03-10-2025, 12:44 PM
Chapter 92: New Plans and Bonds
Nivi sank into the couch on Friday night, the apartment quiet with the kids asleep, the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the air. Her body felt lighter, the weekend’s soreness eased by her mother-in-law’s week-long massages, though a faint ache lingered in her thighs from the trekking and passion. She wore a loose cotton nighty, the fabric brushing her skin, a comfort after days in kurtas. The trolley of outfits sat in the corner, its contents familiar from her resort trials—the jeggings, dresses, lingerie—a silent reminder of the bold choices she’d made. Her mind buzzed with Raghavan’s absence, the office’s routine, and the frustration with the seniors.
She grabbed her phone, dialing Raghavan, the ring cutting through the stillness. “Hey, it’s me,” she said when he answered, her voice soft. “I’ve been trying to overtake the seniors at work, like you planned. But Rajendar—he’s always locked in his room, working non-stop. No breaks, brings tea from home, drinks it there. Leaves last, comes first. I asked for a hint, and you said he feeds dogs in the park every Saturday. I’ve got nothing else.”
Raghavan’s voice crackled, warm but distracted. “Good thinking, Nivi. Rajendar’s tough, but the park’s your shot. I’m flying to Australia tomorrow for a new business idea. Out of reach for a while, but text me anytime, okay?”
Her chest tightened, the distance stinging. “Australia? How long?” Her voice wavered, the weekend’s closeness fading.
“A few weeks, maybe more,” he said. “Depends on the deal. I’ll miss you, Nivi.” His words carried tenderness.
She swallowed, her eyes misty. “Miss you too, daddy,” she whispered, the nickname a blend of affection and submission.
He chuckled, low and warm. “Miss you too, baby. Take care.” The call ended, leaving her with a hollow ache, the room feeling lonelier.
Her mother-in-law walked in, her saree swishing, carrying a cup of chai, her face soft with concern. “Was that Raghavan?” she asked, sitting beside Nivi, handing her the cup. After a week of massages and talks, they were like friends, their bond built on shared secrets and laughter.
Nivi nodded, sipping the chai, the spice warming her throat. “Yeah. He’s off to Australia—out of reach. I miss him already.” Her voice was quiet, the nighty shifting as she leaned back.
The older woman patted her hand, her touch comforting. “Don’t mope, dear. He’ll be back, and you’ve got that fire now. Those office admirers will keep you busy—lucky girl.” Her tone was consoling, her eyes kind with a playful edge.
Nivi laughed, the tension easing. “Admirers? Just flirty coworkers. It’s not the same.” Her voice was light, but the ache lingered, the chai steaming in her hand.
Her mother-in-law grinned, nudging her. “Flirty or not, they’re there. Be careful with the older ones—trickier than the young ones. What’s this plan with the seniors?” Her tone was curious, her hand resting on Nivi’s knee, recalling their talks about work.
Nivi sighed, setting the cup down. “Raghavan wants me to take control. Rajendar’s a challenge—I’ve got no in yet. The park hint’s all I have, so we’ll go tomorrow and see.” Her voice was determined, a plan forming, the chai’s warmth spreading.
The older woman nodded, her grin turning mischievous. “Smart move. Older men like him can be stubborn—watch your step.” Her tone was playful, her fingers squeezing Nivi’s knee lightly.
They chatted more, the closeness a comfort. Her mother-in-law shifted, grabbing the coconut oil and a hot bag, kneeling to massage Nivi’s legs. “What did you do there to make these legs this sore?” she asked, her hands working the oil into Nivi’s calves, firm and skilled. “Just trekking, or something else?” Her voice was casual but probing, a naughty glint in her eye.
Nivi blushed, her cheeks warming, the massage sending tingles up her legs. “Um… mostly trekking,” she mumbled, her voice shy, the nighty riding up as she shifted.
The older woman chuckled, her hands moving higher. “Mostly? Don’t tell me the shy parts—spill what doesn’t make you squirm, you cheeky thing.” Her tone was playful, her fingers kneading the soreness, the hot bag warming Nivi’s thighs.
Nivi hesitated, then laughed. “Okay, no shy stuff. The trekking was tough—hills and all. That’s it for now.” Her voice was light, dodging the wilder moments, the oil soothing her skin.
Her mother-in-law smirked, resuming the massage. “Tough hills, huh? Keep your secrets—I’ll get them out later.” Her mock was teasing, the bond strengthening in the quiet night.
Nivi settled into the bed, the soft mattress sinking under her weight, the kids asleep in their own bed across the room, their gentle snores a comforting hum. The nighty clung lightly to her skin, the room dim with the lamp turned low, the trolley of outfits a shadowy figure in the corner. Her legs still carried a faint ache from the week’s recovery, the massage earlier soothing but leaving her mind restless. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, and a smile crept onto her face as she recalled the resort restaurant moment—the staff’s wide-eyed offer for an Instagram promotional post.
Her mother-in-law, nestled beside her like a close friend after a week of bonding, noticed the smile. “What’s that grin about, you sneaky thing?” she asked, her voice a playful whisper, her saree dbangd loosely over the blanket.
Nivi turned her head, her cheeks warming. “Just remembering something from the resort. At the restaurant, a staff thought I was an Instagram influencer because of my outfit. He even asked for a promotional post—it was so awkward!” Her laugh was soft, the memory tickling her.
The older woman propped herself on an elbow, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “An influencer, eh? Those outfits I washed after your trip—were those just for outside the room, or did you wear them somewhere else too?” Her tone was teasing, her hand resting on Nivi’s arm, the closeness of their friendship evident.
Nivi blushed deeper, shifting under the blanket. “Outside too,” she admitted, her voice low, the nighty riding up slightly. “I wore them out—got bold with it.”
Her mother-in-law sighed, a mock pout forming. “Bold, huh? I missed seeing you like that. All I got were the dirty clothes to wash—no live show!” Her tone was playful, a hint of sadness in her laugh, her fingers tapping Nivi’s arm.
Nivi grinned, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. “I’ve got photos! Let me show you.” She scrolled to the gallery, hiding the intimate shots with Raghavan, the wet waterfall looks, and the lingerie clicks, keeping it safe. “Here’s the first day at the buffet—I wore shorts and a string tank top, kinda revealing but comfy. Then trekking, I had denim shorts and a tied shirt, practical but sexy. The second day was tight jeggings and a sports bra—super bold.” She handed the phone over, her heart racing with the reveal.
Her mother-in-law took the phone, her eyes widening as she flipped through. “Shorts and that tank top—look at those legs! The denim shorts and tied shirt? You’re a natural. And those jeggings with the sports bra—damn, girl, you’re a knockout!” Her voice was full of admiration, her fingers zooming in on the jeggings shot, the outfit hugging Nivi’s curves.
Nivi watched, her shyness fading into pride. “The tank top showed more than I planned, but the jeggings felt daring—Raghavan loved it.” Her voice was light, the memory warming her, the nighty shifting as she leaned closer.
The older woman handed the phone back, her grin naughty. “Loved it, huh? No wonder you’re glowing. So, that influencer idea—what’s the plan?” Her tone was eager, her hand returning to Nivi’s arm.
Nivi settled back, thinking. “Raghavan pushed it after that restaurant moment. I’m tempted, but how do I start?” Her voice was curious, the conversation flowing naturally.
Her mother-in-law nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. “Don’t jump into the sexy looks right away. Start with modest stuff—your kurtas, work outfits. You’re stunning in traditional wear, and it’ll build a solid base. Once you’ve got followers, start revealing skin—those jeggings, the shorts. You’ll go viral when they see the switch.” Her guidance was detailed, her hand patting Nivi’s leg.
Nivi tilted her head, impressed. “Modest first? That makes sense. Then the bold stuff later?” Her voice was intrigued, her mind picturing the plan.
“Exactly,” she said, nodding. “Post daily—kurtas with a smile, work looks with a caption like ‘Office Day.’ When you hit a few thousand followers, drop the jeggings pic. The contrast will explode your reach.” Her tone was strategic, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Nivi laughed, her confidence growing. “You’ve got a youthful mind for this. You could be my manager if I get famous!” Her tone was playful, the bond deepening.
Her mother-in-law cackled, nudging her. “Manager? I’d run the show! Picture it—me calling the shots, you strutting for the camera.” Her reply was cheeky, her laugh filling the room.
They talked more, the conversation stretching. “What about trolls?” Nivi asked, leaning on her elbow. “How do I handle them?”
“Block them fast,” she advised. “Keep it positive. Add hashtags—#IndianStyle, #WorkVibes. Fans love engagement.” Her tips were practical, her hand tracing Nivi’s knee.
Nivi nodded, excited. “Engagement? Like replying to comments?”
“Yes,” she said. “Answer a few—‘Thanks for the love!’ or ‘New look soon.’ It builds loyalty.” Her voice was encouraging, the night deepening.
The chat flowed, the older woman adding details. “Start a theme—‘Week in Looks.’ Mix modest and bold as you grow.” Her suggestions were creative, the room growing cozy.
Nivi grinned. “A theme? You’re a genius. Let’s sleep on it.” They shifted under the blanket, the kids’ snores a soft rhythm, and lay side by side. Nivi’s mind swirled with Raghavan’s absence, the Instagram plan, her mother-in-law’s savvy support. She felt ready, the night’s closeness fueling her, and drifted off, the room wrapping them in friendship.
Nivi woke to the gentle clatter of dishes, the morning light spilling through the kitchen window, her body rested but still carrying a faint echo of the week’s intensity. The cotton nighty clung softly to her skin, the soreness from the weekend’s trekking and passion now a distant memory, thanks to her mother-in-law’s care. She slid out of bed, the kids’ soft breathing from their room a quiet backdrop, and joined her mother-in-law at the table, where a plate of steaming idlis and sambar waited.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” her mother-in-law said, her saree swishing as she set down a cup of chai, a playful grin on her face. “Remember our chat last night? That Instagram idea—did you open an account yet?” Her tone was teasing, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Nivi laughed, taking a bite of idli, the spice warming her mouth. “We only talked last night! I haven’t had time.” Her voice was light, the chai soothing as she sipped.
The older woman shook her head, leaning closer. “No delaying, girl. Decisions like this—go for it now. Create it while we eat, let’s start today!” Her voice was firm, a naughty edge to her encouragement, her hand tapping the table.
Nivi grinned, setting the idli down, and grabbed her phone. “Alright, you win.” She opened the Instagram app, her fingers tapping as she set up a profile—username “NiviGlow,” a simple bio: “Embracing life, one look at a time.” The process was quick, the screen lighting up with a blank feed. “Done,” she said, showing her mother-in-law the new account.
Her mother-in-law clapped, her eyes gleaming. “Perfect! Now, let’s get that first click. That kurta and leggings—show off that beauty modestly.” Her tone was eager, pulling Nivi toward the balcony.
Nivi followed, still chewing, the blue kurta hugging her curves, the black leggings accentuating her legs. The balcony overlooked the morning bustle, the coconut groves swaying, the air fresh with dew. “Here?” she asked, her voice playful, adjusting her hair.
“Yes, right there,” her mother-in-law said, grabbing Nivi’s phone. “Stand by the railing, hands on hips—look natural but stunning.” She positioned Nivi, the kurta flaring slightly in the breeze, the leggings showing her shape without revealing too much.
Nivi posed, a shy smile on her face, the morning light catching her glow. Her mother-in-law snapped a few shots—Nivi leaning against the railing, turning sideways to highlight her figure, then a candid laugh as she adjusted her kurta. “Got it,” the older woman said, reviewing the pics. “You look gorgeous—modest yet sexy. Post it now.”
Nivi took the phone, scrolling through the images. She picked one where she stood with a soft smile, the kurta’s color popping, the leggings outlining her legs subtly. She added a caption: “New beginnings ? #DailyLook #IndianStyle,” and hit post, her heart racing as the first image went live. “There,” she said, showing her mother-in-law. “My first step.”
Her mother-in-law nodded, proud. “Beautiful start. Keep it simple—followers will love that glow. Now, off to the shops—get those groceries.” Her tone was practical, but her grin hinted at more fun ahead.
Nivi finished her idli, the sambar’s taste lingering, and called to her elder son. “Hey, want to come with me?” The five-year-old ran in, his toy car in hand, his face lighting up. “Yes, Mama!”
She grabbed a bag, the kurta and leggings still fresh, and they stepped out, the morning sun warm on her skin. The walk to the market was short, the street alive with vendors, the scent of fresh spices and fruits filling the air. Her son skipped beside her, clutching her hand, his chatter a distraction from the new Instagram post buzzing in her mind.
At the market, she navigated the stalls, picking up rice, vegetables, and spices, her son helping carry small bags. The vendors smiled, some glancing at her kurta-clad figure, but she focused on the task, her confidence growing. “Let’s get mangoes too,” she said, her son nodding eagerly, his energy infectious.
They haggled playfully, the elder son mimicking her bargaining, and filled their bags, the weight a comfort. The walk home was slower, the groceries heavy, but the bond with her son warmed her. Back at the apartment, she unpacked, the kitchen bustling again, her mother-in-law’s voice calling from the balcony about the post’s early likes.
Nivi smiled, setting the mangoes down, her mind on the day ahead—grocery chores, the Instagram start, and the quiet power she felt. The morning stretched into midday, the routine grounding her, yet the resort’s lessons lingered, ready to shape her next move.
Nivi sank into the couch on Friday night, the apartment quiet with the kids asleep, the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the air. Her body felt lighter, the weekend’s soreness eased by her mother-in-law’s week-long massages, though a faint ache lingered in her thighs from the trekking and passion. She wore a loose cotton nighty, the fabric brushing her skin, a comfort after days in kurtas. The trolley of outfits sat in the corner, its contents familiar from her resort trials—the jeggings, dresses, lingerie—a silent reminder of the bold choices she’d made. Her mind buzzed with Raghavan’s absence, the office’s routine, and the frustration with the seniors.
She grabbed her phone, dialing Raghavan, the ring cutting through the stillness. “Hey, it’s me,” she said when he answered, her voice soft. “I’ve been trying to overtake the seniors at work, like you planned. But Rajendar—he’s always locked in his room, working non-stop. No breaks, brings tea from home, drinks it there. Leaves last, comes first. I asked for a hint, and you said he feeds dogs in the park every Saturday. I’ve got nothing else.”
Raghavan’s voice crackled, warm but distracted. “Good thinking, Nivi. Rajendar’s tough, but the park’s your shot. I’m flying to Australia tomorrow for a new business idea. Out of reach for a while, but text me anytime, okay?”
Her chest tightened, the distance stinging. “Australia? How long?” Her voice wavered, the weekend’s closeness fading.
“A few weeks, maybe more,” he said. “Depends on the deal. I’ll miss you, Nivi.” His words carried tenderness.
She swallowed, her eyes misty. “Miss you too, daddy,” she whispered, the nickname a blend of affection and submission.
He chuckled, low and warm. “Miss you too, baby. Take care.” The call ended, leaving her with a hollow ache, the room feeling lonelier.
Her mother-in-law walked in, her saree swishing, carrying a cup of chai, her face soft with concern. “Was that Raghavan?” she asked, sitting beside Nivi, handing her the cup. After a week of massages and talks, they were like friends, their bond built on shared secrets and laughter.
Nivi nodded, sipping the chai, the spice warming her throat. “Yeah. He’s off to Australia—out of reach. I miss him already.” Her voice was quiet, the nighty shifting as she leaned back.
The older woman patted her hand, her touch comforting. “Don’t mope, dear. He’ll be back, and you’ve got that fire now. Those office admirers will keep you busy—lucky girl.” Her tone was consoling, her eyes kind with a playful edge.
Nivi laughed, the tension easing. “Admirers? Just flirty coworkers. It’s not the same.” Her voice was light, but the ache lingered, the chai steaming in her hand.
Her mother-in-law grinned, nudging her. “Flirty or not, they’re there. Be careful with the older ones—trickier than the young ones. What’s this plan with the seniors?” Her tone was curious, her hand resting on Nivi’s knee, recalling their talks about work.
Nivi sighed, setting the cup down. “Raghavan wants me to take control. Rajendar’s a challenge—I’ve got no in yet. The park hint’s all I have, so we’ll go tomorrow and see.” Her voice was determined, a plan forming, the chai’s warmth spreading.
The older woman nodded, her grin turning mischievous. “Smart move. Older men like him can be stubborn—watch your step.” Her tone was playful, her fingers squeezing Nivi’s knee lightly.
They chatted more, the closeness a comfort. Her mother-in-law shifted, grabbing the coconut oil and a hot bag, kneeling to massage Nivi’s legs. “What did you do there to make these legs this sore?” she asked, her hands working the oil into Nivi’s calves, firm and skilled. “Just trekking, or something else?” Her voice was casual but probing, a naughty glint in her eye.
Nivi blushed, her cheeks warming, the massage sending tingles up her legs. “Um… mostly trekking,” she mumbled, her voice shy, the nighty riding up as she shifted.
The older woman chuckled, her hands moving higher. “Mostly? Don’t tell me the shy parts—spill what doesn’t make you squirm, you cheeky thing.” Her tone was playful, her fingers kneading the soreness, the hot bag warming Nivi’s thighs.
Nivi hesitated, then laughed. “Okay, no shy stuff. The trekking was tough—hills and all. That’s it for now.” Her voice was light, dodging the wilder moments, the oil soothing her skin.
Her mother-in-law smirked, resuming the massage. “Tough hills, huh? Keep your secrets—I’ll get them out later.” Her mock was teasing, the bond strengthening in the quiet night.
Nivi settled into the bed, the soft mattress sinking under her weight, the kids asleep in their own bed across the room, their gentle snores a comforting hum. The nighty clung lightly to her skin, the room dim with the lamp turned low, the trolley of outfits a shadowy figure in the corner. Her legs still carried a faint ache from the week’s recovery, the massage earlier soothing but leaving her mind restless. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, and a smile crept onto her face as she recalled the resort restaurant moment—the staff’s wide-eyed offer for an Instagram promotional post.
Her mother-in-law, nestled beside her like a close friend after a week of bonding, noticed the smile. “What’s that grin about, you sneaky thing?” she asked, her voice a playful whisper, her saree dbangd loosely over the blanket.
Nivi turned her head, her cheeks warming. “Just remembering something from the resort. At the restaurant, a staff thought I was an Instagram influencer because of my outfit. He even asked for a promotional post—it was so awkward!” Her laugh was soft, the memory tickling her.
The older woman propped herself on an elbow, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “An influencer, eh? Those outfits I washed after your trip—were those just for outside the room, or did you wear them somewhere else too?” Her tone was teasing, her hand resting on Nivi’s arm, the closeness of their friendship evident.
Nivi blushed deeper, shifting under the blanket. “Outside too,” she admitted, her voice low, the nighty riding up slightly. “I wore them out—got bold with it.”
Her mother-in-law sighed, a mock pout forming. “Bold, huh? I missed seeing you like that. All I got were the dirty clothes to wash—no live show!” Her tone was playful, a hint of sadness in her laugh, her fingers tapping Nivi’s arm.
Nivi grinned, reaching for her phone on the nightstand. “I’ve got photos! Let me show you.” She scrolled to the gallery, hiding the intimate shots with Raghavan, the wet waterfall looks, and the lingerie clicks, keeping it safe. “Here’s the first day at the buffet—I wore shorts and a string tank top, kinda revealing but comfy. Then trekking, I had denim shorts and a tied shirt, practical but sexy. The second day was tight jeggings and a sports bra—super bold.” She handed the phone over, her heart racing with the reveal.
Her mother-in-law took the phone, her eyes widening as she flipped through. “Shorts and that tank top—look at those legs! The denim shorts and tied shirt? You’re a natural. And those jeggings with the sports bra—damn, girl, you’re a knockout!” Her voice was full of admiration, her fingers zooming in on the jeggings shot, the outfit hugging Nivi’s curves.
Nivi watched, her shyness fading into pride. “The tank top showed more than I planned, but the jeggings felt daring—Raghavan loved it.” Her voice was light, the memory warming her, the nighty shifting as she leaned closer.
The older woman handed the phone back, her grin naughty. “Loved it, huh? No wonder you’re glowing. So, that influencer idea—what’s the plan?” Her tone was eager, her hand returning to Nivi’s arm.
Nivi settled back, thinking. “Raghavan pushed it after that restaurant moment. I’m tempted, but how do I start?” Her voice was curious, the conversation flowing naturally.
Her mother-in-law nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. “Don’t jump into the sexy looks right away. Start with modest stuff—your kurtas, work outfits. You’re stunning in traditional wear, and it’ll build a solid base. Once you’ve got followers, start revealing skin—those jeggings, the shorts. You’ll go viral when they see the switch.” Her guidance was detailed, her hand patting Nivi’s leg.
Nivi tilted her head, impressed. “Modest first? That makes sense. Then the bold stuff later?” Her voice was intrigued, her mind picturing the plan.
“Exactly,” she said, nodding. “Post daily—kurtas with a smile, work looks with a caption like ‘Office Day.’ When you hit a few thousand followers, drop the jeggings pic. The contrast will explode your reach.” Her tone was strategic, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Nivi laughed, her confidence growing. “You’ve got a youthful mind for this. You could be my manager if I get famous!” Her tone was playful, the bond deepening.
Her mother-in-law cackled, nudging her. “Manager? I’d run the show! Picture it—me calling the shots, you strutting for the camera.” Her reply was cheeky, her laugh filling the room.
They talked more, the conversation stretching. “What about trolls?” Nivi asked, leaning on her elbow. “How do I handle them?”
“Block them fast,” she advised. “Keep it positive. Add hashtags—#IndianStyle, #WorkVibes. Fans love engagement.” Her tips were practical, her hand tracing Nivi’s knee.
Nivi nodded, excited. “Engagement? Like replying to comments?”
“Yes,” she said. “Answer a few—‘Thanks for the love!’ or ‘New look soon.’ It builds loyalty.” Her voice was encouraging, the night deepening.
The chat flowed, the older woman adding details. “Start a theme—‘Week in Looks.’ Mix modest and bold as you grow.” Her suggestions were creative, the room growing cozy.
Nivi grinned. “A theme? You’re a genius. Let’s sleep on it.” They shifted under the blanket, the kids’ snores a soft rhythm, and lay side by side. Nivi’s mind swirled with Raghavan’s absence, the Instagram plan, her mother-in-law’s savvy support. She felt ready, the night’s closeness fueling her, and drifted off, the room wrapping them in friendship.
Nivi woke to the gentle clatter of dishes, the morning light spilling through the kitchen window, her body rested but still carrying a faint echo of the week’s intensity. The cotton nighty clung softly to her skin, the soreness from the weekend’s trekking and passion now a distant memory, thanks to her mother-in-law’s care. She slid out of bed, the kids’ soft breathing from their room a quiet backdrop, and joined her mother-in-law at the table, where a plate of steaming idlis and sambar waited.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” her mother-in-law said, her saree swishing as she set down a cup of chai, a playful grin on her face. “Remember our chat last night? That Instagram idea—did you open an account yet?” Her tone was teasing, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Nivi laughed, taking a bite of idli, the spice warming her mouth. “We only talked last night! I haven’t had time.” Her voice was light, the chai soothing as she sipped.
The older woman shook her head, leaning closer. “No delaying, girl. Decisions like this—go for it now. Create it while we eat, let’s start today!” Her voice was firm, a naughty edge to her encouragement, her hand tapping the table.
Nivi grinned, setting the idli down, and grabbed her phone. “Alright, you win.” She opened the Instagram app, her fingers tapping as she set up a profile—username “NiviGlow,” a simple bio: “Embracing life, one look at a time.” The process was quick, the screen lighting up with a blank feed. “Done,” she said, showing her mother-in-law the new account.
Her mother-in-law clapped, her eyes gleaming. “Perfect! Now, let’s get that first click. That kurta and leggings—show off that beauty modestly.” Her tone was eager, pulling Nivi toward the balcony.
Nivi followed, still chewing, the blue kurta hugging her curves, the black leggings accentuating her legs. The balcony overlooked the morning bustle, the coconut groves swaying, the air fresh with dew. “Here?” she asked, her voice playful, adjusting her hair.
“Yes, right there,” her mother-in-law said, grabbing Nivi’s phone. “Stand by the railing, hands on hips—look natural but stunning.” She positioned Nivi, the kurta flaring slightly in the breeze, the leggings showing her shape without revealing too much.
Nivi posed, a shy smile on her face, the morning light catching her glow. Her mother-in-law snapped a few shots—Nivi leaning against the railing, turning sideways to highlight her figure, then a candid laugh as she adjusted her kurta. “Got it,” the older woman said, reviewing the pics. “You look gorgeous—modest yet sexy. Post it now.”
Nivi took the phone, scrolling through the images. She picked one where she stood with a soft smile, the kurta’s color popping, the leggings outlining her legs subtly. She added a caption: “New beginnings ? #DailyLook #IndianStyle,” and hit post, her heart racing as the first image went live. “There,” she said, showing her mother-in-law. “My first step.”
Her mother-in-law nodded, proud. “Beautiful start. Keep it simple—followers will love that glow. Now, off to the shops—get those groceries.” Her tone was practical, but her grin hinted at more fun ahead.
Nivi finished her idli, the sambar’s taste lingering, and called to her elder son. “Hey, want to come with me?” The five-year-old ran in, his toy car in hand, his face lighting up. “Yes, Mama!”
She grabbed a bag, the kurta and leggings still fresh, and they stepped out, the morning sun warm on her skin. The walk to the market was short, the street alive with vendors, the scent of fresh spices and fruits filling the air. Her son skipped beside her, clutching her hand, his chatter a distraction from the new Instagram post buzzing in her mind.
At the market, she navigated the stalls, picking up rice, vegetables, and spices, her son helping carry small bags. The vendors smiled, some glancing at her kurta-clad figure, but she focused on the task, her confidence growing. “Let’s get mangoes too,” she said, her son nodding eagerly, his energy infectious.
They haggled playfully, the elder son mimicking her bargaining, and filled their bags, the weight a comfort. The walk home was slower, the groceries heavy, but the bond with her son warmed her. Back at the apartment, she unpacked, the kitchen bustling again, her mother-in-law’s voice calling from the balcony about the post’s early likes.
Nivi smiled, setting the mangoes down, her mind on the day ahead—grocery chores, the Instagram start, and the quiet power she felt. The morning stretched into midday, the routine grounding her, yet the resort’s lessons lingered, ready to shape her next move.