10-09-2025, 12:12 AM
Chapter continued...
Meera got up from the bed. The lavender lace of her panties felt soft against her skin, a smooth little touch that made her aware of her own body. She put on the matching bra. She cupped her breasts with both hands, lifting them, pushing them together until they swelled over the top of the cups. The lace felt rough and delicate at the same time against her nipples, which were already getting hard. She did this for a reason. She wasn't dressing for comfort. She was dressing to be seen.
She walked to her wardrobe. Her fingers moved past all the other fancy dresses and silks. She didn't even look at them. She went straight for the plain blue chiffon saree. This was the one. This was the saree she wore that first time, when she caught him staring at her hips in the grocery store. This was the saree she had on in the kitchen when she bent over and he got a look at her waist, at the lavender lace underneath.
This was the saree she wore for his birthday, just to show him his Chandrika. Today, she was putting it on again. Not to hide anything. She was going to use it. She was going to use it to make him remember. To get that happy, hungry look back in his eyes. A thrill shot through her, a hot, sharp feeling deep in her stomach. It wasn't the dress that was magic. It was her. She was the thing he wanted.
She wrapped the blue saree around herself, taking her time with every fold. She stood in front of the mirror. The thin blue fabric floated around her legs, showing the shape of her hips and thighs underneath. But then she made one specific change. She pulled the end of the saree, the pallu, and tucked the pleats in tightly, making sure the low dip of her navel was completely covered up. This was a secret.
This part of her wasn't for everyone to see. It was for one person only. It was for him to find, for him to uncover, only if she decided to let him. The thought of his hands pulling at the fabric, of his eyes on that hidden skin, made a pulse of heat beat between her legs. It was a powerful feeling, a dirty secret she was carrying right there in the folds of her saree.
She was dressed. But what for? A wedding? Or for what came next, for the dangerous game she was playing?
The front door opened. Rajiv and Aaryan were back. Rajiv's face lit up when he saw her.
Rajiv: “Waah! Kitni jaldi ready ho gayi! Dekho na Aaryan, Mamma kitni sundar lag rahi hain!” (Wow! You got ready so quickly! Look Aaryan, how beautiful Mamma is looking!)
He came over and gave her a quick, dry peck on the cheek. Meera smiled back, but her mind was already somewhere else, thinking about someone else.
Aaryan: “Mamma, mujhe bhi ready karo! Mujhe wahi blue wala shirt pehenna hai!” (Mamma, get me ready too! I want to wear that blue shirt!)
Meera: “Haan, beta, jaldi se.” (Yes, baby, quickly.)
She moved fast, her hands efficient. She helped Aaryan change his clothes. When his little fingers struggled with the buttons, her own fingers, which were usually so patient, snapped them up quickly, impatiently. When he couldn't find his good shoes, she found them in a second, her mind completely focused. She was in a hurry. Every second spent on her son was a second she wasn't there, where she really wanted to be.
The car ride to the wedding was pure torture for Meera. On the outside, she smiled and nodded. On the inside, she was buzzing. She was desperate to see Arjun. She needed to see his face when he saw the blue saree. She needed to know that he got her message, that he understood her promise. She wanted to see that sad, dull look in his eyes get replaced by a raw, wanting stare. She wanted him to look at her and forget all his reasons to hold back. She wanted him to show her everything he was feeling.
Rajiv, talking happily as he drove, had no idea.
Rajiv: “Kal office mein bahut masti thi. Team ka mood bahut accha tha. Ab soch rahe hain agle weekend kahi get together karte hain. It was a major success, after all.” (There was a lot of fun in the office yesterday. The team’s mood was very good. Now we’re thinking of having a get together next weekend. It was a major success, after all.) He glanced at her. “Arjun bhi thoda better lag raha tha kal ke comparison mein, lekin abhi bhi… pata nahi… shayad parents ki yaad aa rahi hogi. Akela rehta hai na.” (Arjun also seemed a bit better compared to yesterday, but still… don’t know… maybe he’s missing his parents. He lives alone after all.)
Meera: “Haan… shayad,” she murmured, her eyes staring out the window, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. He's better because of me. He's lonely because he doesn't have me.
Rajiv: “Aur woh Aarti? Tum dono ab baat karti ho?” (And that Aarti? Do you two talk anymore?)
The name hit her like a bucket of cold water. A sudden, sharp jealousy, hot and ugly, twisted in her gut. Aarti? Why is he thinking about her? She pushed the feeling down, keeping her voice flat.
Meera: “I dont know” She shut the topic down. Aarti didn't matter. He is not hers, she thought, and the strength of the feeling surprised her.
They reached the venue—a large, beautifully lit lawn. The air was filled with the scent of flowers and food from the buffet counters set up around the edges. A stage was set at one end, and a small concrete shed housing generators stood at the other. Shamianas on either side, sheltering seating areas. Meera's eyes didn't see any of it. They scanned the crowds, searching for one person.
He wasn't there.
A tight knot of worry formed in her stomach. She checked her phone, hiding it in her hand. No messages. The eager feeling started to turn into something else, a mix of anger and a sick sadness. He promised. He said he would come. She couldn't wait anymore. She typed a message, her fingers pressing hard on the screen.
Meera: Where are you? You promised you would come.
Waiting for an answer felt like forever, stuck in the middle of all these happy, noisy people. Then, her phone buzzed.
Arjun: On the way, Meera. Will be there in sometime.
A wave of relief washed over her, so strong it almost made her dizzy. He was coming.
She walked around the edge of the lawn, saying hello to people from Rajiv's office with a blank smile on her face. Her attention was somewhere else entirely. Rajiv called out to her from near the stage.
Rajiv: “Meera! Idhar ao! Gift dena hai bride-groom ko! Jaldi!” (Meera! Come here! We have to give the gift to the bride-groom! Quickly!)
She started making her way through the crowd toward the stage. She was walking by herself, the blue chiffon of her saree whispering around her ankles, when she suddenly felt a body right behind her. Very close. So close she could feel the heat coming off it. A fake, deliberate cough sounded right next to her ear.
She turned around. And there he was.
Arjun.
The air left her lungs. The music, the people, everything else just melted into a blur. Her eyes locked onto him. He looked so good. Better than she remembered. He was wearing the grey t-shirt she told him to wear, the one from their shopping trip. It was tight on him, clinging to the hard muscles of his shoulders and his chest. The sight made her mouth feel dry. His face still had some of that tiredness, a hesitation that made her chest hurt. But his eyes… his eyes were locked on her, dark and intense, looking at the blue saree, and in them she saw a spark, a flash of recognition that made her own blood feel hot. They just stood there, trapped in a silent bubble, staring at each other, the whole wedding fading into nothing.
She was the one who broke it, her voice practical, a contrast to the heat rushing through her body.
Meera: “Chalo, stage par gift dena hai. Tum bhi aao, jaldi karo.” (Come on, we have to give the gift on stage. You come too, hurry up.)
Arjun hung back, hesitating. A rush of boldness went through her. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his forearm. His skin was warm. The muscle under her fingers was hard and solid. The touch was electric, a little shock that went straight up her arm. She gave him a small, firm push forward, then let go immediately, her fingers tingling from the contact. The simple act of pushing him, of telling him what to do with her hands, sent a jolt of power and happiness through her. He listens to me. I can make him move.
He walked ahead of her then, and she followed, her eyes openly watching his back, the way the grey cotton of his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. He had done what she said. He was wearing what she wanted. And she, without him asking, was wearing his favorite dress, and under it, the lavender lace he had chosen for her. The knowledge was a heavy, thrilling secret between her legs. She felt a hot blush on her skin, a mix of shyness and pure, dirty pride.
They got to the bottom of the stage where a bunch of people were crowding together—colleagues and their families. Rajiv waved them over.
Rajiv: “Arjun! Idhar aa! Family photo ke liye sab aa rahe hain! Meera, aaja mere paas. Arjun, tum bhi aaja, humare saath hi khade ho jao.” (Arjun! Come here! Everyone is coming for a family photo! Meera, come to me. Arjun, you come too, stand with us.)
Everyone shuffled together, squeezing in to fit. Arjun ended up standing right next to Meera. It started by accident—the bare skin of his forearm brushed against the bare skin of her upper arm, right where her blouse ended. It was just a quick touch, a graze, but it sent a jolt through both of them. She felt Arjun's muscle tense, felt him start to pull his arm away to make a polite space between them.
But Meera wasn't having it. This was her moment. This was what she wanted. Under the cover of everyone pushing and laughing and the cameras flashing, she made a decision. She shifted her stance just a little. She pressed her arm back against his, firmly, making sure that a long, solid line of their skin was touching, from their shoulders all the way down to their elbows.
His skin was warm, slightly rough against her smoothness. She could feel the fine hairs on his arm, the hard muscle underneath. The heat coming from him was incredible, a burning line that seared into her, making her head feel light. She held her arm there, pressed tight against his, a silent, daring message. She felt the subtle tension in his arm, the exact moment he stopped trying to pull away and just let it happen.
He didn't move. He held his arm still, letting her skin rest firmly against his. The pressure was constant, a hidden intimacy in the middle of all the noise and chaos. She could feel every tiny movement of his muscle, the rhythm of his breathing. It was an agonizingly sensual connection, a secret they were sharing right in the open, under her husband's nose, while everyone smiled for the camera. Meera smiled too, a bright, perfect, fake smile for the photographer, while her entire world narrowed down to the burning, illicit heat of Arjun's arm pressed against hers.
Meera got up from the bed. The lavender lace of her panties felt soft against her skin, a smooth little touch that made her aware of her own body. She put on the matching bra. She cupped her breasts with both hands, lifting them, pushing them together until they swelled over the top of the cups. The lace felt rough and delicate at the same time against her nipples, which were already getting hard. She did this for a reason. She wasn't dressing for comfort. She was dressing to be seen.
She walked to her wardrobe. Her fingers moved past all the other fancy dresses and silks. She didn't even look at them. She went straight for the plain blue chiffon saree. This was the one. This was the saree she wore that first time, when she caught him staring at her hips in the grocery store. This was the saree she had on in the kitchen when she bent over and he got a look at her waist, at the lavender lace underneath.
This was the saree she wore for his birthday, just to show him his Chandrika. Today, she was putting it on again. Not to hide anything. She was going to use it. She was going to use it to make him remember. To get that happy, hungry look back in his eyes. A thrill shot through her, a hot, sharp feeling deep in her stomach. It wasn't the dress that was magic. It was her. She was the thing he wanted.
She wrapped the blue saree around herself, taking her time with every fold. She stood in front of the mirror. The thin blue fabric floated around her legs, showing the shape of her hips and thighs underneath. But then she made one specific change. She pulled the end of the saree, the pallu, and tucked the pleats in tightly, making sure the low dip of her navel was completely covered up. This was a secret.
This part of her wasn't for everyone to see. It was for one person only. It was for him to find, for him to uncover, only if she decided to let him. The thought of his hands pulling at the fabric, of his eyes on that hidden skin, made a pulse of heat beat between her legs. It was a powerful feeling, a dirty secret she was carrying right there in the folds of her saree.
She was dressed. But what for? A wedding? Or for what came next, for the dangerous game she was playing?
The front door opened. Rajiv and Aaryan were back. Rajiv's face lit up when he saw her.
Rajiv: “Waah! Kitni jaldi ready ho gayi! Dekho na Aaryan, Mamma kitni sundar lag rahi hain!” (Wow! You got ready so quickly! Look Aaryan, how beautiful Mamma is looking!)
He came over and gave her a quick, dry peck on the cheek. Meera smiled back, but her mind was already somewhere else, thinking about someone else.
Aaryan: “Mamma, mujhe bhi ready karo! Mujhe wahi blue wala shirt pehenna hai!” (Mamma, get me ready too! I want to wear that blue shirt!)
Meera: “Haan, beta, jaldi se.” (Yes, baby, quickly.)
She moved fast, her hands efficient. She helped Aaryan change his clothes. When his little fingers struggled with the buttons, her own fingers, which were usually so patient, snapped them up quickly, impatiently. When he couldn't find his good shoes, she found them in a second, her mind completely focused. She was in a hurry. Every second spent on her son was a second she wasn't there, where she really wanted to be.
The car ride to the wedding was pure torture for Meera. On the outside, she smiled and nodded. On the inside, she was buzzing. She was desperate to see Arjun. She needed to see his face when he saw the blue saree. She needed to know that he got her message, that he understood her promise. She wanted to see that sad, dull look in his eyes get replaced by a raw, wanting stare. She wanted him to look at her and forget all his reasons to hold back. She wanted him to show her everything he was feeling.
Rajiv, talking happily as he drove, had no idea.
Rajiv: “Kal office mein bahut masti thi. Team ka mood bahut accha tha. Ab soch rahe hain agle weekend kahi get together karte hain. It was a major success, after all.” (There was a lot of fun in the office yesterday. The team’s mood was very good. Now we’re thinking of having a get together next weekend. It was a major success, after all.) He glanced at her. “Arjun bhi thoda better lag raha tha kal ke comparison mein, lekin abhi bhi… pata nahi… shayad parents ki yaad aa rahi hogi. Akela rehta hai na.” (Arjun also seemed a bit better compared to yesterday, but still… don’t know… maybe he’s missing his parents. He lives alone after all.)
Meera: “Haan… shayad,” she murmured, her eyes staring out the window, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. He's better because of me. He's lonely because he doesn't have me.
Rajiv: “Aur woh Aarti? Tum dono ab baat karti ho?” (And that Aarti? Do you two talk anymore?)
The name hit her like a bucket of cold water. A sudden, sharp jealousy, hot and ugly, twisted in her gut. Aarti? Why is he thinking about her? She pushed the feeling down, keeping her voice flat.
Meera: “I dont know” She shut the topic down. Aarti didn't matter. He is not hers, she thought, and the strength of the feeling surprised her.
They reached the venue—a large, beautifully lit lawn. The air was filled with the scent of flowers and food from the buffet counters set up around the edges. A stage was set at one end, and a small concrete shed housing generators stood at the other. Shamianas on either side, sheltering seating areas. Meera's eyes didn't see any of it. They scanned the crowds, searching for one person.
He wasn't there.
A tight knot of worry formed in her stomach. She checked her phone, hiding it in her hand. No messages. The eager feeling started to turn into something else, a mix of anger and a sick sadness. He promised. He said he would come. She couldn't wait anymore. She typed a message, her fingers pressing hard on the screen.
Meera: Where are you? You promised you would come.
Waiting for an answer felt like forever, stuck in the middle of all these happy, noisy people. Then, her phone buzzed.
Arjun: On the way, Meera. Will be there in sometime.
A wave of relief washed over her, so strong it almost made her dizzy. He was coming.
She walked around the edge of the lawn, saying hello to people from Rajiv's office with a blank smile on her face. Her attention was somewhere else entirely. Rajiv called out to her from near the stage.
Rajiv: “Meera! Idhar ao! Gift dena hai bride-groom ko! Jaldi!” (Meera! Come here! We have to give the gift to the bride-groom! Quickly!)
She started making her way through the crowd toward the stage. She was walking by herself, the blue chiffon of her saree whispering around her ankles, when she suddenly felt a body right behind her. Very close. So close she could feel the heat coming off it. A fake, deliberate cough sounded right next to her ear.
She turned around. And there he was.
Arjun.
The air left her lungs. The music, the people, everything else just melted into a blur. Her eyes locked onto him. He looked so good. Better than she remembered. He was wearing the grey t-shirt she told him to wear, the one from their shopping trip. It was tight on him, clinging to the hard muscles of his shoulders and his chest. The sight made her mouth feel dry. His face still had some of that tiredness, a hesitation that made her chest hurt. But his eyes… his eyes were locked on her, dark and intense, looking at the blue saree, and in them she saw a spark, a flash of recognition that made her own blood feel hot. They just stood there, trapped in a silent bubble, staring at each other, the whole wedding fading into nothing.
She was the one who broke it, her voice practical, a contrast to the heat rushing through her body.
Meera: “Chalo, stage par gift dena hai. Tum bhi aao, jaldi karo.” (Come on, we have to give the gift on stage. You come too, hurry up.)
Arjun hung back, hesitating. A rush of boldness went through her. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his forearm. His skin was warm. The muscle under her fingers was hard and solid. The touch was electric, a little shock that went straight up her arm. She gave him a small, firm push forward, then let go immediately, her fingers tingling from the contact. The simple act of pushing him, of telling him what to do with her hands, sent a jolt of power and happiness through her. He listens to me. I can make him move.
He walked ahead of her then, and she followed, her eyes openly watching his back, the way the grey cotton of his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. He had done what she said. He was wearing what she wanted. And she, without him asking, was wearing his favorite dress, and under it, the lavender lace he had chosen for her. The knowledge was a heavy, thrilling secret between her legs. She felt a hot blush on her skin, a mix of shyness and pure, dirty pride.
They got to the bottom of the stage where a bunch of people were crowding together—colleagues and their families. Rajiv waved them over.
Rajiv: “Arjun! Idhar aa! Family photo ke liye sab aa rahe hain! Meera, aaja mere paas. Arjun, tum bhi aaja, humare saath hi khade ho jao.” (Arjun! Come here! Everyone is coming for a family photo! Meera, come to me. Arjun, you come too, stand with us.)
Everyone shuffled together, squeezing in to fit. Arjun ended up standing right next to Meera. It started by accident—the bare skin of his forearm brushed against the bare skin of her upper arm, right where her blouse ended. It was just a quick touch, a graze, but it sent a jolt through both of them. She felt Arjun's muscle tense, felt him start to pull his arm away to make a polite space between them.
But Meera wasn't having it. This was her moment. This was what she wanted. Under the cover of everyone pushing and laughing and the cameras flashing, she made a decision. She shifted her stance just a little. She pressed her arm back against his, firmly, making sure that a long, solid line of their skin was touching, from their shoulders all the way down to their elbows.
His skin was warm, slightly rough against her smoothness. She could feel the fine hairs on his arm, the hard muscle underneath. The heat coming from him was incredible, a burning line that seared into her, making her head feel light. She held her arm there, pressed tight against his, a silent, daring message. She felt the subtle tension in his arm, the exact moment he stopped trying to pull away and just let it happen.
He didn't move. He held his arm still, letting her skin rest firmly against his. The pressure was constant, a hidden intimacy in the middle of all the noise and chaos. She could feel every tiny movement of his muscle, the rhythm of his breathing. It was an agonizingly sensual connection, a secret they were sharing right in the open, under her husband's nose, while everyone smiled for the camera. Meera smiled too, a bright, perfect, fake smile for the photographer, while her entire world narrowed down to the burning, illicit heat of Arjun's arm pressed against hers.