16-07-2025, 01:57 PM
Saturday Night – Entrance into the flat 401
The door to 401 opened with a jingle of anklets and the faint whiff of jasmine.
Neetu stood there like a poem woven in silk, the deep green gagra choli clinging to her with a tenderness that seemed almost alive.
The fabric shimmered as if in quiet celebration of her curves, the delicate embroidery tracing along her waist and neckline like a lover’s touch.
The dupatta slipped languidly from her shoulder, revealing the soft rise and fall of her breath, while the gold threads glinted like secrets meant only for moonlight.
Her bare waist, kissed by the border of the choli and the fall of the gagra, glowed against the fabric, sensual without effort, sacred without pretense.
Each step she took sent a hush of anklets and a flutter of jasmine into the air, and for a moment, it felt as though the night had paused, just to admire her.
Amit certainly did.
His gaze lingered longer than it should have, drinking her in with the quiet intensity of a man who knew better, but couldn't help himself.
He had seen Neetu in casual wear, joking with Sirisha, stirring tea with sleepy eyes, familiar, sweet, ordinary.
But tonight, wrapped in silk and shadow, she looked like something pulled from a painter’s dream.
There was desire in his eyes now, not brazen, not spoken, but unmistakable.
A hunger wrapped in silence. He looked away when she met his eyes, but too late.
Her smile widened as soon as she saw Priya.
“Hey, Priya?” she said warmly, reaching out to take Priya’s hand.
Behind her, Sirisha emerged, a fluttering whirl of youthful energy and color.
She was in a dazzling half-saree, indigo and gold the pleats tucked below her navel with casual precision.
Bangles clinked on her wrists as she leaned forward to greet them, her long earrings brushing her cheeks.
“Hi Ravi Bhayya,” she chirped to Ravi.
Her voice tinged with the innocent playfulness of a girl meeting someone she liked just a little more than she should.
But Ravi wasn’t listening to any of that.
His eyes were still on Priya.
- o -
The door to 401 opened with a jingle of anklets and the faint whiff of jasmine.
Neetu stood there like a poem woven in silk, the deep green gagra choli clinging to her with a tenderness that seemed almost alive.
The fabric shimmered as if in quiet celebration of her curves, the delicate embroidery tracing along her waist and neckline like a lover’s touch.
The dupatta slipped languidly from her shoulder, revealing the soft rise and fall of her breath, while the gold threads glinted like secrets meant only for moonlight.
Her bare waist, kissed by the border of the choli and the fall of the gagra, glowed against the fabric, sensual without effort, sacred without pretense.
Each step she took sent a hush of anklets and a flutter of jasmine into the air, and for a moment, it felt as though the night had paused, just to admire her.
Amit certainly did.
His gaze lingered longer than it should have, drinking her in with the quiet intensity of a man who knew better, but couldn't help himself.
He had seen Neetu in casual wear, joking with Sirisha, stirring tea with sleepy eyes, familiar, sweet, ordinary.
But tonight, wrapped in silk and shadow, she looked like something pulled from a painter’s dream.
There was desire in his eyes now, not brazen, not spoken, but unmistakable.
A hunger wrapped in silence. He looked away when she met his eyes, but too late.
Her smile widened as soon as she saw Priya.
“Hey, Priya?” she said warmly, reaching out to take Priya’s hand.
Behind her, Sirisha emerged, a fluttering whirl of youthful energy and color.
She was in a dazzling half-saree, indigo and gold the pleats tucked below her navel with casual precision.
Bangles clinked on her wrists as she leaned forward to greet them, her long earrings brushing her cheeks.
“Hi Ravi Bhayya,” she chirped to Ravi.
Her voice tinged with the innocent playfulness of a girl meeting someone she liked just a little more than she should.
But Ravi wasn’t listening to any of that.
His eyes were still on Priya.
- o -
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