13-08-2025, 01:49 AM
Chapter 18 continued......
The drive to FreshMart was tense for Meera. Her mind raced with worries: How will I manage this? What if the plan fails? How do I tell such a big lie? She'd never done anything like this before. But the thrill of meeting Arjun alone, feeling his admiration, seeing his eyes locked on her – she craved that space desperately.
Inside FreshMart, Meera froze in the cereal aisle, a box of cornflakes dangling from her fingers. The bright packaging blurred. Her heart hammered hard and fast against her ribs. Just say it. ‘Aarti needs help.’ Three words. But the lie felt like a thick lump stuck in her throat. She’d never lied to Rajiv like this. Guilt sat like a cold, heavy rock in her stomach, making her feel sick. Yet, fighting against it, pulsing through her veins like electricity, was the raw thrill of what she was about to do. Meeting Arjun. Alone. Next door. Remembering his whispered ‘dear,’ picturing him waiting, scanning the crowd for her, sent fresh heat flooding through her body. Her skin prickled under the light peach chiffon. Her palms sweated against the cardboard box. She glanced sideways at Rajiv, calmly comparing rice prices, completely unaware.
Rajiv: “Meera, cornflakes or muesli for Aaryan? He finished the last box yesterday.” His voice was normal, snapping her out of her frantic thoughts.
Meera: “Haan… haan… cornflakes… I think…” Her voice sounded thin and far away, even to herself. How to start? ‘Rajiv, Aarti messaged…’ But she hasn’t. What if he asks details? What if he calls her? Oh god, disaster.
Rajiv: “Meera? You okay? You seem… miles away.” He looked at her, a slight frown on his face, his gaze sharpening.
Meera: “Mein? No, no… just… thinking about the list.” She forced a weak smile, shoving the cornflakes into the trolley Aaryan was supposed to be pushing. Aaryan had run off towards balloons near the entrance.
Rajiv: “Aaryan! Come back here! Meera, watch the trolley!”
Meera: “Oh! Sorry!” She fumbled, grabbing the trolley handle as it rolled, her cheeks flushing red. Idiot! Focus! She hurried after Aaryan, her movements jerky with nerves. “Aaryan, beta, please stay with Papa!” Her voice had a edge of panic.
Aaryan: “But Mamma, balloons!” He jumped excitedly, pointing.
Meera: “Later, sweetheart, later.” She gently steered him back to Rajiv, her heart pounding like she’d run a race. This is impossible. I can’t do it. Too risky, too wrong. Her phone buzzed in her purse against her hip. She flinched. Ignoring Rajiv’s slightly puzzled look, she pulled it out with shaking fingers.
Arjun: I’m here. Inside Westside. Near the entrance. Waiting, Chandrika.
The words sent a jolt through her – pure terror mixed with intense, forbidden excitement.
Her breath caught. He was there. Just meters away. The turmoil inside her exploded. I can’t. I shouldn’t. But I want to. The image of his intense gaze, the imagined warmth of him near, the thrill of the secret, crushed the cold guilt for a dizzy second.
Meera: Arjun, I… it’s really hard. Rajiv and Aaryan are right here. Maybe… maybe we all can come? We can choose together? Safer.
She typed desperately, clinging to the group idea.
Arjun: Please, Meera. Just you. Only 10 minutes. Please. I need to see you. Alone. The dress… please try. I’m begging you, Chandrika.
The pleading was raw. ‘Chandrika’ felt like a caress, weakening her.
Taking a deep, shaky breath that did nothing to calm the storm inside, Meera turned to Rajiv. Aaryan now held his hand, fascinated by shiny rice bags. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue stuck.
Meera: “Rajiv… umm… I just got a message… from Aarti.” The name tasted bad.
Rajiv: “Aarti? Okay. What’s up?” He looked up, mildly curious.
Meera: “She’s… she’s actually at Westside. Right now.” Keep it simple. Breathe. “She… umm… needs some help. Picking out something. A dress, I think.” Her voice was high-pitched. She couldn’t meet his eyes, fiddling with a tea box in the trolley. “She asked if… if I could just pop over quickly? It won’t take long.” Liar. Dirty liar.
Rajiv: “Westside? Now? Okay… well, we’re almost done. We can all go after paying? Help her together?” He shrugged, reasonable. No!
Panic flared cold and sharp in Meera’s chest. All go? Impossible! He’ll see Arjun!
Meera: “Oh! Well… actually…” She stammered, mind racing. Think! “She… umm… she mentioned it was something… private? Ladies’ things? Underthings, maybe?” The word felt awkward. “She sounded shy… probably prefers just me?” She forced another weak, hopefully embarrassed smile.
Rajiv: “Ah. Understood.” A flicker of understanding and slight awkwardness crossed his face. “Yeah, okay. No problem. You go help her. But how will you come back? Uber? Auto? Or do you want me to wait or come back later to pick you up?”
Meera: “Uber or auto is perfect. I’ll be quick, I’ll call you when done.” Relief, sharp and dizzying, mixed with fresh guilt washed over her. She bent down, gathering Aaryan into a tight hug, burying her face in his soft hair – a stark contrast to her deceit. “Be good for Papa, beta. Don’t run off. Listen to him. Mamma will be back very, very soon.” Her voice trembled.
Aaryan: “Okay, Mamma! Bring balloon?”
Meera: “Maybe later, beta.” She straightened up, avoiding Rajiv’s eyes like fire. “I’ll… I’ll message you when I’m done.”
She walked away from the groceries towards the exit. Her legs felt heavy and weak. Every step towards the Westside entrance felt loud. The lights seemed harsh, other shoppers' chatter too loud. She was hyper-aware of her hips swaying under the fluid peach chiffon, the open back suddenly feeling vulnerable. What am I doing? Madness. Dangerous. Yet, under the icy fear, the illicit thrill pulsed stronger, a low thrum deep in her belly, a persistent ache between her legs. He’s waiting. For me. Only me.
Entering Westside, the cool air hit her after FreshMart’s warmth. Her phone buzzed again in her palm.
Arjun: Where are you? I am at first floor. Men’s section. .
Her heart hammered so hard she felt lightheaded, spots dancing in her vision. First floor.
Men’s section. She spotted the escalator, gripping the cold handrail. As she went up, she felt absurdly conscious of her body – her breasts rising with each shallow breath, the curve of her rear pressing against the saree dbang, the thin fabric clinging slightly to her thighs. Is he watching me come up? The thought made her skin flush hot from neck to chest. Reaching the top, she scanned. Racks of shirts, trousers, mannequins. No Arjun. Nervousness spiked to near-panic. She pulled out her phone, fingers trembling.
Meera: Where are you? I’m here. Men’s section.
Suddenly, warmth enveloped her exposed left shoulder. Soft, warm breath brushed the sensitive skin below her ear, sending an immediate wave of goosebumps down her arm and spine. A deep, familiar whisper vibrated against her skin, close, intimate, possessive.
Arjun: “Chandrikaaaa…”
Meera gasped, jumping slightly. She spun around, eyes wide. He stood impossibly close, a small, intense smile on his lips. His warm breath on her bare shoulder felt like a brand. The sudden closeness, the shock of his touch, the low murmur of Chandrika left her breathless, pulse roaring. She felt heat radiating from him, smelled his clean, masculine scent. He wore a simple, well-fitting dark grey half-sleeved t-shirt showing his arms and shoulders, and dark jeans. He looked casually handsome, his dark eyes fixed on hers intensely, making her knees weak. He’s here. So close. He looks… good. Really good. That smile… Oh god, my heart… Relief mixed with intense nervousness washed over her. A small, shaky, genuine smile touched her lips. Fresh warmth pooled low in her belly, a direct reaction to his presence and that whisper.
Arjun: “Thanks for coming.” His voice was low, just for her. His eyes swept over her face, lingered on her lips, travelled down her body – taking in the peach saree, the deep-cut blouse exposing her back – before meeting her eyes again. Appreciation burned in his gaze, raw and hungry.
Meera: “Haan… who sab choodiyee… jaldi jaana hee…” (Yes… all this drama… I have to go quickly…) Her voice was breathless, trying to sound business-like but failing under his nearness. “Pahale shirt chose kariye…” (First let’s choose the shirt…) “Bolo… kya madath chaahiye?” (Tell me… what help do you need?)
Arjun: “Today is Chandrika’s selection.” He grinned, the intimate name easy on his tongue, eyes holding hers captive.
Her breath caught. She glanced around nervously, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a husky whisper that sent shivers down her own spine.
Meera: “No Chandrika… just Meera.” The correction felt useless. His nearness overwhelmed her – the heat of his body inches away, the intensity in his dark eyes, his sheer maleness. It caused a distinct, pleasurable tightening deep inside her core, a fluttering that made her subtly press her thighs together. The open back felt very exposed under his look.
Arjun: “Just Meera is more than enough,” he murmured, his gaze dropping pointedly to her lips for a charged second. “You look… amazing. This colour… the saree… it’s perfect on you.” His praise was direct, appreciative, full of clear desire. His eyes traced her shoulder, down her exposed back. “And the back… wow.”
Meera: “Chup karo… jhoota,” she retorted, mock-scowling, but a deep flush of pleasure crept up her neck and cheeks. “I know exactly why you like the saree.” She adjusted her pallu self-consciously, aware of his eyes following her hands near her breasts.
Arjun: “Because it looks stunning on a stunning woman?” he teased softly, stepping slightly closer as they moved towards the shirts. The back of his hand brushed lightly against her hip. “And it moves… hypnotically.”
Meera: “Hmph. Chal, shirt dekhte hain. Time nahi hai.” (Hmph. Come on, let’s look at shirts. No time.) She tried to steer things, her heart racing, the brush of his hand leaving heat on her skin.
She scanned the racks, fingers brushing cotton and linen, trying to focus. She pulled out a light blue pinstripe shirt. “Yeh? Simple hai. Formal bhi.” (This? Simple. Formal too.)
Arjun: “Hmm… let me see.” He held it up. “Size?”
Meera: “Turn around.” He turned, presenting his broad back. She stepped close, reaching up to gently pull his t-shirt collar aside to check the size tag. Her fingers brushed lightly against the warm skin at his nape and the soft cotton. The brief contact sent an electric spark through her fingertips straight to her core. “Medium lag raha hai.” (Looks like Medium.) Her voice was husky.
Arjun: “Okay. Blue stripes… maybe?” He turned back, holding the shirt.
Meera: “Haan… thoda.” She put it back, scanning, eyes darting nervously. She pulled out a deep wine-red cotton shirt. “Yeh? Color accha hai. Different.” (This? Colour is nice. Different.)
He held it against himself, smoothing it over his chest.
Arjun: “Accha lagta hai?” (Does it look good?) He looked directly at her, intent.
She tilted her head, trying to assess it, though awareness of him overpowered her.
Meera: “Haan… par…” She stepped closer again, her arm reaching out as if to adjust the fit near his shoulder. Her hand hovered inches from his body. “…yeh shade thoda dark hai tumhare complexion ke liye, shayad. Kuch aur dekhte hain.” (Yes… but… this shade is a bit dark for you, maybe. Let’s see something else.) As she spoke, a loose strand of hair fluttered down and brushed his bare forearm.
Arjun gently caught the strand between his fingers, the calloused pad brushing her skin. He slowly, deliberately tucked it behind her ear. His fingertips grazed her sensitive ear and cheekbone. Meera froze, breath catching sharply, a jolt of pure sensation shooting straight down her spine to settle as a deep throb between her legs. His touch lingered a fraction too long. Meera jerked her head back, stepping away as if burned, cheeks flaming.
Meera: “Dekho… woh plain white shirt with thin black lines?” She pointed hastily to another rack, needing space.
As she walked towards the black and white checked shirts, she deliberately allowed her hips a pronounced sway. She felt the fluid chiffon swish sensually around her legs. She knew he was watching. She felt the weight of his gaze intensely on her back, specifically lower down. She glanced back over her shoulder. Sure enough, his eyes were fixed intently on the pronounced curve of her rear. The saree fabric stretched taut over her hips and buttocks, clearly outlining the full, rounded shape. She met his eyes, a spark of defiant challenge mixed with self-conscious heat flashing in hers.
Meera: “Arjun!” she scolded softly, mock-frowning, though her pulse hammered in her ears.
Arjun just smiled, slow and knowing, utterly unrepentant. His eyes stayed locked on hers briefly before drifting lower again as she turned away.
She reached the rack near a table piled with polos. She felt him materialize behind her, closer than before. She didn’t need to look; she knew his eyes were tracing the shape of her hips, the defined swell of her buttocks beneath the tight dbang of the saree. She felt a flush spread, a potent mix of embarrassment and illicit pleasure. A small, secret smile touched her lips. She turned around abruptly, catching him mid-appreciation.
Meera: “Kya dekh rahe ho itni ghaur se?” (What are you staring at so intently?)
His eyes snapped up, amusement and unmistakable heat in them. He didn’t speak. Instead, he gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod downwards towards her backside, a single eyebrow slightly raised in pure, knowing appreciation. His gaze was fixed on the rounded fullness of her buttocks clearly visible under the clinging peach chiffon.
Meera: “Kyaaa?” she asked again, feigning wide-eyed innocence, though her cheeks burned. She understood. Holding his gaze, her own eyes holding a challenge now, she slowly, deliberately turned her back to him again. She presented the full view of her hips and rear, the saree outlining every curve. She stayed like that for several seconds, pretending to examine a shirt, acutely aware of his eyes burning into her. She felt the heat of his gaze like a physical caress on her skin, focusing intensely on her buttocks. The knowledge that he was openly admiring her shape, right here in public, sent a fresh, undeniable surge of wetness between her legs. She felt the dampness soak her lace panties, making her shift her weight subtly. She finally turned back, a knowing smile still playing on her lips. “Yeh lo. Try karo.” (Here, take this. Try it.) She thrust a checked shirt towards him, her hand brushing his.
Meera: “Turn around.” He again turned back, presenting his broad back to Meera.
Meera, emboldened by the charged atmosphere and her own intense arousal, stepped dangerously close to him. Too close. His elbow protruded out, her left side pressed flush against his right elbow. The soft, full swell of her left breast, encased only in the thin lace bra and chiffon blouse, pressed firmly against the bare skin of his elbow where his t-shirt sleeve ended. The contact was sudden, electric, intensely intimate. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped Meera’s parted lips. Her eyes flew wide open, locking onto his. Arjun froze instantly, looking down at the point of contact where the soft curve of her breast met the firm muscle and bone of his elbow. His gaze then travelled slowly, deliberately, up her body to meet hers. His eyes were dark, dilated, intense. Meera didn’t pull away immediately. The feel of his warm skin against the sensitive swell of her breast was overwhelming. She felt her nipple harden instantly into a tight, aching peak, painfully aware of the pressure and the friction of the fabric against it. Her breath hitched, coming in short, shallow gasps. She saw his lips part slightly, his own breathing quicken. Time stretched in the thick, charged silence. The thrill of the forbidden contact warred with panic. She could feel the solid muscle of his forearm pressed against the yielding softness of her breast. Her body felt heavy, molten. After about ten seconds, breaking the spell with a jolt of fear, she jerked her upper body back, turning her face away sharply, cheeks blazing crimson. She couldn’t look at him. Her heart pounded violently, making her dizzy. The spot he’d touched felt intensely sensitized, throbbing.
Arjun: “Meera…” His voice was low, rough, thick.
Without looking, her voice tight and breathless, she grabbed another shirt blindly and thrust it at him.
Meera: “Here… try… try this one too. Go… change. See… see how it fits.” She stumbled over the words.
Arjun held her gaze for another intense moment, then nodded slowly.
Arjun: “Okay.”
He took the shirts and walked towards the changing cubicles, his stride less relaxed.
Meera stood rooted outside, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if shielding herself. The spot where his elbow had pressed against her breast felt branded, hyper-sensitive, radiating heat. She could still feel the phantom pressure. She tried deep breaths, but they came out shaky, failing to calm the intense throbbing low in her belly or the dampness soaking her panties. The tension was thick, suffocating, mixed with fear. She could still smell his scent. She heard a cubicle door unlock. He emerged wearing the deep wine-red shirt, buttoning it slowly.
Meera: “Oh… that one? I thought…” She tried desperately to sound normal.
Arjun: “Fit accha hai… comfortable.” He did a small turn, eyes fixed on her face. “You don’t like it?”
She forced herself to look critically, avoiding direct eye contact.
Meera: “Fit… fit accha hai… but the colour… I still think thoda dark hai tumhare liye.” (Fit is good… but the colour… I still think it’s a bit dark for you.) Her voice was steadier, though her insides churned. “Try the checked one? Woh better rahega.” (That will be better.)
Arjun disappeared back inside. Meera leaned against a pillar, closing her eyes. He’s changing in there. The image flashed: him pulling the t-shirt over his head, muscles moving… Her breath hitched. A reckless impulse seized her. She pulled out her phone.
Meera: Chandrika says hurry up.
She hit send, a small, nervous, flirtatious smile touching her lips.
He came out moments later wearing the black and white checked shirt, buttoned halfway.
Arjun: “Chandrika’s orders.” He grinned, holding his arms out slightly. “Better?”
Meera: “Yes! Much better. Suits you. Proper lag raha hai.” (Looks proper.) She managed a small smile. “This one le lo.” (Take this one.)
Arjun: “Okay. Chandrika knows best.” He gave her another knowing look before changing back.
They walked to the payment counter. A queue had formed. Arjun stepped into line. The narrow space forced Meera to stand close behind him, her front almost brushing his back. Her mind reeled from the earlier intense contact. As Arjun shifted his weight slightly, perhaps looking at the counter, his right elbow brushed softly against the outer swell of her left breast again. Meera stiffened, inhaling sharply. He didn’t seem to notice immediately. The contact remained – the firm point of his elbow resting lightly but unmistakably against the soft curve of her breast. Meera didn’t move. She couldn’t. Shock, paralyzing fear of discovery, and intense, illicit pleasure held her frozen. She turned her face sharply away, staring at a wallet display, cheeks burning. Her breath became shallow and rapid, catching in her throat. She felt the warmth of his skin through her blouse and saree, the slight pressure. Her nipple, already sensitized and aroused, hardened instantly beneath the fabric, aching against the firm bone of his elbow. The throbbing deep in her core intensified, a persistent, demanding pulse. She felt exposed, hyper-aware of every tiny shift of his body. Was he doing it deliberately? The uncertainty was agonizing, yet the sustained pressure, the sheer forbidden nature of it, was overwhelmingly erotic. She felt her own wetness increasing. Ten seconds. Fifteen. He didn’t move his arm. The line inched forward. Finally, Arjun took a step. The pressure vanished. Meera gasped softly, almost a whimper, as the contact broke, leaving her feeling empty, bereft, and intensely aroused. She kept her eyes averted, her whole body trembling.
Arjun paid, they walked out of Westside in heavy, charged silence. The bright sunlight felt jarring. Traffic noise, people talking – the real world rushed back. Guilt slammed into Meera cold, sharp, and nauseating. She forced a bright, brittle smile. Yet, beneath the icy remorse, the memory pulsed – his warm breath on her shoulder, the searing pressure of his elbow against her breast, the heat in his eyes. The game had escalated dangerously.
The drive to FreshMart was tense for Meera. Her mind raced with worries: How will I manage this? What if the plan fails? How do I tell such a big lie? She'd never done anything like this before. But the thrill of meeting Arjun alone, feeling his admiration, seeing his eyes locked on her – she craved that space desperately.
Inside FreshMart, Meera froze in the cereal aisle, a box of cornflakes dangling from her fingers. The bright packaging blurred. Her heart hammered hard and fast against her ribs. Just say it. ‘Aarti needs help.’ Three words. But the lie felt like a thick lump stuck in her throat. She’d never lied to Rajiv like this. Guilt sat like a cold, heavy rock in her stomach, making her feel sick. Yet, fighting against it, pulsing through her veins like electricity, was the raw thrill of what she was about to do. Meeting Arjun. Alone. Next door. Remembering his whispered ‘dear,’ picturing him waiting, scanning the crowd for her, sent fresh heat flooding through her body. Her skin prickled under the light peach chiffon. Her palms sweated against the cardboard box. She glanced sideways at Rajiv, calmly comparing rice prices, completely unaware.
Rajiv: “Meera, cornflakes or muesli for Aaryan? He finished the last box yesterday.” His voice was normal, snapping her out of her frantic thoughts.
Meera: “Haan… haan… cornflakes… I think…” Her voice sounded thin and far away, even to herself. How to start? ‘Rajiv, Aarti messaged…’ But she hasn’t. What if he asks details? What if he calls her? Oh god, disaster.
Rajiv: “Meera? You okay? You seem… miles away.” He looked at her, a slight frown on his face, his gaze sharpening.
Meera: “Mein? No, no… just… thinking about the list.” She forced a weak smile, shoving the cornflakes into the trolley Aaryan was supposed to be pushing. Aaryan had run off towards balloons near the entrance.
Rajiv: “Aaryan! Come back here! Meera, watch the trolley!”
Meera: “Oh! Sorry!” She fumbled, grabbing the trolley handle as it rolled, her cheeks flushing red. Idiot! Focus! She hurried after Aaryan, her movements jerky with nerves. “Aaryan, beta, please stay with Papa!” Her voice had a edge of panic.
Aaryan: “But Mamma, balloons!” He jumped excitedly, pointing.
Meera: “Later, sweetheart, later.” She gently steered him back to Rajiv, her heart pounding like she’d run a race. This is impossible. I can’t do it. Too risky, too wrong. Her phone buzzed in her purse against her hip. She flinched. Ignoring Rajiv’s slightly puzzled look, she pulled it out with shaking fingers.
Arjun: I’m here. Inside Westside. Near the entrance. Waiting, Chandrika.
The words sent a jolt through her – pure terror mixed with intense, forbidden excitement.
Her breath caught. He was there. Just meters away. The turmoil inside her exploded. I can’t. I shouldn’t. But I want to. The image of his intense gaze, the imagined warmth of him near, the thrill of the secret, crushed the cold guilt for a dizzy second.
Meera: Arjun, I… it’s really hard. Rajiv and Aaryan are right here. Maybe… maybe we all can come? We can choose together? Safer.
She typed desperately, clinging to the group idea.
Arjun: Please, Meera. Just you. Only 10 minutes. Please. I need to see you. Alone. The dress… please try. I’m begging you, Chandrika.
The pleading was raw. ‘Chandrika’ felt like a caress, weakening her.
Taking a deep, shaky breath that did nothing to calm the storm inside, Meera turned to Rajiv. Aaryan now held his hand, fascinated by shiny rice bags. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue stuck.
Meera: “Rajiv… umm… I just got a message… from Aarti.” The name tasted bad.
Rajiv: “Aarti? Okay. What’s up?” He looked up, mildly curious.
Meera: “She’s… she’s actually at Westside. Right now.” Keep it simple. Breathe. “She… umm… needs some help. Picking out something. A dress, I think.” Her voice was high-pitched. She couldn’t meet his eyes, fiddling with a tea box in the trolley. “She asked if… if I could just pop over quickly? It won’t take long.” Liar. Dirty liar.
Rajiv: “Westside? Now? Okay… well, we’re almost done. We can all go after paying? Help her together?” He shrugged, reasonable. No!
Panic flared cold and sharp in Meera’s chest. All go? Impossible! He’ll see Arjun!
Meera: “Oh! Well… actually…” She stammered, mind racing. Think! “She… umm… she mentioned it was something… private? Ladies’ things? Underthings, maybe?” The word felt awkward. “She sounded shy… probably prefers just me?” She forced another weak, hopefully embarrassed smile.
Rajiv: “Ah. Understood.” A flicker of understanding and slight awkwardness crossed his face. “Yeah, okay. No problem. You go help her. But how will you come back? Uber? Auto? Or do you want me to wait or come back later to pick you up?”
Meera: “Uber or auto is perfect. I’ll be quick, I’ll call you when done.” Relief, sharp and dizzying, mixed with fresh guilt washed over her. She bent down, gathering Aaryan into a tight hug, burying her face in his soft hair – a stark contrast to her deceit. “Be good for Papa, beta. Don’t run off. Listen to him. Mamma will be back very, very soon.” Her voice trembled.
Aaryan: “Okay, Mamma! Bring balloon?”
Meera: “Maybe later, beta.” She straightened up, avoiding Rajiv’s eyes like fire. “I’ll… I’ll message you when I’m done.”
She walked away from the groceries towards the exit. Her legs felt heavy and weak. Every step towards the Westside entrance felt loud. The lights seemed harsh, other shoppers' chatter too loud. She was hyper-aware of her hips swaying under the fluid peach chiffon, the open back suddenly feeling vulnerable. What am I doing? Madness. Dangerous. Yet, under the icy fear, the illicit thrill pulsed stronger, a low thrum deep in her belly, a persistent ache between her legs. He’s waiting. For me. Only me.
Entering Westside, the cool air hit her after FreshMart’s warmth. Her phone buzzed again in her palm.
Arjun: Where are you? I am at first floor. Men’s section. .
Her heart hammered so hard she felt lightheaded, spots dancing in her vision. First floor.
Men’s section. She spotted the escalator, gripping the cold handrail. As she went up, she felt absurdly conscious of her body – her breasts rising with each shallow breath, the curve of her rear pressing against the saree dbang, the thin fabric clinging slightly to her thighs. Is he watching me come up? The thought made her skin flush hot from neck to chest. Reaching the top, she scanned. Racks of shirts, trousers, mannequins. No Arjun. Nervousness spiked to near-panic. She pulled out her phone, fingers trembling.
Meera: Where are you? I’m here. Men’s section.
Suddenly, warmth enveloped her exposed left shoulder. Soft, warm breath brushed the sensitive skin below her ear, sending an immediate wave of goosebumps down her arm and spine. A deep, familiar whisper vibrated against her skin, close, intimate, possessive.
Arjun: “Chandrikaaaa…”
Meera gasped, jumping slightly. She spun around, eyes wide. He stood impossibly close, a small, intense smile on his lips. His warm breath on her bare shoulder felt like a brand. The sudden closeness, the shock of his touch, the low murmur of Chandrika left her breathless, pulse roaring. She felt heat radiating from him, smelled his clean, masculine scent. He wore a simple, well-fitting dark grey half-sleeved t-shirt showing his arms and shoulders, and dark jeans. He looked casually handsome, his dark eyes fixed on hers intensely, making her knees weak. He’s here. So close. He looks… good. Really good. That smile… Oh god, my heart… Relief mixed with intense nervousness washed over her. A small, shaky, genuine smile touched her lips. Fresh warmth pooled low in her belly, a direct reaction to his presence and that whisper.
Arjun: “Thanks for coming.” His voice was low, just for her. His eyes swept over her face, lingered on her lips, travelled down her body – taking in the peach saree, the deep-cut blouse exposing her back – before meeting her eyes again. Appreciation burned in his gaze, raw and hungry.
Meera: “Haan… who sab choodiyee… jaldi jaana hee…” (Yes… all this drama… I have to go quickly…) Her voice was breathless, trying to sound business-like but failing under his nearness. “Pahale shirt chose kariye…” (First let’s choose the shirt…) “Bolo… kya madath chaahiye?” (Tell me… what help do you need?)
Arjun: “Today is Chandrika’s selection.” He grinned, the intimate name easy on his tongue, eyes holding hers captive.
Her breath caught. She glanced around nervously, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a husky whisper that sent shivers down her own spine.
Meera: “No Chandrika… just Meera.” The correction felt useless. His nearness overwhelmed her – the heat of his body inches away, the intensity in his dark eyes, his sheer maleness. It caused a distinct, pleasurable tightening deep inside her core, a fluttering that made her subtly press her thighs together. The open back felt very exposed under his look.
Arjun: “Just Meera is more than enough,” he murmured, his gaze dropping pointedly to her lips for a charged second. “You look… amazing. This colour… the saree… it’s perfect on you.” His praise was direct, appreciative, full of clear desire. His eyes traced her shoulder, down her exposed back. “And the back… wow.”
Meera: “Chup karo… jhoota,” she retorted, mock-scowling, but a deep flush of pleasure crept up her neck and cheeks. “I know exactly why you like the saree.” She adjusted her pallu self-consciously, aware of his eyes following her hands near her breasts.
Arjun: “Because it looks stunning on a stunning woman?” he teased softly, stepping slightly closer as they moved towards the shirts. The back of his hand brushed lightly against her hip. “And it moves… hypnotically.”
Meera: “Hmph. Chal, shirt dekhte hain. Time nahi hai.” (Hmph. Come on, let’s look at shirts. No time.) She tried to steer things, her heart racing, the brush of his hand leaving heat on her skin.
She scanned the racks, fingers brushing cotton and linen, trying to focus. She pulled out a light blue pinstripe shirt. “Yeh? Simple hai. Formal bhi.” (This? Simple. Formal too.)
Arjun: “Hmm… let me see.” He held it up. “Size?”
Meera: “Turn around.” He turned, presenting his broad back. She stepped close, reaching up to gently pull his t-shirt collar aside to check the size tag. Her fingers brushed lightly against the warm skin at his nape and the soft cotton. The brief contact sent an electric spark through her fingertips straight to her core. “Medium lag raha hai.” (Looks like Medium.) Her voice was husky.
Arjun: “Okay. Blue stripes… maybe?” He turned back, holding the shirt.
Meera: “Haan… thoda.” She put it back, scanning, eyes darting nervously. She pulled out a deep wine-red cotton shirt. “Yeh? Color accha hai. Different.” (This? Colour is nice. Different.)
He held it against himself, smoothing it over his chest.
Arjun: “Accha lagta hai?” (Does it look good?) He looked directly at her, intent.
She tilted her head, trying to assess it, though awareness of him overpowered her.
Meera: “Haan… par…” She stepped closer again, her arm reaching out as if to adjust the fit near his shoulder. Her hand hovered inches from his body. “…yeh shade thoda dark hai tumhare complexion ke liye, shayad. Kuch aur dekhte hain.” (Yes… but… this shade is a bit dark for you, maybe. Let’s see something else.) As she spoke, a loose strand of hair fluttered down and brushed his bare forearm.
Arjun gently caught the strand between his fingers, the calloused pad brushing her skin. He slowly, deliberately tucked it behind her ear. His fingertips grazed her sensitive ear and cheekbone. Meera froze, breath catching sharply, a jolt of pure sensation shooting straight down her spine to settle as a deep throb between her legs. His touch lingered a fraction too long. Meera jerked her head back, stepping away as if burned, cheeks flaming.
Meera: “Dekho… woh plain white shirt with thin black lines?” She pointed hastily to another rack, needing space.
As she walked towards the black and white checked shirts, she deliberately allowed her hips a pronounced sway. She felt the fluid chiffon swish sensually around her legs. She knew he was watching. She felt the weight of his gaze intensely on her back, specifically lower down. She glanced back over her shoulder. Sure enough, his eyes were fixed intently on the pronounced curve of her rear. The saree fabric stretched taut over her hips and buttocks, clearly outlining the full, rounded shape. She met his eyes, a spark of defiant challenge mixed with self-conscious heat flashing in hers.
Meera: “Arjun!” she scolded softly, mock-frowning, though her pulse hammered in her ears.
Arjun just smiled, slow and knowing, utterly unrepentant. His eyes stayed locked on hers briefly before drifting lower again as she turned away.
She reached the rack near a table piled with polos. She felt him materialize behind her, closer than before. She didn’t need to look; she knew his eyes were tracing the shape of her hips, the defined swell of her buttocks beneath the tight dbang of the saree. She felt a flush spread, a potent mix of embarrassment and illicit pleasure. A small, secret smile touched her lips. She turned around abruptly, catching him mid-appreciation.
Meera: “Kya dekh rahe ho itni ghaur se?” (What are you staring at so intently?)
His eyes snapped up, amusement and unmistakable heat in them. He didn’t speak. Instead, he gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod downwards towards her backside, a single eyebrow slightly raised in pure, knowing appreciation. His gaze was fixed on the rounded fullness of her buttocks clearly visible under the clinging peach chiffon.
Meera: “Kyaaa?” she asked again, feigning wide-eyed innocence, though her cheeks burned. She understood. Holding his gaze, her own eyes holding a challenge now, she slowly, deliberately turned her back to him again. She presented the full view of her hips and rear, the saree outlining every curve. She stayed like that for several seconds, pretending to examine a shirt, acutely aware of his eyes burning into her. She felt the heat of his gaze like a physical caress on her skin, focusing intensely on her buttocks. The knowledge that he was openly admiring her shape, right here in public, sent a fresh, undeniable surge of wetness between her legs. She felt the dampness soak her lace panties, making her shift her weight subtly. She finally turned back, a knowing smile still playing on her lips. “Yeh lo. Try karo.” (Here, take this. Try it.) She thrust a checked shirt towards him, her hand brushing his.
Meera: “Turn around.” He again turned back, presenting his broad back to Meera.
Meera, emboldened by the charged atmosphere and her own intense arousal, stepped dangerously close to him. Too close. His elbow protruded out, her left side pressed flush against his right elbow. The soft, full swell of her left breast, encased only in the thin lace bra and chiffon blouse, pressed firmly against the bare skin of his elbow where his t-shirt sleeve ended. The contact was sudden, electric, intensely intimate. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped Meera’s parted lips. Her eyes flew wide open, locking onto his. Arjun froze instantly, looking down at the point of contact where the soft curve of her breast met the firm muscle and bone of his elbow. His gaze then travelled slowly, deliberately, up her body to meet hers. His eyes were dark, dilated, intense. Meera didn’t pull away immediately. The feel of his warm skin against the sensitive swell of her breast was overwhelming. She felt her nipple harden instantly into a tight, aching peak, painfully aware of the pressure and the friction of the fabric against it. Her breath hitched, coming in short, shallow gasps. She saw his lips part slightly, his own breathing quicken. Time stretched in the thick, charged silence. The thrill of the forbidden contact warred with panic. She could feel the solid muscle of his forearm pressed against the yielding softness of her breast. Her body felt heavy, molten. After about ten seconds, breaking the spell with a jolt of fear, she jerked her upper body back, turning her face away sharply, cheeks blazing crimson. She couldn’t look at him. Her heart pounded violently, making her dizzy. The spot he’d touched felt intensely sensitized, throbbing.
Arjun: “Meera…” His voice was low, rough, thick.
Without looking, her voice tight and breathless, she grabbed another shirt blindly and thrust it at him.
Meera: “Here… try… try this one too. Go… change. See… see how it fits.” She stumbled over the words.
Arjun held her gaze for another intense moment, then nodded slowly.
Arjun: “Okay.”
He took the shirts and walked towards the changing cubicles, his stride less relaxed.
Meera stood rooted outside, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if shielding herself. The spot where his elbow had pressed against her breast felt branded, hyper-sensitive, radiating heat. She could still feel the phantom pressure. She tried deep breaths, but they came out shaky, failing to calm the intense throbbing low in her belly or the dampness soaking her panties. The tension was thick, suffocating, mixed with fear. She could still smell his scent. She heard a cubicle door unlock. He emerged wearing the deep wine-red shirt, buttoning it slowly.
Meera: “Oh… that one? I thought…” She tried desperately to sound normal.
Arjun: “Fit accha hai… comfortable.” He did a small turn, eyes fixed on her face. “You don’t like it?”
She forced herself to look critically, avoiding direct eye contact.
Meera: “Fit… fit accha hai… but the colour… I still think thoda dark hai tumhare liye.” (Fit is good… but the colour… I still think it’s a bit dark for you.) Her voice was steadier, though her insides churned. “Try the checked one? Woh better rahega.” (That will be better.)
Arjun disappeared back inside. Meera leaned against a pillar, closing her eyes. He’s changing in there. The image flashed: him pulling the t-shirt over his head, muscles moving… Her breath hitched. A reckless impulse seized her. She pulled out her phone.
Meera: Chandrika says hurry up.
She hit send, a small, nervous, flirtatious smile touching her lips.
He came out moments later wearing the black and white checked shirt, buttoned halfway.
Arjun: “Chandrika’s orders.” He grinned, holding his arms out slightly. “Better?”
Meera: “Yes! Much better. Suits you. Proper lag raha hai.” (Looks proper.) She managed a small smile. “This one le lo.” (Take this one.)
Arjun: “Okay. Chandrika knows best.” He gave her another knowing look before changing back.
They walked to the payment counter. A queue had formed. Arjun stepped into line. The narrow space forced Meera to stand close behind him, her front almost brushing his back. Her mind reeled from the earlier intense contact. As Arjun shifted his weight slightly, perhaps looking at the counter, his right elbow brushed softly against the outer swell of her left breast again. Meera stiffened, inhaling sharply. He didn’t seem to notice immediately. The contact remained – the firm point of his elbow resting lightly but unmistakably against the soft curve of her breast. Meera didn’t move. She couldn’t. Shock, paralyzing fear of discovery, and intense, illicit pleasure held her frozen. She turned her face sharply away, staring at a wallet display, cheeks burning. Her breath became shallow and rapid, catching in her throat. She felt the warmth of his skin through her blouse and saree, the slight pressure. Her nipple, already sensitized and aroused, hardened instantly beneath the fabric, aching against the firm bone of his elbow. The throbbing deep in her core intensified, a persistent, demanding pulse. She felt exposed, hyper-aware of every tiny shift of his body. Was he doing it deliberately? The uncertainty was agonizing, yet the sustained pressure, the sheer forbidden nature of it, was overwhelmingly erotic. She felt her own wetness increasing. Ten seconds. Fifteen. He didn’t move his arm. The line inched forward. Finally, Arjun took a step. The pressure vanished. Meera gasped softly, almost a whimper, as the contact broke, leaving her feeling empty, bereft, and intensely aroused. She kept her eyes averted, her whole body trembling.
Arjun paid, they walked out of Westside in heavy, charged silence. The bright sunlight felt jarring. Traffic noise, people talking – the real world rushed back. Guilt slammed into Meera cold, sharp, and nauseating. She forced a bright, brittle smile. Yet, beneath the icy remorse, the memory pulsed – his warm breath on her shoulder, the searing pressure of his elbow against her breast, the heat in his eyes. The game had escalated dangerously.