Yesterday, 07:13 PM
Flat 205, Sunday Evening
The sun was sliding down over Mumbai, spilling a dull orange light through the thin curtains of Flat 205. The room was quiet, too quiet, and Ravi sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as if it might offer some kind of answer. The laughter from earlier in the day still echoed faintly in his mind, but now it sounded far away, like a memory trying to fade. Everything felt blurred between dream and guilt, between what was right and what had already happened.
He rubbed his palms together slowly, feeling the faint tremor that still hadn’t left him. The warmth of the afternoon had been replaced by a hollow weight in his chest.
“Priya Didi knows,” the thought came uninvited, whispering through his head again and again.
Neetu had said everything was fine, that Priya hadn’t suspected anything, but he had heard that pause in Priya’s voice, that tiny hesitation when she asked, “Is that Ravi?” It was enough. She knew something.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes tracing the faint crack above the ceiling fan. The room still carried her presence, Priya’s, though she wasn’t here. The scent of her shawl that he had once borrowed still lingered faintly in the corner. Every memory of her felt heavier now.
He tried to breathe it out, but the images wouldn’t leave him, Sirisha’s innocent smile, Neetu’s calm assurance, and then Priya’s voice on the phone, soft but sharp enough to cut through everything.
For a moment, he let his head fall into his hands.
What had he done?
It wasn’t that he didn’t care for them, Neetu, Sirisha, he did, in his own confused way. He truly enjoyed being close to Neetu Bhabhi, her presence commanding yet comforting, her quiet encouragement guiding the moments between them.
There was a strange exhilaration in the way she had welcomed him, guided him, and slowly introduced Sirisha into that closeness, as if teaching him the delicate balance of trust, desire, and control. Every touch, every whispered word, every shared glance had been intoxicating, leaving a warmth in his chest that was both thrilling and heavy with anticipation.
He could not forget how Neetu Bhabhi covered Sirisha’s lips at the crucial moment to absorb the sound of her cry, when he broke open her virginity with his unforgiving cock, shielding her innocence while allowing him to cross the first barriers of intimacy.
The sun was sliding down over Mumbai, spilling a dull orange light through the thin curtains of Flat 205. The room was quiet, too quiet, and Ravi sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as if it might offer some kind of answer. The laughter from earlier in the day still echoed faintly in his mind, but now it sounded far away, like a memory trying to fade. Everything felt blurred between dream and guilt, between what was right and what had already happened.
He rubbed his palms together slowly, feeling the faint tremor that still hadn’t left him. The warmth of the afternoon had been replaced by a hollow weight in his chest.
“Priya Didi knows,” the thought came uninvited, whispering through his head again and again.
Neetu had said everything was fine, that Priya hadn’t suspected anything, but he had heard that pause in Priya’s voice, that tiny hesitation when she asked, “Is that Ravi?” It was enough. She knew something.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes tracing the faint crack above the ceiling fan. The room still carried her presence, Priya’s, though she wasn’t here. The scent of her shawl that he had once borrowed still lingered faintly in the corner. Every memory of her felt heavier now.
He tried to breathe it out, but the images wouldn’t leave him, Sirisha’s innocent smile, Neetu’s calm assurance, and then Priya’s voice on the phone, soft but sharp enough to cut through everything.
For a moment, he let his head fall into his hands.
What had he done?
It wasn’t that he didn’t care for them, Neetu, Sirisha, he did, in his own confused way. He truly enjoyed being close to Neetu Bhabhi, her presence commanding yet comforting, her quiet encouragement guiding the moments between them.
There was a strange exhilaration in the way she had welcomed him, guided him, and slowly introduced Sirisha into that closeness, as if teaching him the delicate balance of trust, desire, and control. Every touch, every whispered word, every shared glance had been intoxicating, leaving a warmth in his chest that was both thrilling and heavy with anticipation.
He could not forget how Neetu Bhabhi covered Sirisha’s lips at the crucial moment to absorb the sound of her cry, when he broke open her virginity with his unforgiving cock, shielding her innocence while allowing him to cross the first barriers of intimacy.
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