03-10-2025, 12:53 PM
Chapter 99: Gaining Ground
Nivi woke to the gentle rustle of morning, her body feeling lighter after a few days of routine, the mustard-yellow kurta and charcoal grey leggings from Monday swapped for a lavender kurta that flowed softly over her curves, paired with deep green leggings that added a fresh flair. The apartment hummed with the kids’ chatter as they readied for college, their toy car zipping across the floor, the scent of her mother-in-law’s brewing coffee mingling with the dawn. The week had settled into a rhythm, her confidence growing with each step, the trolley of outfits a quiet muse in the corner.
The past few days at the office had mirrored Monday’s flow—spreadsheets, client calls, the tea station’s clatter—but a buzz had begun. Ashwin, true to his word, had promoted her “NiviGlow” Instagram on his “LaughLadCoimbatore” meme page, and the results were staggering. By midweek, her follower count soared past 5,000, the notifications pinging with comments and DM requests. “Stunning!” one read. “More pics please!” another begged. The flood was overwhelming, but Nivi brushed it off, focusing on work, her power simmering beneath the surface.
Each morning, her mother-in-law took charge of the Instagram ritual. “Time for your glow, starlet,” she’d tease, her saree swishing as she led Nivi to the balcony. With a naughty grin, she snapped pics—Nivi in a maroon kurta with black leggings one day, a teal one with beige leggings the next—posing with a coffee cup, leaning against the railing, her curves subtly highlighted. “Post this—keep them wanting more,” the older woman would say, her voice playful, her fingers adjusting Nivi’s dupatta with a wink.
Nivi complied, uploading the shots with captions like “Morning vibes ? #DailyLook” or “Work ready ? #IndianStyle,” the likes and comments pouring in. “Gorgeous!” fans gushed. “More legs next time?” some hinted. She ignored the DMs, the flirty requests piling up, her focus on building her presence, the lavender kurta swaying as she moved through the day.
Meanwhile, her daily visits to Rajendar became a new routine. After work, she’d take an auto to 12B, Old Gandhi Road, the simple house growing familiar. She’d enter with confidence, Titan bounding over to nuzzle her legs, his muscular frame a playful welcome. Rajendar, leaning on his stick, would greet her with a gruff nod, his ankle still bandaged, the living room’s solitude a quiet backdrop.
“Files for today,” she’d say, spreading papers on his small table, the maroon kurta from that morning brushing the wood. They’d review budgets, clarify doubts, his voice steady despite the pain. “This client’s tricky—needs a soft touch,” he’d mutter, his eyes on the numbers, not her figure.
As the evenings wore on, she noticed the whiskey glass on the table, the amber liquid a constant companion. “Need a refill?” she’d ask, her tone caring, the deep green leggings shimmering as she stood. He’d hesitate, but she’d insist, pouring with a smile. “It helps the pain, right?” Her voice was gentle, the power of her care easing his guard.
Rajendar would take the glass, sipping slowly. “Helps the ache—inside too,” he’d admit, his voice softening, the stick resting against the sofa. They’d talk work, the drinks loosening his words, his respect for her growing with each visit. “You’re a gem, Nivetha,” he’d say, the whiskey warming his tone, a rare smile breaking through.
Nivi would laugh, clearing the files. “Just doing my part.” Her visits ended with a pat to Titan, the dog’s fur warm, and she’d head home, the auto ride a quiet reflection. Her mother-in-law would be waiting, chai ready, the Instagram pics queued for the next day. “Another day, another win,” the older woman would tease, her hands massaging Nivi’s shoulders, the bond deepening.
The week unfolded with this pattern—office mornings with flirty coworkers, Instagram growth under her mother-in-law’s guidance, and evenings at Rajendar’s, the whiskey and files a bridge to trust. The comments on “NiviGlow” swelled—“Queen of style!” “More please!”—but she stayed focused, the 5,000+ followers a silent cheer. At Rajendar’s, the drinks became a ritual, his guarded nature softening, the solitude of his home a canvas for her influence.
One evening, as she poured his third glass, he leaned back, his eyes clearer despite the whiskey. “You’ve got a way with people, Nivetha. Even Titan likes you.” His voice was warm, the stick unused for a moment.
Nivi smiled, setting the bottle down. “Thanks. I’ll keep helping—makes me feel useful.” Her tone was sincere, the lavender kurta brushing her knees as she stood.
He nodded, sipping slowly. “More than useful. A lifeline, almost.” His words were quiet, the bond strengthening.
She left with a wave, Titan at her heels, the auto ride home filled with thoughts of power and progress. Her mother-in-law greeted her with a smirk. “Another day with the whiskey man? You’re taming him good.” Her tone was naughty, the chai steaming.
Nivi laughed, sinking into the couch. “Just work—and a little drink help. Let’s get tomorrow’s pic.” They moved to the balcony, the older woman snapping shots in a peach kurta and navy leggings, the routine a dance of growth and connection.
The week closed with Nivi’s influence rising—Instagram buzzing, Rajendar opening up, her mother-in-law’s support a steady force. The apartment’s warmth wrapped her, the kids’ toys scattered, and she drifted to sleep, the power within her growing with each step.
Nivi woke to the gentle rustle of morning, her body feeling lighter after a few days of routine, the mustard-yellow kurta and charcoal grey leggings from Monday swapped for a lavender kurta that flowed softly over her curves, paired with deep green leggings that added a fresh flair. The apartment hummed with the kids’ chatter as they readied for college, their toy car zipping across the floor, the scent of her mother-in-law’s brewing coffee mingling with the dawn. The week had settled into a rhythm, her confidence growing with each step, the trolley of outfits a quiet muse in the corner.
The past few days at the office had mirrored Monday’s flow—spreadsheets, client calls, the tea station’s clatter—but a buzz had begun. Ashwin, true to his word, had promoted her “NiviGlow” Instagram on his “LaughLadCoimbatore” meme page, and the results were staggering. By midweek, her follower count soared past 5,000, the notifications pinging with comments and DM requests. “Stunning!” one read. “More pics please!” another begged. The flood was overwhelming, but Nivi brushed it off, focusing on work, her power simmering beneath the surface.
Each morning, her mother-in-law took charge of the Instagram ritual. “Time for your glow, starlet,” she’d tease, her saree swishing as she led Nivi to the balcony. With a naughty grin, she snapped pics—Nivi in a maroon kurta with black leggings one day, a teal one with beige leggings the next—posing with a coffee cup, leaning against the railing, her curves subtly highlighted. “Post this—keep them wanting more,” the older woman would say, her voice playful, her fingers adjusting Nivi’s dupatta with a wink.
Nivi complied, uploading the shots with captions like “Morning vibes ? #DailyLook” or “Work ready ? #IndianStyle,” the likes and comments pouring in. “Gorgeous!” fans gushed. “More legs next time?” some hinted. She ignored the DMs, the flirty requests piling up, her focus on building her presence, the lavender kurta swaying as she moved through the day.
Meanwhile, her daily visits to Rajendar became a new routine. After work, she’d take an auto to 12B, Old Gandhi Road, the simple house growing familiar. She’d enter with confidence, Titan bounding over to nuzzle her legs, his muscular frame a playful welcome. Rajendar, leaning on his stick, would greet her with a gruff nod, his ankle still bandaged, the living room’s solitude a quiet backdrop.
“Files for today,” she’d say, spreading papers on his small table, the maroon kurta from that morning brushing the wood. They’d review budgets, clarify doubts, his voice steady despite the pain. “This client’s tricky—needs a soft touch,” he’d mutter, his eyes on the numbers, not her figure.
As the evenings wore on, she noticed the whiskey glass on the table, the amber liquid a constant companion. “Need a refill?” she’d ask, her tone caring, the deep green leggings shimmering as she stood. He’d hesitate, but she’d insist, pouring with a smile. “It helps the pain, right?” Her voice was gentle, the power of her care easing his guard.
Rajendar would take the glass, sipping slowly. “Helps the ache—inside too,” he’d admit, his voice softening, the stick resting against the sofa. They’d talk work, the drinks loosening his words, his respect for her growing with each visit. “You’re a gem, Nivetha,” he’d say, the whiskey warming his tone, a rare smile breaking through.
Nivi would laugh, clearing the files. “Just doing my part.” Her visits ended with a pat to Titan, the dog’s fur warm, and she’d head home, the auto ride a quiet reflection. Her mother-in-law would be waiting, chai ready, the Instagram pics queued for the next day. “Another day, another win,” the older woman would tease, her hands massaging Nivi’s shoulders, the bond deepening.
The week unfolded with this pattern—office mornings with flirty coworkers, Instagram growth under her mother-in-law’s guidance, and evenings at Rajendar’s, the whiskey and files a bridge to trust. The comments on “NiviGlow” swelled—“Queen of style!” “More please!”—but she stayed focused, the 5,000+ followers a silent cheer. At Rajendar’s, the drinks became a ritual, his guarded nature softening, the solitude of his home a canvas for her influence.
One evening, as she poured his third glass, he leaned back, his eyes clearer despite the whiskey. “You’ve got a way with people, Nivetha. Even Titan likes you.” His voice was warm, the stick unused for a moment.
Nivi smiled, setting the bottle down. “Thanks. I’ll keep helping—makes me feel useful.” Her tone was sincere, the lavender kurta brushing her knees as she stood.
He nodded, sipping slowly. “More than useful. A lifeline, almost.” His words were quiet, the bond strengthening.
She left with a wave, Titan at her heels, the auto ride home filled with thoughts of power and progress. Her mother-in-law greeted her with a smirk. “Another day with the whiskey man? You’re taming him good.” Her tone was naughty, the chai steaming.
Nivi laughed, sinking into the couch. “Just work—and a little drink help. Let’s get tomorrow’s pic.” They moved to the balcony, the older woman snapping shots in a peach kurta and navy leggings, the routine a dance of growth and connection.
The week closed with Nivi’s influence rising—Instagram buzzing, Rajendar opening up, her mother-in-law’s support a steady force. The apartment’s warmth wrapped her, the kids’ toys scattered, and she drifted to sleep, the power within her growing with each step.