grant you permission to comment on how I dress or how I live my life."
"You're right, madam," Pathan said, raising his hands in surrender. "We overstepped. It's just—" He paused, searching for words. "It's good to see you fighting back, in your own way."
There was something in his expression—a genuine admiration perhaps—that softened her stance slightly. These boys were crude and inappropriate, but they had, in their own misguided way, tried to help her.
"The sleeveless blouse suits you perfectly," Vishnu added, his voice gentler now. "You should always dress like this. It shows confidence."
"Thank you," she said, surprised to find she meant it. "But that's enough personal discussion for today. We have work to do."
She turned to the whiteboard and began outlining the experiment steps, conscious of their eyes still on her. Part of her was appalled at their boldness, at the way they spoke to her as if they were equals or friends rather than her students. Another part—a part she was increasingly unfamiliar with—felt a flutter of something like power at their obvious admiration.
"Let's begin with setting up the water bath," she said, determined to regain control of the class. "You'll need to maintain a constant temperature of 37 degrees Celsius throughout the experiment."
As Pathan and Vishnu finally moved to gather their equipment, Devika wondered what was happening to her. First Seenu, now these students—the boundaries that had once seemed so clear were blurring. She had always been Professor Devika, respected and somewhat feared for her exacting standards. Now she was becoming something else, someone who invited inappropriate attentions, who almost welcomed them.
"Focus," she told herself firmly, turning her attention to the day's lesson plan. But even as she began demonstrating the proper technique for the experiment, she couldn't help but notice the way Pathan and Vishnu watched her every movement, their eyes lingering on her bare arms each time she reached for something on the shelf above.
The experiment required precision, but precision required focus, and focus was the one thing neither Pathan nor Vishnu could maintain. They fumbled with pipettes and misread measurements as Devika moved through the laboratory, her saree rustling softly with each step. The sleeveless blouse exposed the graceful curve of her arms, skin catching the fluorescent light as she reached for reagents on the upper shelves. Every time she lifted her arms, the young men's eyes followed the movement like compass needles finding north.
"Remember to record all your observations," Devika said, writing the procedure on the whiteboard. She stretched upward to reach the top of the board, causing her saree to pull snug against her hips. Behind her, a test tube nearly slipped from Vishnu's fingers.
The air in the laboratory felt charged, heavy with something beyond the usual chemical scents. Devika found herself hyperaware of her body—the weight of the mangalsutra at her neck, the brush of fabric against skin, the eyes that tracked her every movement. She reached up to adjust her braid, which had begun to unravel slightly. As she raised both arms to twist her hair back into place, she caught Pathan's gaze fixed on the exposed curve where her arms met her chest.
"Is something wrong, Pathan?" she asked, letting her hands fall slowly to her sides.
"No, madam," he stammered, eyes darting back to his notebook. "Just... trying to understand the catalysis rate."
She moved toward their workstation, noting how they stiffened as she approached. "Show me your notes so far," she said, standing closer than strictly necessary.
As Pathan showed her his haphazard calculations, Devika felt a strange sensation unfurling within her—a dark thrill at their obvious discomfort, at the power she held over them simply by existing in this space, in this body. These were the same boys who had presumed to involve themselves in her personal life, who had spoken so casually about her husband's betrayal, who had somehow thought it appropriate to share pornographic material with her through Saradha.
An idea formed in her mind, slippery and dangerous. What if, instead of maintaining boundaries, she pushed them? What if she gave them a taste of the discomfort they so readily inflicted on her?
"Your titration technique needs work," she said to Vishnu, who was struggling with a burette. "Let me show you."
She moved behind him, closer than she had ever stood to a student before. Rather than demonstrating from across the bench as she normally would, she positioned herself directly behind his tall frame. Her body was close enough for him to feel the subtle curve of her hips pressing gently into his lower back. One of her hands covered his, steadying it, while the other wrapped lightly around the burette's glass body.
"Like this," she whispered, guiding his fingers with slow precision. "You need to control the flow rate by applying gentle pressure. Too much, and you'll overshoot your endpoint."
She felt Vishnu's breath catch, his hand trembling slightly beneath hers. The contact was innocent enough to be dismissed as instructional, yet intimate enough to be unmistakably inappropriate. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, sense the rigid tension in his shoulders as he fought to maintain composure.
"Do you understand?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, her breath warm against the back of his neck.
"Yes, madam," Vishnu managed, his voice strained. "I think I understand perfectly."
She pressed herself slightly closer, allowing her chest to make the barest contact with his back. "Good. Keep practicing that technique."
Devika stepped away, catching Pathan's shocked expression from across the bench. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. She met his gaze steadily, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Moving to Pathan's side of the bench, she noticed he had been taking notes on the experiment. "Let me check your observations," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen under her touch as she leaned forward to examine his notebook.
"Your handwriting is difficult to read," she commented, increasing the pressure of her hand slightly. "And you've recorded the wrong color change here."
She leaned closer, her side pressing against his shoulder. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, she could feel the warmth of his body, the tension in his muscles. Unlike her interaction with Vishnu, this position allowed her to see Pathan's face—the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his tongue across his lips.
"I'll fix it, madam," he said, voice uncharacteristically subdued.
After a few moments, she straightened and walked around the bench, observing both students as they attempted to continue their work with shaking hands. Vishnu had moved to sit beside Pathan, both of them now on the same side of the workstation, comparing notes in hushed voices.
An opportunity presented itself, and before she could reconsider, Devika approached them again. She stood beside Pathan and looked over at Vishnu's notebook.
"You've made the same mistake as Pathan," she said. But instead of walking around to Vishnu's side, she leaned across Pathan, placing one hand on the table between them and reaching with her other hand to point at Vishnu's notes.
The position forced her to stretch over Pathan, her body bent at the waist. She felt her saree slide slightly, exposing the bare skin of her midriff. With calculated precision, she adjusted her stance so that her waist pressed against Pathan's face, her navel coming to rest directly against his lips.
Time seemed to stretch as she remained in this position, explaining the correct procedure to Vishnu while acutely aware of Pathan's hot, shallow breaths against her skin. She could feel his lips—not moving, not kissing, but unmistakably touching the sensitive hollow of her navel. The sensation sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through her body.
"The catalyst affects the activation energy, not the reaction energy," she continued, her voice remarkably steady despite the intimate contact. "That's why your calculations aren't matching the expected values."
Pathan remained frozen, caught between propriety and desire, his face pressed against the soft expanse of her waist. She could feel the tremor in his body, the rigid self-control as he fought against instinct. Vishnu stared at them, unable to focus on a word she was saying, his eyes fixed on the point where his friend's face made contact with their professor's body.
After what felt like an eternity but was likely only thirty seconds, Devika straightened, smoothing her saree back into place with casual grace. Pathan exhaled sharply, his face flushed crimson, eyes fixed on the table before him.
"I think that clarifies the main issues with your experiment," she said, her tone returning to its professional cadence as if nothing unusual had occurred. "Review your notes, correct your calculations, and we'll discuss the results next time."
She walked back to her desk, heart pounding beneath her composed exterior. What had possessed her to act this way? These were her students, barely men, and she had just deliberately used her body to... to what? Punish them? Tease them? Express some newfound freedom?
"That will be all for today," she announced, gathering her materials. "Please clean your workstations before leaving. We'll continue with the next practical class on Thursday."
As she left the laboratory, she could feel their eyes following her, could sense the confused tension she had created. For the first time since discovering her husband's betrayal, Devika felt something other than hurt and humiliation. She felt powerful.
Pathan flung himself onto his narrow dormitory bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other hand pressed against his chest as if to contain his racing heart. Across the small room, Vishnu paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, stopping occasionally to point wordlessly at his friend before resuming his agitated movement. For several minutes, neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with the shared memory of what had just happened in the biology laboratory. Finally, Vishnu dropped into his desk chair, the plastic creaking under his weight.
"Bhai, what the fuck just happened?" he breathed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Did that really happen or am I hallucinating?"
Pathan lowered his arm from his face, staring at the ceiling. "It happened. She came in wearing that sleeveless blouse..." His voice trailed off, the image vivid in his mind—the smooth brown skin of her arms, the elegant curve of her shoulders, the way the light caught the gold border of her saree.
"Fucking sexy Kerala woman," Vishnu muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Did you see how different she looked? Like completely transformed."
"How could I not see?" Pathan sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I've never seen her arms before today. Always those high-necked, full-sleeve blouses. And then she walks in looking like..." He gestured vaguely, words failing him.
"And then—" Vishnu jumped up, unable to contain his energy. "—she almost hugged me from behind. Did you see that? She pressed herself against me, bhai. I could feel her..." He cupped his hands in front of his chest, the crude gesture conveying what he couldn't articulate.
"I saw," Pathan nodded, his expression serious. "Her chest was definitely touching your back. I couldn't believe my eyes."
"I almost dropped that damn burette," Vishnu laughed nervously. "My hands were shaking so bad. And her voice right in my ear, all soft like that..." He shivered dramatically. "I thought I was going to embarrass myself right there in the lab."
Pathan stood suddenly, moving to the small window that overlooked the college grounds. "That was nothing compared to what she did to me," he said, his voice low and intense.
Vishnu stopped his restless movement. "What do you mean? When she put her hand on your shoulder?"
"No, man. After that." Pathan turned to face his friend, his expression still carrying traces of disbelief. "When she leaned over me to explain something to you. She—" He paused, as if needing to collect himself. "She pressed her waist against my face."
"What the fuck?" Vishnu's eyes widened. "When did this happen?"
"When she was pointing at your notes. She stretched across me instead of walking around." Pathan's hands moved in the air, tracing the curve of an invisible woman. "Her saree slid a bit, and her navel was right on my lips, bhai. Right. On. My. Lips."
Vishnu collapsed back into his chair. "Holy shit. I didn't even notice. I was too focused on her arms reaching toward my notebook."
"I could feel the heat from her skin," Pathan continued, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "The softness of her stomach against my face. Her navel was literally touching my lips, and I just sat there, frozen, not knowing what to do."
"What did it feel like?" Vishnu leaned forward, hungry for details.
"Like silk, man. Warm silk." Pathan closed his eyes briefly, reliving the moment. "I could smell her—this mix of jasmine and something else, something sweet. And I could feel her breathing."
"Fuck," Vishnu exhaled sharply. "I can't believe I missed that. Did she act like it was an accident?"
Pathan shook his head slowly. "No way. She stayed like that for almost a minute, pretending to explain something to you. She knew exactly what she was doing."
"This is insane," Vishnu said, a grin spreading across his face. "We can definitely see the effect of her husband troubles and those videos Saradha shared with her."
"The porn definitely opened something in her mind," Pathan agreed. "Remember how shy she was when she first came here? Always pulling her saree pallu up to cover every inch of skin? And now look at her—sleeveless blouse, pressing herself against students."
"Her husband is a fucking idiot," Vishnu laughed. "Cheating on a woman like that."
"His loss, our gain," Pathan smirked. "She's finally letting herself go. Those videos must have shown her what she's been missing."
Vishnu leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Soon she'll be riding on our laps, bhai. I'm telling you. She's just getting started."
"We need to be patient," Pathan cautioned, though his eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Let her come to us. Each time she'll go a little further."
"Next practical class is Thursday," Vishnu reminded him. "What do you think she'll do then?"
"Maybe she'll drop something and bend over to pick it up," Pathan suggested, his smile turning wolfish. "Or maybe she'll wear an even more revealing blouse."
"Whatever happens," Vishnu said, "we need to be cool. Act like today was normal. Don't scare her off by being too eager."
Pathan nodded, moving back to sit on his bed. "We've already done the hard part—showing her those photos of her husband, making her realize what kind of man she's wasted herself on. Now she's starting to blossom."
"And we'll be right there to catch the flower when it falls," Vishnu added, his crude metaphor hanging in the air between them.
They fell silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts, replaying the events of the afternoon from slightly different angles, savoring the details that stood out most vividly in their memories: the press of her body, the scent of her skin, the unexpected boldness from a woman who had always seemed the epitome of propriety.
"I never thought those pictures of her husband would lead to this," Pathan finally said, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. "I just wanted to help her see the truth."
"And now she's helping us see a few truths of our own," Vishnu replied with a laugh. "Like what Professor Devika looks like when she decides to break the rules."
The apartment was silent when Devika returned, the emptiness greeting her like an old friend. She slipped off her sandals at the door, padding barefoot across the cool tile floor to the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of water. The day clung to her like a second skin—Seenu's fingers at her neck, Vishnu's body tense beneath her touch, Pathan's breath warm against her navel. What had gotten into her? She barely recognized the woman who had walked through the college today, seducing men with calculated touches and deliberate proximity.
She moved to the bedroom, where a framed photograph of her wedding day sat on the dresser. Devika and Anand, garlanded and solemn, their hands joined as they circled the sacred fire. She turned the frame facedown with a deliberate motion, then began removing her jewelry—earrings first, then the gold bangles that clinked softly against the wooden surface of the dresser.
Her fingers paused at the mangalsutra. The morning's scene played in her mind: standing in Seenu's office, the necklace broken, asking him—inviting him—to tie it around her neck. What madness had possessed her to make such a request? In all of Kerala tradition, this was an intimacy reserved solely for a husband. Yet she had stood there, watching Seenu's face flush with desire as his fingers fumbled with the clasp, feeling the heat of his breath against her skin.
"I asked the department head to tie my mangalsutra," she whispered to her reflection in the mirror, testing how the words felt in her mouth. They tasted of transgression, of boundaries not just crossed but deliberately dismantled.
And then, not satisfied with one impropriety, she had gone directly to her practical class and continued her strange, newfound boldness with her students. Students who were barely men—young, impressionable, and already far too involved in her personal life.
Devika unhooked the mangalsutra and laid it beside the upturned photo frame. She unwrapped her saree slowly, the forest-green fabric pooling at her feet like water. The sleeveless blouse came next, exposing her skin to the cool air of the bedroom. Standing in her petticoat, she examined her arms, the same arms that had drawn so many eyes today. They were just arms—ordinary, unremarkable. Yet the simple act of revealing them had transformed her in the eyes of the men around her.
She thought of Vishnu in the laboratory, the way he had stiffened when she stood behind him, her body close enough to feel the heat radiating from his. She had guided his hands on the burette, whispered instructions near his ear, allowed her breasts to brush against his back. The memory should have filled her with shame. Instead, she felt a strange thrill at the power she had wielded, the control she had exercised over his reactions.
But it was the moment with Pathan that lingered most vividly in her mind. The deliberate way she had leaned across him, positioning her body so that her waist pressed against his face, her navel resting against his lips. She had felt him freeze beneath her, felt the hot, quick breaths against her skin, sensed the tremor that ran through his body. In that moment, she had held him completely in her thrall.
"I pressed my waist against his face," she said aloud, the words hanging in the empty room. "I let a student's lips touch my stomach."
She closed her eyes, remembering the sensation—the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the slight moisture that had left her skin feeling sensitized even after she pulled away. It was inappropriate, unprofessional, potentially ruinous for her career. Yet in that moment, she had felt more alive than she had in months.
"What is happening to me?" Devika asked her reflection as she opened her eyes again. "Why am I suddenly making all these men mad for me?"
The question had no simple answer. Was it rebellion against Anand's betrayal? A reclaiming of her sexuality after learning of his infidelities? Or something deeper—a fundamental shift in how she saw herself, in what she believed she deserved?
She had spent years being the perfect wife, the dedicated academic. She had followed all the rules, maintained all the appropriate boundaries. And what had it gotten her? A husband who cheated, a marriage that existed only on paper, and a life half-lived in a city where she felt perpetually out of place.
Perhaps this new Devika—the one who wore sleeveless blouses and used her body as an instrument of power—was simply claiming space that had always been rightfully hers. Perhaps the transgressions of the day weren't transgressions at all, but liberations.
Yet as she slipped into her nightdress, doubt crept in around the edges of this rationalization. She had used these men—Seenu with his obvious longing, Pathan and Vishnu with their youthful desire—to feed something hungry inside herself. She had crossed lines that existed for good reasons. What would happen tomorrow, and the day after? How far would this new Devika go?
She moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner, her thoughts circling back to the moment in the lab when Pathan's face had pressed against her waist. The look in his eyes afterward—shock, desire, confusion—had mirrored her own internal state. She was playing with fire, and somewhere beneath the exhilaration, she knew she might get burned.
As she ate alone at her small dining table, Devika wondered if there was a middle path—some way to embrace this newfound sense of power without losing herself completely. Could she be both the respected professor and the woman who owned her sexuality? Could she find freedom without destruction?
The questions remained unanswered as she washed her plate and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would come, bringing with it choices and consequences. The mangalsutra lay on her dresser, unclasped, no longer a binding symbol but a reminder of how quickly certainties could unravel. Devika turned off the light, letting darkness envelop the room, feeling both lost and found in the new territory she had entered—a land without maps, where she would have to create her own path forward.
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