Bengaluru Dude - Fat, Bald, thick glasses => becomes ladies man | Incest

[ashuezy2]

Scene 5

I waited by the main entrance, leaning casually against a pillar. I watched the crowd.

After the hour, Deepa emerged. She spotted me immediately, and this time, the surprise on her face was mixed with a noticeable interest. 

I chose a corner table at the café across the street, ensuring she sat facing the room while my back was to the wall, an instinctively dominant and protective seating position. I ordered two black coffees.

Deepa: (Stirring her coffee, her eyes darting around the café, but always snapping back to me) You’re right, Senthil. I never expected to see you here. And you really have changed. You’re... very fit.

She stumbled over the word, clearly unsure how to address the physical shift. The term "Anna" had been forgotten completely.

Senthil: (My voice low and soft, holding her gaze, injecting the Poet's vulnerability and focus) I changed because I chose to dedicate myself to something completely, totally.

Deepa: Your job? You got a promotion?

Senthil: (A small, intimate shake of my head) No. I changed because of you.
She paused, her spoon freezing midway to her lips. The sound of the café faded around us.

Deepa: Me? What do you mean?

Senthil: Six months ago, you told me I was like a brother.

Senthil: When you said that, I realized two things. One, I never wanted to be your brother. And two, the man you saw—the fat, clumsy, predictable Senthil, didn’t deserve a woman like you.

I leaned forward slightly, my powerful new forearms resting on the table, creating a barrier against the rest of the world.

Deepa: Senthil... that’s a very intense thing to say. I didn't mean to hurt you.

Senthil: I know you didn't. But you challenged me. And I don't back down from a challenge anymore, Deepa. I want you to look at me, right now, and tell me honestly: Do you still see a brother?

Her gaze dropped, flustered, tracing the line of my defined jaw, lingering on my new, firm neck.

Deepa: No. I... I see someone I don’t know. Someone very determined.

Senthil: (A slow, confident smile touched my lips) Good. Because the man you see now doesn’t want coffee, and he doesn’t want to talk about lesson plans.

I reached across the table, and this time, I didn't touch her back. I took her hand, firm and warm, my thumb slowly stroking the delicate skin on her wrist. The touch was possessive, a claim. Her breathing hitched, shallow and quick.

Senthil: I want to show you exactly what happens when the cousin decides to stop being safe.
I stood up, pulling her chair out for her without asking, my action decisive.

Senthil: Come on. We are leaving.

She didn't object. She didn't hesitate. She rose instantly.

We were outside the café, we stopped by my new motorcycle in the back, not flashy, but heavy, black, and powerful.


I turned her toward me, my hands going to her shoulders, my grip firm. Her eyes were wide, filled with a beautiful mix of fear and lust. 

Senthil: (My voice was a low growl, only for her ears) Look at me, Deepa.

I brought my face down to hers and took the kiss.

It was not a soft, tentative touch. It was a release a surge of all the repressed humiliation, My mouth was hard, demanding, immediately possessing hers. My hands slid down her arms, pulling her body flush against my new, rock-solid chest, eliminating any space between us.

Deepa’s initial shock melted instantly into a fierce, desperate response. Her hands shot up, clutching the fabric of my shirt, crinkling the linen. She kissed back with a sudden, needy urgency, a stark contradiction to her quiet, composed college teacher persona. She was starved for this danger, this overwhelming, unbrotherly intensity.
When I finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her saree slightly rumpled, and her eyes were dark, glazed, and utterly surrendered.

Senthil: Deepa. Remember this, I am not a brother.

I didn't wait for her to speak. I simply nodded once, handed her the helmet, and gestured to the bike.