Scene 1
Characters:
Shreya: (Whispering) Mummy... you're really gone. Just yesterday you were here, telling me to drink my tea. Now... just... silence.
What am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do now? You were the only one. Dad left so long ago... now you too. I'm alone. Completely alone in this huge city.
(She takes a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. Her gaze falls on a calendar on the wall. A date is circled.)
Shreya: Shit. The rent. Mr. Sharma will be here on the first. That's... fifteen days. Fifteen days.
(She gets up and goes to a small metal box where her mother kept the household money. She opens it and counts the notes.)
Shreya: One... two... three... four thousand... five hundred... and some change. The rent is twelve thousand. Then there's food. Electricity. The wi-fi bill. This is nothing. This won't even last two weeks.
(She slumps back onto the bed, her head in her hands.)
Shreya: I have to do something. I can't get thrown out. Where would I go? Pooja? Rina? They have their own problems... their own families. I can't be a burden. A job... what job? I only finished my 12th. Call center? They want fluent English... mine is okay, but... and the timings are horrible. What else can I do? I have no skills. No degree.
(Her hand unconsciously goes to her chest. Her blouse feels a little damp. A familiar, frustrating sensation.)
Shreya: Ugh. Not again. Stupid body. Why are you like this? So embarrassing. All my life, hiding these stupid leaks. The doctors never knew why. 'A natural lactating anomaly,' they said. What a useless, freakish thing. A gift for a mother, a curse for me.
(She gets up and goes to the mirror, unbuttoning her blouse. Her large, full breasts are visible in her simple bra. There are small, damp spots on the fabric.)
Shreya: So full. Always so heavy. And for what? For nothing. A total waste.
(She stares at her reflection for a long moment. An idea, wild and desperate, begins to form in her mind. She picks up her phone from the bed.)
Shreya: Wait a minute... Waste? Maybe not. People are... strange. They like strange things. The internet is full of strange things.
(Her fingers fly across the screen, typing into the search bar.)
Shreya: 'How to make money from home Mumbai' ...Data entry, online surveys... pays peanuts. 'Quick jobs for women' ...Receptionist, salesgirl... need to apply, interview... takes too long.
(She hesitates, then types a new search query, her cheeks flushing.)
Shreya: 'Selling adult content India' ...'Adult work from home'... Oh my god. Look at all these sites. Models... performers... They want you to... do things on camera. I can't do that. No.
(She scrolls down, about to close the page, when a specific forum catches her eye. The title is "Niche Markets & Unique Talents.")
Shreya: 'Niche Markets'... what does that mean? (She clicks the link. Her eyes widen as she reads the posts.)
Shreya: No way. No... fucking... way. They... they want... this? They'll pay for... breast milk? For pictures? For videos?
(She reads a post from a user.)
Shreya: 'Looking for a genuine, clean, natural provider. Top price for fresh supply. Even more for visuals. Discretion is key.'
(She leans back, her mind racing. Fear, disgust, and a spark of frantic hope churn inside her.)
Shreya: This is insane. It's perverted. But... the money they are talking about... One video... will not pay the rent. I need something more.
I have no choice. I really don't. Mummy... please forgive me. But I have to survive. Okay. Okay, Shreya. Think. Be smart. Be safe. No face. Never, ever show your face. A different name. A new email address.
(Her resolve hardens. She stands up and walks to the window, pulling the curtain shut. The room is now dim. She takes off her bra, her heavy breasts spilling free. She looks at them in the mirror, not with frustration, but with a new, calculating gaze.)
Shreya: Okay. Let's make a profile. Let's see what you're really worth. I need photos. Good photos. My phone camera is decent... need good light.
(She moves the table lamp closer to the bed, positioning it. She grabs a black dupatta from her closet and dbangs it over the pillow, creating a simple backdrop.)
Shreya: First, just the shape. Show the size. I'll crop it from the neck down. Okay, hold the phone up... angle it down... like this. Click. Hmm... it looks good. They look... really big. Voluptuous. That's the word they used on the site.
Now... the main event. The... 'special ability.' Come on, body. Don't fail me now.
(She gently cups one breast and squeezes. A tiny, perfect white bead appears at the tip of her nipple. She lets out a shaky breath.)
Shreya: There it is. Okay, get closer. Focus. Click. That's a good one. The drop is so clear.
Let's try for more. (She massages herself gently, and a thin stream of white milk trickles down, tracing a path over her pale skin.)
Shreya: Wow. Okay. This is... this is the money shot. Hold still... Click. Click. Click. Perfect. It's erotic... but also... natural? I don't know. But it's what they want.
(She puts her phone down and quickly gets dressed in a fresh, clean top. She sits on the bed and opens the website again, tapping 'Create Profile'.)
Shreya: Username: Hmm... can't be Shreya. Needs to be... exotic. MumbaiMilkMaid?... No, so cheap. Amrita?... Means nectar. I like it. Let's try... AmritFlow. Yes. It's available.
Headline: Pure, Natural, Divine Gift from the Heart of Mumbai.
About Me: Okay... what do I write? I am a healthy, clean, 21-year-old Punjabi girl with a rare, natural gift. My body produces the sweetest, richest nectar without the touch of a child. This is a sacred offering, available for discerning patrons who appreciate true purity and abundance. My profile is 100% genuine. What you see is what you get. MEETUPS* Conditions apply.
(She uploads the photos, carefully cropping them to ensure her face and any identifying marks are not visible. She pauses before hitting the 'Submit' button, her heart pounding in her chest.)
Shreya: This is it. Once I do this, there's no going back. I'm stepping into a different world. A world of secrets. Be careful, Shreya. Be smart. Trust no one. This is just business. A way to survive.
(She takes one last, deep breath and taps the screen.)
Shreya: Okay. It's done. My profile is live. AmritFlow is born. Now... I wait.
===
(The scene opens hours later. Shreya is pacing in her small living room, chewing on her thumbnail. She keeps unlocking her phone, checking the website, then locking it again. The screen is blank. She groans and throws herself onto the sofa.)
Shreya: Nothing. For three hours, nothing. Maybe the photos were bad. Maybe my description was stupid. 'Sacred offering'... who was I kidding? I sound like a crazy person. This was a mistake. A huge, desperate mistake. I should just take the profile down. Go to a call center tomorrow. I can handle it. I can...
(Her phone buzzes on the coffee table. A notification light flashes. She freezes, staring at it. Slowly, she reaches for it and unlocks the screen. A new message on the website. Her breath catches in her throat.)
Shreya: (Whispering) Oh my god. Someone replied.
(She taps the notification. The message opens.)
Sameer (on-screen message): "Hello, AmritFlow. My name is Sameer. Your profile is... quite remarkable. It has an air of elegance that is rare on sites like this. I must ask, for my own peace of mind, are you truly natural? I am a genuine patron seeking the purity you described."
Shreya: (Reading aloud softly) "An air of elegance..." He sounds... polite. Normal. Not like the horrible messages you read about online. Okay. Okay, Shreya. Be calm. Be professional. You are AmritFlow now.
(She takes a deep breath and her fingers hover over the keyboard before she starts typing a reply.)
Shreya (typing): "Hello Sameer. Thank you for your message. Yes, everything in my profile is 100% genuine and natural. I am AmritFlow."
(She hits send, her heart hammering against her ribs. The small "delivered" checkmark appears. She waits. A minute passes. Then two. The typing indicator bubble appears.)
Shreya: He's replying. He's really replying. Don't be a creep, don't be a creep, please don't be a creep.
Sameer (on-screen message): "Excellent. I appreciate honesty above all else. Allow me to be direct, I hope you don't find it crude. I am a 45-year-old businessman in Mumbai. I value discretion, and I am willing to pay generously for it, and for a truly authentic experience. For a first session, simply for me to verify your gift and to taste, I can offer twenty thousand rupees."
(Shreya's eyes go wide. She reads the number again. And again.)
Shreya: (Whispering) Twenty... thousand? Rupees? For one meeting? Just to... taste? That's... that's the rent. The electricity bill. The wi-fi. Groceries for a month. From one meeting. He can't be serious. This has to be a scam.
(She reads his message again. It sounds straightforward. No strange requests. She decides to test the waters, to sound in control.)
Shreya (typing): "That amount is acceptable in principle. What are your exact terms for this 'first session'?"
(She hits send. The reply comes back almost instantly.)
Sameer (on-screen message): "I am glad we are in agreement. My priority is to ensure you are safe and comfortable. I propose we meet for a coffee first, somewhere public and respectable. My treat, of course. This is so we can speak for a few minutes and you can see I am a normal, decent man. Perhaps the Sea Lounge at the Taj Palace Hotel? It is very safe. If, and only if, you feel comfortable after we talk, we can go to a room I will book there. My only desire for our first private meeting is to witness your gift in person and to drink directly from you. Nothing more. I give you my word you will be treated with the utmost respect. Your comfort is paramount."
(Shreya feels a wave of relief wash over her. The Taj. A public place first. He was giving her all the power. It sounded... safe. As safe as something like this could be.)
Shreya: (To herself) The Taj... wow. He has money. This is real. He's not some guy trying to lure me to a shady apartment in a bad neighborhood. He said... 'drink directly'. Like a baby. A 45-year-old baby. And nothing more. I can do that. It's weird, but... for twenty thousand rupees, I can handle weird. I just have to close my eyes and think of the rent.
Shreya (typing): "A public meeting first is a wise and respectful suggestion. The Taj is acceptable. Your request for the private meeting is also clear and I accept on the condition that you mean exactly what you say. Nothing more."
Sameer (on-screen message): "You have my solemn word. I am a man of honor. The experience I seek is one of purity and tranquility, not aggression. I would never violate your trust. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon? Around 3 PM?"
Shreya: (To herself) Tomorrow. So soon. But that's good. No time to overthink it. No time to back out. I need the money now.
Shreya (typing): "Tomorrow at 3 PM in the Sea Lounge. How will I recognize you?"
Sameer (on-screen message): "I will be sitting at a table by the window overlooking the sea. I will have a copy of today's Economic Times on my table. I will be wearing a simple blue shirt. And you?"
Shreya (typing): "I will be wearing a simple yellow salwar kameez."
Sameer (on-screen message): "Perfect. I look forward to it, AmritFlow. Please, get a good night's rest. There is no need to be nervous."
Shreya (typing): "Thank you. See you tomorrow, Sameer."
(The conversation ends. Shreya puts her phone down on the table and slowly sinks back into the sofa cushions. She stares at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of fear, excitement, and disbelief.)
Shreya: It's happening. It's really happening. Tomorrow, I'm going to the Taj Hotel to meet a strange man who is going to pay me twenty thousand rupees to drink my breast milk. Mummy... what would you say if you could see me now? (She shakes her head, a new resolve hardening in her eyes.)
Shreya: No. It doesn't matter. I have to do this. I'm not Shreya tomorrow. I'm AmritFlow. And AmritFlow is in control. AmritFlow is going to pay the rent.
Characters:
- Shreya: A 21-year-old woman discovering her path.
Shreya: (Whispering) Mummy... you're really gone. Just yesterday you were here, telling me to drink my tea. Now... just... silence.
What am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do now? You were the only one. Dad left so long ago... now you too. I'm alone. Completely alone in this huge city.
(She takes a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. Her gaze falls on a calendar on the wall. A date is circled.)
Shreya: Shit. The rent. Mr. Sharma will be here on the first. That's... fifteen days. Fifteen days.
(She gets up and goes to a small metal box where her mother kept the household money. She opens it and counts the notes.)
Shreya: One... two... three... four thousand... five hundred... and some change. The rent is twelve thousand. Then there's food. Electricity. The wi-fi bill. This is nothing. This won't even last two weeks.
(She slumps back onto the bed, her head in her hands.)
Shreya: I have to do something. I can't get thrown out. Where would I go? Pooja? Rina? They have their own problems... their own families. I can't be a burden. A job... what job? I only finished my 12th. Call center? They want fluent English... mine is okay, but... and the timings are horrible. What else can I do? I have no skills. No degree.
(Her hand unconsciously goes to her chest. Her blouse feels a little damp. A familiar, frustrating sensation.)
Shreya: Ugh. Not again. Stupid body. Why are you like this? So embarrassing. All my life, hiding these stupid leaks. The doctors never knew why. 'A natural lactating anomaly,' they said. What a useless, freakish thing. A gift for a mother, a curse for me.
(She gets up and goes to the mirror, unbuttoning her blouse. Her large, full breasts are visible in her simple bra. There are small, damp spots on the fabric.)
Shreya: So full. Always so heavy. And for what? For nothing. A total waste.
(She stares at her reflection for a long moment. An idea, wild and desperate, begins to form in her mind. She picks up her phone from the bed.)
Shreya: Wait a minute... Waste? Maybe not. People are... strange. They like strange things. The internet is full of strange things.
(Her fingers fly across the screen, typing into the search bar.)
Shreya: 'How to make money from home Mumbai' ...Data entry, online surveys... pays peanuts. 'Quick jobs for women' ...Receptionist, salesgirl... need to apply, interview... takes too long.
(She hesitates, then types a new search query, her cheeks flushing.)
Shreya: 'Selling adult content India' ...'Adult work from home'... Oh my god. Look at all these sites. Models... performers... They want you to... do things on camera. I can't do that. No.
(She scrolls down, about to close the page, when a specific forum catches her eye. The title is "Niche Markets & Unique Talents.")
Shreya: 'Niche Markets'... what does that mean? (She clicks the link. Her eyes widen as she reads the posts.)
Shreya: No way. No... fucking... way. They... they want... this? They'll pay for... breast milk? For pictures? For videos?
(She reads a post from a user.)
Shreya: 'Looking for a genuine, clean, natural provider. Top price for fresh supply. Even more for visuals. Discretion is key.'
(She leans back, her mind racing. Fear, disgust, and a spark of frantic hope churn inside her.)
Shreya: This is insane. It's perverted. But... the money they are talking about... One video... will not pay the rent. I need something more.
I have no choice. I really don't. Mummy... please forgive me. But I have to survive. Okay. Okay, Shreya. Think. Be smart. Be safe. No face. Never, ever show your face. A different name. A new email address.
(Her resolve hardens. She stands up and walks to the window, pulling the curtain shut. The room is now dim. She takes off her bra, her heavy breasts spilling free. She looks at them in the mirror, not with frustration, but with a new, calculating gaze.)
Shreya: Okay. Let's make a profile. Let's see what you're really worth. I need photos. Good photos. My phone camera is decent... need good light.
(She moves the table lamp closer to the bed, positioning it. She grabs a black dupatta from her closet and dbangs it over the pillow, creating a simple backdrop.)
Shreya: First, just the shape. Show the size. I'll crop it from the neck down. Okay, hold the phone up... angle it down... like this. Click. Hmm... it looks good. They look... really big. Voluptuous. That's the word they used on the site.
Now... the main event. The... 'special ability.' Come on, body. Don't fail me now.
(She gently cups one breast and squeezes. A tiny, perfect white bead appears at the tip of her nipple. She lets out a shaky breath.)
Shreya: There it is. Okay, get closer. Focus. Click. That's a good one. The drop is so clear.
Let's try for more. (She massages herself gently, and a thin stream of white milk trickles down, tracing a path over her pale skin.)
Shreya: Wow. Okay. This is... this is the money shot. Hold still... Click. Click. Click. Perfect. It's erotic... but also... natural? I don't know. But it's what they want.
(She puts her phone down and quickly gets dressed in a fresh, clean top. She sits on the bed and opens the website again, tapping 'Create Profile'.)
Shreya: Username: Hmm... can't be Shreya. Needs to be... exotic. MumbaiMilkMaid?... No, so cheap. Amrita?... Means nectar. I like it. Let's try... AmritFlow. Yes. It's available.
Headline: Pure, Natural, Divine Gift from the Heart of Mumbai.
About Me: Okay... what do I write? I am a healthy, clean, 21-year-old Punjabi girl with a rare, natural gift. My body produces the sweetest, richest nectar without the touch of a child. This is a sacred offering, available for discerning patrons who appreciate true purity and abundance. My profile is 100% genuine. What you see is what you get. MEETUPS* Conditions apply.
(She uploads the photos, carefully cropping them to ensure her face and any identifying marks are not visible. She pauses before hitting the 'Submit' button, her heart pounding in her chest.)
Shreya: This is it. Once I do this, there's no going back. I'm stepping into a different world. A world of secrets. Be careful, Shreya. Be smart. Trust no one. This is just business. A way to survive.
(She takes one last, deep breath and taps the screen.)
Shreya: Okay. It's done. My profile is live. AmritFlow is born. Now... I wait.
===
(The scene opens hours later. Shreya is pacing in her small living room, chewing on her thumbnail. She keeps unlocking her phone, checking the website, then locking it again. The screen is blank. She groans and throws herself onto the sofa.)
Shreya: Nothing. For three hours, nothing. Maybe the photos were bad. Maybe my description was stupid. 'Sacred offering'... who was I kidding? I sound like a crazy person. This was a mistake. A huge, desperate mistake. I should just take the profile down. Go to a call center tomorrow. I can handle it. I can...
(Her phone buzzes on the coffee table. A notification light flashes. She freezes, staring at it. Slowly, she reaches for it and unlocks the screen. A new message on the website. Her breath catches in her throat.)
Shreya: (Whispering) Oh my god. Someone replied.
(She taps the notification. The message opens.)
Sameer (on-screen message): "Hello, AmritFlow. My name is Sameer. Your profile is... quite remarkable. It has an air of elegance that is rare on sites like this. I must ask, for my own peace of mind, are you truly natural? I am a genuine patron seeking the purity you described."
Shreya: (Reading aloud softly) "An air of elegance..." He sounds... polite. Normal. Not like the horrible messages you read about online. Okay. Okay, Shreya. Be calm. Be professional. You are AmritFlow now.
(She takes a deep breath and her fingers hover over the keyboard before she starts typing a reply.)
Shreya (typing): "Hello Sameer. Thank you for your message. Yes, everything in my profile is 100% genuine and natural. I am AmritFlow."
(She hits send, her heart hammering against her ribs. The small "delivered" checkmark appears. She waits. A minute passes. Then two. The typing indicator bubble appears.)
Shreya: He's replying. He's really replying. Don't be a creep, don't be a creep, please don't be a creep.
Sameer (on-screen message): "Excellent. I appreciate honesty above all else. Allow me to be direct, I hope you don't find it crude. I am a 45-year-old businessman in Mumbai. I value discretion, and I am willing to pay generously for it, and for a truly authentic experience. For a first session, simply for me to verify your gift and to taste, I can offer twenty thousand rupees."
(Shreya's eyes go wide. She reads the number again. And again.)
Shreya: (Whispering) Twenty... thousand? Rupees? For one meeting? Just to... taste? That's... that's the rent. The electricity bill. The wi-fi. Groceries for a month. From one meeting. He can't be serious. This has to be a scam.
(She reads his message again. It sounds straightforward. No strange requests. She decides to test the waters, to sound in control.)
Shreya (typing): "That amount is acceptable in principle. What are your exact terms for this 'first session'?"
(She hits send. The reply comes back almost instantly.)
Sameer (on-screen message): "I am glad we are in agreement. My priority is to ensure you are safe and comfortable. I propose we meet for a coffee first, somewhere public and respectable. My treat, of course. This is so we can speak for a few minutes and you can see I am a normal, decent man. Perhaps the Sea Lounge at the Taj Palace Hotel? It is very safe. If, and only if, you feel comfortable after we talk, we can go to a room I will book there. My only desire for our first private meeting is to witness your gift in person and to drink directly from you. Nothing more. I give you my word you will be treated with the utmost respect. Your comfort is paramount."
(Shreya feels a wave of relief wash over her. The Taj. A public place first. He was giving her all the power. It sounded... safe. As safe as something like this could be.)
Shreya: (To herself) The Taj... wow. He has money. This is real. He's not some guy trying to lure me to a shady apartment in a bad neighborhood. He said... 'drink directly'. Like a baby. A 45-year-old baby. And nothing more. I can do that. It's weird, but... for twenty thousand rupees, I can handle weird. I just have to close my eyes and think of the rent.
Shreya (typing): "A public meeting first is a wise and respectful suggestion. The Taj is acceptable. Your request for the private meeting is also clear and I accept on the condition that you mean exactly what you say. Nothing more."
Sameer (on-screen message): "You have my solemn word. I am a man of honor. The experience I seek is one of purity and tranquility, not aggression. I would never violate your trust. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon? Around 3 PM?"
Shreya: (To herself) Tomorrow. So soon. But that's good. No time to overthink it. No time to back out. I need the money now.
Shreya (typing): "Tomorrow at 3 PM in the Sea Lounge. How will I recognize you?"
Sameer (on-screen message): "I will be sitting at a table by the window overlooking the sea. I will have a copy of today's Economic Times on my table. I will be wearing a simple blue shirt. And you?"
Shreya (typing): "I will be wearing a simple yellow salwar kameez."
Sameer (on-screen message): "Perfect. I look forward to it, AmritFlow. Please, get a good night's rest. There is no need to be nervous."
Shreya (typing): "Thank you. See you tomorrow, Sameer."
(The conversation ends. Shreya puts her phone down on the table and slowly sinks back into the sofa cushions. She stares at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of fear, excitement, and disbelief.)
Shreya: It's happening. It's really happening. Tomorrow, I'm going to the Taj Hotel to meet a strange man who is going to pay me twenty thousand rupees to drink my breast milk. Mummy... what would you say if you could see me now? (She shakes her head, a new resolve hardening in her eyes.)
Shreya: No. It doesn't matter. I have to do this. I'm not Shreya tomorrow. I'm AmritFlow. And AmritFlow is in control. AmritFlow is going to pay the rent.
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