Adultery Life of Avi Singh

[lee.jae.han]

## Update 59: The Confrontation (Avi and Meena Chachi)


I stood frozen in the middle of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was praying that my uncle hadn't found that letter. I thought I would fall at his feet, I'd apologize to Chachi, I'd do anything.

With a shaking hand, I pulled the door open.

What I didn't want to happen, happened. It wasn't my uncle standing there, but the one I feared the most after him, the one who saw everything: Meena Chachi.

She stepped inside. Her eyes, usually warm and teasing, were cold and fixed on me. She didn't speak. She simply raised her hand. Clasped tightly in her fingers was Madam's letter. She walked past me, sat on the bed, and waited. I stood there, feeling the sudden, chilling sensation of a mortal wound that wouldn't bleed, the dread spreading through my chest.

Meena Chachi finally broke the silence, her voice dangerously quiet. "What is all this, Avi?"

I remained standing with my head bowed, unable to meet her demanding gaze.

"I'm asking you something." She tapped the letter lightly.

The tension was too much. The panic, the guilt, and the fear of my uncle's return broke me completely. I started to cry, silent tears sliding down my cheeks, the shame overwhelming me.

She sighed, a sound of pure impatience. She tapped the bed beside her. "Why are you crying now? Stop it."

I immediately choked back the sobs, struggling to breathe.

"Come and sit here."

I obeyed, my movements stiff, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress, far away from her.

She held the letter out, letting it crinkle slightly in her grip. "What is all this, Avi? I need the truth."

"It was by mistake." I struggled to speak, the lie weak even to my own ears.

Her voice hardened instantly. "What was by mistake? What you did, no one does by mistake."

"I..." I tried to formulate an answer, but my voice failed.

"You kept making a mistake for a whole week, didn't you?" she challenged, her eyes unwavering. "What kind of a mistake was this?"

"It happened by mistake the first time," I insisted, the panic returning in a wave.

"And then you kept making the mistake on purpose?" she pressed, leaning in.

"No, that's not it." I looked down at my hands, which were shaking visibly.

"Tell me the whole story." She leaned closer, her eyes commanding. "How all this happened, why it happened, and because of whom it happened. Start talking, or else I'll take this letter straight to your Chachaji."

I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat absolute. The threat was potent enough to unlock my tongue. "I asked Madam a question, and after that, everything started."

"What kind of question was so important it led to this?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

"I thought I had a disease, so I asked about it," I muttered, the words barely audible with shame.

"What kind of disease?"

I fidgeted. "I thought there was a problem with my Chhotā."

She let out a short, harsh laugh, shaking her head. "What Chhotā? You're a big boy now, Avi. You're doing big things. Tell me clearly, or else..."

"I... I..." I stammered, unable to say the correct, adult word.

"Tell me, your lunď."

"Yes, that," I whispered. "I thought my lunď..."

"What did you think?"

I took a shaky breath. "I thought my lunď was bigger than everyone else's."

"Why did you think that?"

"I saw my friends' lunďs in the bathroom, and they were small," I confessed, the absurdity stinging.

"Then you could have told us this," she said, her voice softening slightly at the foolishness of my concern. "We are your family."

"I was scared," I argued, my voice tight. "How do I ask you about my private parts?"

"Why?" she asked. "You ask other things. Did you ask Madam on purpose to see her reaction?"

"No," I denied quickly, shaking my head. "I asked her in the middle of a private conversation, and she reacted strangely."

"Then you could have told us what happened after that. You could have stopped it."

"Madam had said no, she warned me to keep it a secret."

"So now you'll listen to Madam and not us?" Her voice regained its cutting edge, hurt mixing with anger.

I felt a fresh wave of despair. "Madam said that if anyone found out, her reputation would be ruined, and I believed her."

"And what if Madam had trapped you?" Meena Chachi suddenly asked, her voice sharp with real, chilling insight. "What if she had used you for her own benefit, and you were the one taking the risk?"

"What would I have done? I couldn't understand anything." My voice was ragged with helplessness.

"You're not a kid anymore that you couldn't understand the danger," she said, her expression softening into a strange mix of disappointment and pity. "Have you ever stopped to think about what would have happened to us—to Suman Didi and Seema Didi and me—if something had happened to you, if you had gotten into trouble?"

I couldn't answer. I just started crying again, the sobs escaping my chest in painful bursts.

"Stop this crying," she commanded, grabbing my shoulder roughly. "Why are you crying like a kid?"

I forced myself to stop, swallowing the tears and guilt.

She released my shoulder. "Now, tell me everything. How it happened, why it happened, and because of whom it happened. Start from the very beginning. Leave nothing out."

I started with the book and slowly, haltingly, told Chachi the complete story of the week, sparing no detail of my meetings with Madam.

She listened in silence, her expression unreadable. When I finished, she let out a long, heavy breath. "So that's what happened."

I looked up at her, pleading with my eyes. "Now, what is my fault in this? She was the teacher."

She shook her head slowly, staring past me at the wall, her voice low. "No matter what happens, the knife falls on the watermelon or the watermelon falls on the knife, the fault is always the knife's."

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