3 hours ago
CHAPTER 27
The restaurant’s walls were washed in amber light, candles flickering against crystal glasses, waiters gliding silently across marble floors. The group—Ragini, Mouni, Sagar, Gayathri, and Tejas—filled a long central table, their laughter and chatter rising like soft music.
Sonarika and Vikram, however, were seated at a smaller table near the veranda—private, quiet, too intimate for Sonarika’s comfort.
Ragini leaned close before they separated.
"I hope you know what you are doing Sonarika" she whispered.
Sonarika squeezed her hand.
"I know, Ragini. Trust me. I have no intentions like before"
Ragini nodded but her eyes didn’t lighten.
"Please be careful"
The waiter set down their plates—her grilled fish, his butter chicken—and withdrew discreetly. Vikram folded his hands, studying her with quiet longing.
"I’m glad we could sit alone"
"Vikram… you shouldn’t bind yourself to me anymore" She inhaled deeply.
"Why not?" His brow creased.
"Because I betrayed you" she said, voice trembling.
"Just as I betrayed Hemant. I don’t feel that connection anymore. The relationship we had… it fed my sickness, my hypersexuality. Therapy showed me how unhealthy it all was"
Vikram’s expression softened, stubborn hope glowing behind his eyes.
"You believe it was sickness. But my feelings weren’t. I loved you, Sonarika"
She shook her head gently.
"You loved that version of me. And that version… she’s gone"
"Then I’ll adjust" Vikram whispered.
"If you’ve changed, I’ll change too"
"Vikram" she said firmly.
"I have evolved Vikram , I found my true self. And you , you won’t connect with the woman I’ve reclaimed. That flame…..it fed my sickness. It burned me. I don’t want it again. Not with anyone"
He swallowed—hurt, but not defeated.
"Even if you don’t feel anything now… I do. I always will. And I’ll try to be the man you can connect to. Eventually"
She looked at him with sad gratitude.
"You must walk away. Before you regret chasing someone who will never return the feelings"
He shook his head.
"I won’t regret you. Ever"
Silence stretched between them like a thin, strained wire. Then he dropped the revelation:
"I already have a hotel in Goa long before I built one in Jabalpur. I’ll be there often. You won’t be far"
"Vikram… no. I told you—" Her eyes widened—quiet panic.
"It won’t be like before" he said quickly.
"No chasing. No… sexual expectations. Just time. Friendship. A chance to understand each other again. If something grows, it grows. If not… I’ll still be there when you need me"
She looked away, overwhelmed.
"The truth is, I don’t feel anything like that anymore"
"And that’s okay" Vikram said softly.
"Let this be a fresh start"
Dinner ended. They rejoined their friends near the entrance. Ragini wrapped her arm around Sonarika’s, her voice bright:
"Ready for the sleepover?"
"Yes. Let’s go" Sonarika smiled.
She turned to Vikram.
"Good night"
He stepped back respectfully, hands in pockets, posture casual.
"Good night, Sonarika. Whatever happens… no pressure. No expectations. Just cordial friendship"
She nodded, grateful but conflicted.
"And this time" Vikram added gently.
"I will get to know the real you , and I will relate to you as a person, not as a desire"
Before she could respond, Ragini tugged her away—gently but with purpose—toward the waiting cars. As she walked, a heaviness pressed into her chest. Vikram, despite everything, still looked at her with hope. Hope she could no longer return. And that guilt ate at her. But beneath it all, beneath the tangled mess of old wounds and new beginnings, one truth pulsed quietly, stubbornly, painfully:
There was only one man she would miss when she moved to Goa.
Only one man she still loved without admitting it aloud.
Only one man her heart refused to let go of.
Hemant.
The man she hurt. The man she lost. The man who walked out of her send-off like he didn’t care—
Yet still held a thread of her healing body and heart.
SOMETIME LATER AT RAGINI'S APARTMENT
Ragini’s apartment was warm and dim, scented with jasmine candles. Laughter echoed faintly from the living room where the girls opened snacks, poured soft drinks, and prepared for their night of harmless fun.
But Sonarika stood apart near the window, watching the city lights blur behind the glass. She held a cup of tea between her hands, letting the warmth anchor her—but her mind drifted far, far away. Memories rose like waves. Not forced. Not summoned. Just… returning to her, one after another.
She saw herself in a breezy white dress on a Goa beach—only months after her wedding. Sunlight glinted off the water. Hemant’s hand was in hers, shy but certain. He wasn’t the titan he is now. He was gentle. Laughing easily. He held her sandals because she wanted to run barefoot into the waves.
That trip was the first time she felt the world shrink to just the two of them.
The memory shifted—their living room, a Bollywood melody playing softly. She held his hands, trying to guide him, trying not to laugh too loudly at his stiff steps.
"Left foot, Hemant… left foot— no, not right—"
He tripped, nearly falling into her, and they both burst into laughter. He kissed her cheek awkwardly afterward, embarrassed and in love. She touched her cheek now. The warmth was long gone.
Then came the boat—floating lanterns on the water, fireflies dancing in the dark. Their honeymoon suite was surrounded by nothing but silence and moonlit ripples. Her wedding bangles jingled softly as she rested her head on his chest. He played with her hair absentmindedly, a habit he formed without realizing. And later that night— Their most passionate and intimate act. Sweet. Nervous. Full of hope.
He believed Karan was conceived that night. She still held on to the Kitchen fucking memory and stayed with it. But those were the days where her life was full of spark.
The memory faded into the scent of prenatal oils, hospital checkups, and swollen feet. She had been moody, exhausted, frightened. But Hemant? He was perfect. He stopped all extra shifts to stay home. He cooked. He cleaned. He massaged her legs when they cramped. He stayed awake through her midnight cravings. He read pregnancy books to understand every ache.
"Tell me what you need" he had said.
"And I’ll do it before you say it twice"
She closed her eyes now, swallowing the ache. Karan’s Birth The strongest memory arrived with a sting. She lay tired, trembling, overwhelmed—holding their newborn son. Their families celebrated outside, voices ringing with joy.
But Hemant…
He didn’t go to Karan first. He went to her. He cupped her face gently, tears in his eyes.
"You did it" he whispered.
"You brought him into this world. I’m so proud of you"
He kissed her forehead with reverence. Only then did he hold his son. That moment crystallized everything— The love he had for her, The devotion, The purity of that early life. And she shattered it.
A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it quickly. Ragini hadn't seen; she hoped no one did. Those memories were treasures— warmth wrapped in grief, love wrapped in loss. If time had a rewind button… She would go back to every moment. She would hold him tighter. She would delete every trace of Vikram. She would protect that life with both hands.
But time only moved forward. And her mistakes could only be carried, not erased. There was no more Hemant for her. No more of his warmth, No more of his hand in her hair, No more of his tired smile when he came home late, No more of the man whose heart she once called home.
Only memories.
Memories and consequences.
She took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the window—older, wiser, lonelier… but determined. Karan. Her son. Her anchor. She might have failed as a wife— But she would not fail as a mother.
Her new life in VATIKA…Her journey of healing…Her work…Her discipline…All of it would be for him. To raise him well. To give him stability. To give him love unbroken by adult mistakes. No matter how shattered she felt inside, she would not let those cracks touch her child. She whispered softly.
"Whatever happens… Karan will have the best version of me"
In the quiet of the night, surrounded by giggles and gossip she barely heard, Sonarika hugged her memories close— Not to revive them. But to honor what they once meant. And to finally accept that the man who starred in all of them…was no longer hers.
But he would always, always be the love she remembers.
The women dialled down. The colorful party wears were quickly shed, replaced by an assortment of cozy pajamas and slinky nightgowns. They’d danced to thumping music until the downstairs neighbor complained, then collapsed into a heap of limbs and lyrics, singing off-key to old Bollywood classics. It was Mouni, ever the skeptic, who had yawned and declared the night was winding down.
That’s when Ragini had pounced, producing a bottle of amber liquor and a empty wine bottle.
"Not so fast. We’re playing by my rules tonight. Truth or Dare. Dares are alcohol-based. You refuse a dare, you take a shot. But the truths…"
She said, her eyes glinting with mischief
"…are strictly carnal. Your deepest, naughtiest sexual histories. No holds barred"
The game had begun, and the revelations had flowed faster than the liquor. Ragini herself had been the first victim of the spin. Mouni teasingly remarked.
"You reap what you sow lady"
"Ugghhh....fine....ask me"
"Hmm...tell us the best sexual experience in your life"
Ragini smiled as her face brightened. She eventually started her narration.
"Okay......it was a week after my divorce was finalised. I was frequenting a beach restaurant on a daily. That is where I met him , Paolo , he was a french national , a painter. Came to Goa for some artwork. We ended up having a conversation , and that conversation led to a rapport and frequent visits in other places in Goa. And then one day at a beachside pub , he initiated it , kissing me deeply. I felt all kinds of butterflies in my stomach , plus I was still fuming from my divorce and that bastard that was my once husband. But my god , when I saw Paolo's cock , I felt it was worth it. I couldn't fit it all in my mouth but I deepthroated him hard. The kind of fucking he gave me that night , it was something celestial level. He gave me that Johnny Sins treatment!"
All the girls laughed at Ragini's last remark as they continued the bottle challenge. It eventually landed on Mouni. Ragini put up the question to her.
"Tell us the tale of how you lost your vriginity Mouni?"
Mouni raised her eyebrow as she grinned and then started.
"It was my second college year. There was a boy who every girl fancied including myself. His name was Rahul , a college rockstar. You know , long hair , charming face , impressive physique. But there was this bitch who called herself my friend , Tanya. She too wanted to get it with Rahul despite having a boyfriend Mahesh, who was a geek and a nerd. Eventually on a college annual day , Tanya broke it up with Mahesh to try her luck with Rahul. I ended up consoling Mahesh who was broken. I pitied him , he was a decent boy with nice mindset. Soon one thing led to another , and I slept with him. And Mahesh became the man to take my virginity , and dare I say , he was only nerd from the outside , but when it came to sex , he was something else. And he was packing in his trunks which really took me to a higher existence plain. And for poor Tanya , she became the loser in that scenario. Turns out Rahul was a closeted chauvinist and she had to endure a toxic relationship for the next two years until they eventually broke up after college. At the end of the day I was the lucky one!"
Mouni giggled as she recollected those memories. The next bottle turn was on Neha as she narrated an embarrassing story.
"So I had a patient that came to me. He was a young man , having problems with confidence and assurance. I worked with him , building some workshop with him. One day , he ended up getting adventurous and tried to kiss me. I retorted and stopped him , telling him that he was reckless by mistake. He stopped coming and I felt disappointed. Then a week later on that weekend , I hooked up with a man on a pub and we had a one night stand. He was slightly older but his actions will put even the youngest men to shame. That morning as I went to his kitchen wearing just his shirt , I was shocked to see the young man there. Turns out the old guy was the man's father. He looked at me and said just one word , 'reckless' , and since then I've stopped doing random hook ups"
Everyone laughed at her awkward story. But it also loosened the moment between the ladies. Eventually the bottle landed on Sonarika as Ragini prepared her question.
"What is your favorite sex position? And don't you dare tell me its missionary"
"Hmm..." Sonarika pretended to think as she giggled.
"Come on Sonarika....spill some bold truth....what is your favorite sex position?"
Sonarika sighed and smiled and responded.
"Well , its the Flat Iron.......the Hot Seat.....and the Pearly Gates!"
All the women were stunned listening to Sonarika as she described the sex positions by its name. They were definitely not beginners positions
"Wow , Sonarika. I didn't knew you were this knowledgable about sex positions"
"It was recent knowledge actually. Vikram , he had a chart of different sex positions pasted on his bedroom , every day we would explore a new one during our affair days. It was a carnal class of pleasure and passion"
She wasn’t just listing positions; she was reliving them. Her eyes lost focus as she spoke.
"The flatiron… he’d press my shoulders down into the bed, my ass in the air. He’d enter me from behind, so deep, but that wasn’t it. He’d reach one hand around to pinch my nipples. The combined pressure, inside and out… I would cum almost instantly. It was… efficient"
She took a sip of wine, her lips staining darker.
"The hotseat was for slow end days of the week. I’d straddle him, reverse, so I could watch us in the mirror. He’d guide my hips, a slow, grinding circle. I’d control the depth, rocking back onto him until I could feel him in my stomach. I’d watch his hands squeeze my breasts, watch my own face contort, and it was like watching the most erotic film starring… me"
Ragini’s face had fallen slightly. She’d hoped for a story about Hemant, Sonarika’s husband.
"So Vikram was the best, then? The great awakener?"
"No" Sonarika said sharply, the word a crack of ice.
"That’s not what I said. He was a fantastic fuck, Ragini. The best I’d ever had. Physically. He made my body do things I didn’t know it could. But that’s all it was. A physical reaction"
Sonarika continued.
"What I had with Vikram was definitely impressive sex. But I no longer see it as an awakening , but rather my descend to a darker path. Hemant is the one that guided me , and in the end , his sex was the truly healing factor of my life. If it wasn't for him , I would've succumbed to this sickness long ago. Even the best orgasm I had is still with Hemant and whether you like it or not , it was missionary with him. And the truth is , whatever I had with Vikram , I understand it now that I can do those same things with Hemant if I wanted. The sad part is I was too late to see it"
All the women noticed the sadness of Sonarika as her eyes went wet. She revealed.
"Lately , I've been having this fantasy. Something that has stemmed from watching my hot husband getting off the bathroom often in just a towel. I desire to have him fuck me in the stand and deliver sex position. I loved our shower sessions. It was the only place that gave us some privacy in that apartment. God I loved those wet mornings!"
Ragini smiled seeing how Sonarika glitters when she talks about Hemant.
"There is also something kinky we did"
"Go ahead.....reveal it to us"
Sonarika was hesitent to reveal it but eventually she said a word and everyone was amazed.
"Breastfeeding"
The ladies smiled as Mouni chimed in with a justification.
"That’s natural, Sonarika. Every mother feels that. The nipples are erogenous zones, after all"
"No, it’s not that" Sonarika said, her voice gaining a little strength, a confessional momentum.
"It started before I was a mother. When I was five months pregnant with Karan"
She looked around the circle, seeing only rapt attention.
"Hemant… he was so nervous about having sex. Terrified he’d hurt me or the baby. The desire was there, I could see it in his eyes, but he was holding back so tightly"
She wrapped her arms around herself, a self-soothing gesture.
"One night, I was so… aching for him. I took his hand and guided his mouth to my breast. I was already leaking a little. I told him it would all be okay. And he… he drank"
A stunned silence fell.
"And?" Ragini prompted, her voice barely a breath.
"And I had an orgasm!" Sonarika said simply, a shiver running through her at the memory.
"Just from that"
The sensation flooded back to her now, the hot, wet pull of his mouth, the shocking, electric jolt of pleasure that arced straight from her nipple to her core, the way her back had arched off the bed completely without her permission.
"He wasn’t into it at first, thought it was strange. But he saw what it did to me. After that, he’d worship them. For hours. That became our seduction. I’d just… tweak my cleavage, or let him glimpse a lace edge, and that was it. He was mine"
The raw intimacy of the confession left the room quiet for a moment, each woman lost in her own interpretations of the image.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an intense, hushed tone.
"Vikram gave me orgasms. But Hemant… Hemant consummated me. He planted his seed in me and we made a person, a beautiful, brilliant boy. That feeling… of being so full of him, of us, of creating a life… that’s a bond no affair, no matter how passionate, can ever break or replicate. He is Karan’s father. And for that, and for the love I still have for him that’s somehow grown through all this mess… he will always be my best lover"
The room was silent, the raw vulnerability of the confession leaving no room for jokes or follow-up dares. Ragini simply reached out and squeezed Sonarika’s hand, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated, painful truth.
Ragini’s next question was gentle but precise, a surgeon’s scalpel.
"Then why, Sonarika? Why did you dance with Vikram tonight? In front of everyone? In front of Hemant?"
Tears welled in Sonarika’s eyes instantly, brilliant and painful.
"I wasn't expecting Hemant to come there after everything , and besides.....I wanted to know"
She choked out.
"I needed to feel if there was any connection left. Any spark from the affair that blew up my life"
A single tear traced a path down her cheek.
"And there was nothing. Nothing. It felt empty. Hollow. Dancing with him just made me see the whole thing for what it was—a reckless, stupid sin. It cost me my peace. It cost me my home. It cost me him"
She broke then, the composure she’d held all evening shattering. Ragini was there in an instant, pulling her into a fierce, supportive hug, rocking her gently as the other women made soft, comforting noises.
After a few minutes, the storm of sobs subsided. Sonarika pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice raw but clearer.
"The worst part is… I still love him. And now… now he’s this… this forbidden fruit"
She let out a wet, shaky laugh.
"Have you seen him recently? The way he’s been handling himself, that new confidence? It drives me wild. I… I’ve been relieving myself lately"
She confessed, the admission leaving her in a rush,
"Thinking only of him. Of his hands. Of his mouth on my breasts. But I know I can’t have him. I hurt him too much"
The heavy, sensual weight of her confession settled over the group. The playful energy of the game was gone, replaced by a thick, molten tension. The truths were no longer stories from the past; they were live wires sparking in the present. Ragini looked at Sonarika, then slowly scanned the faces of the other women, her eyes dark and thoughtful in the candlelight. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint sound of traffic far below
The moment stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, until Neha finally cleared her throat.
"Well… I think we all need another drink after that"
As glasses were refilled and the tension began to dissipate into a more somber, reflective mood, Mouni leaned over and murmured to Sonarika.
"This stand and deliver fantasy… you should tell him. You really should"
SOME TIME LATER
The world swam back into focus, a haze of vanilla-scented candle smoke and the sharp, lingering taste of whiskey. Sonarika’s head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache that pulsed behind her eyes. She was lying on a soft mattress, the cool cotton of a sheet tangled around her legs. The living room was dark now, the candles extinguished, the only light a pale silver streak of moonlight filtering through the window.
A warm, solid weight pressed against her back, accompanied by the soft, steady rhythm of deep breathing. Mouni. Sound asleep, one arm thrown carelessly across Sonarika’s waist, her lithe body radiating the heat of deep slumber and one too many drinks. Ragini must have finally called an end to the night, shepherding her tipsy friends to bed.
A deep, aching loneliness coiled in Sonarika’s belly, sharper than the headache. The memory of her confession, of the overwhelming desire for Hemant, laid her bare all over again. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to sleep, to escape the hollow feeling.
Then, she felt it.
A shift in the air. A presence.
Her eyes fluttered open. A figure stood silhouetted in the moonlight by the door. Tall, broad-shouldered, a towel slung low around his hips. The faint, clean scent of his shower gel—sandalwood and bergamot—drifted across the room, cutting through the stale party air. His scent.
Hemant.
Her breath hitched. This wasn’t real. It couldn't be. He was a forbidden fantasy, a ghost from a life she’d shattered. Yet, her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, hopeful drumbeat. The towel was the one she knew so well, the deep blue one he always used after his morning shower, the fabric worn soft from years of use.
He moved toward the bed with that quiet, confident gait she’d ached for. The moonlight caught the hard planes of his chest, the newly defined muscles of his abdomen that had been driving her wild from a distance. He looked like a dream, a vision woven from her most desperate desires.
He didn’t say a word. He never did in these moments. He simply reached the bedside and looked down at her, his gaze a physical caress in the semi-darkness. His eyes, dark and intense, held none of the anger or betrayal of the real world. They held only a deep, smoldering hunger. For her.
He lowered himself onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Mouni, lost in her own drunken oblivion, didn’t stir. His hand, warm and so familiar, came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He leaned down, and his mouth found hers.
It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated longing. Soft at first, a gentle exploration, a silent question. She answered it with a soft, desperate moan, her lips parting for him. His tongue slid against hers, tasting of mint and him, and it was everything. It was the kiss she’d been replaying in her mind for months, the connection she thought she’d lost forever. Her hands came up, her fingers sliding into his still-damp hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fire down her jaw, her neck. He nuzzled the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she shuddered, a full-body tremor of need. His hands were on her now, sliding the thin strap of her camisole down her shoulder, his mouth following the path of his fingers. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin.
He pulled the sheet down, baring her to the waist. The cool night air pebbled her nipples an instant before his mouth closed over one. A broken cry escaped her lips. Oh god. It was exactly as she remembered, as she’d fantasized. The hot, wet suction, the skillful flick of his tongue, the gentle scbang of his teeth that sent electric jolts straight to her core. She arched her back, pressing her breast deeper into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair.
"Yes....Yes.....Ahh....Ahhhh.....Don’t stop"
He worshipped her breasts as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world, lavishing equal attention on each one, sucking and licking until she was writhing beneath him, her hips making small, involuntary circles against the mattress. The loneliness was gone, burned away by a rising inferno of pure sensation. This was her Hemant. The one who knew her body better than she knew it herself.
His hand slid down her trembling stomach, past the waistband of her thin sleep shorts, his fingers seeking the heat between her legs. She was already soaked, her arousal a slick, aching proof of how much she wanted this phantom, this dream. His fingers found her clit, and he circled it slowly, expertly, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure.
"Hemant" she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper.
"Please......take me honey...."
He understood. He always did. He hooked his fingers into her shorts and panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs and discard them. Then he was moving, his body settling between her thighs. The rough terrycloth of his towel brushed against her inner thighs, a tantalizing friction. He was still wearing it.
He kissed her again, deeply, as he positioned himself at her entrance. She could feel the thick, hard length of him pressing against her, hot even through the towel. He was hard, pulsing and yearning for her like he always did and the anticipation of him filling her was an agony of pleasure. He pushed forward, and the towel provided a maddening, delicious barrier, the textured fabric rubbing against her sensitive folds as he pressed into her.
It was a slow, impossibly deep penetration. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her in a way that felt more real than anything in her waking life. She cried out, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic rocking that was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Each thrust was a perfect, glorious friction. The towel, now soaked with her arousal, became an instrument of torture and bliss, its rough texture amplifying every sensation. He built the pace slowly, masterfully, each movement calculated to unravel her. He murmured her name against her lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps that mirrored her own.
"I’ve missed you" Sonarika confessed, the words a ghost in the dark room.
"I've missed us.....doing this!"
Tears of joy and desperate longing welled in her eyes. This was the connection. This was what she’d thrown away. Her body climbed higher and higher, teetering on the edge of an abyss of pleasure so profound it felt spiritual. She could feel the tension coiling tightly in her belly, a spring wound to its breaking point.
"I’m going to cum!" she sobbed, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his.
"Hemant, I’m CUMMING!!!!"
He drove into her one last, perfect time, hitting a spot so deep it stole the air from her lungs. The climax exploded through her, a silent, blinding supernova that shattered her into a million pieces. Wave after wave of pure, undiluted pleasure wracked her body, her inner muscles clenching around him in frantic, pulsing waves of release. She saw stars behind her eyelids, her entire universe narrowing to the exquisite sensation of him buried inside her, the source of her absolute completion.
She floated there, in that blissful, weightless space, waiting for the final, grounding punctuation of his own release. Waiting to feel the hot, liquid proof of his pleasure flooding into her.
But it never came.
The warmth of his body vanished. The weight on the mattress lifted. The scent of sandalwood faded.
Sonarika’s eyes flew open.
The room was empty. The space beside her was cold. Mouni still snored softly beside her, undisturbed.
A dream. A hallucination. A cruel, beautiful trick played by a drunk and lonely heart.
The aftermath of her powerful orgasm was still thrumming through her, a bittersweet echo in the silent darkness. Her body was slick with sweat and her own arousal, but the bed beside her was empty. A sigh, heavy with a profound and aching loss, escaped her lips. She curled onto her side, pulling the sheet up to her chin.
'Finally Hemant, you're in my dreams. And even in my dreams, you give me the best fucking of my life'
Sonarika thought, the words a silent prayer into the night. A single, hot tear traced a path down her temple and into her hairline. She closed her eyes, the ghost of his touch still tingling on her skin, and let the deep, empty silence of the room swallow her whole.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
Sonarika and Vikram, however, were seated at a smaller table near the veranda—private, quiet, too intimate for Sonarika’s comfort.
Ragini leaned close before they separated.
"I hope you know what you are doing Sonarika" she whispered.
Sonarika squeezed her hand.
"I know, Ragini. Trust me. I have no intentions like before"
Ragini nodded but her eyes didn’t lighten.
"Please be careful"
The waiter set down their plates—her grilled fish, his butter chicken—and withdrew discreetly. Vikram folded his hands, studying her with quiet longing.
"I’m glad we could sit alone"
"Vikram… you shouldn’t bind yourself to me anymore" She inhaled deeply.
"Why not?" His brow creased.
"Because I betrayed you" she said, voice trembling.
"Just as I betrayed Hemant. I don’t feel that connection anymore. The relationship we had… it fed my sickness, my hypersexuality. Therapy showed me how unhealthy it all was"
Vikram’s expression softened, stubborn hope glowing behind his eyes.
"You believe it was sickness. But my feelings weren’t. I loved you, Sonarika"
She shook her head gently.
"You loved that version of me. And that version… she’s gone"
"Then I’ll adjust" Vikram whispered.
"If you’ve changed, I’ll change too"
"Vikram" she said firmly.
"I have evolved Vikram , I found my true self. And you , you won’t connect with the woman I’ve reclaimed. That flame…..it fed my sickness. It burned me. I don’t want it again. Not with anyone"
He swallowed—hurt, but not defeated.
"Even if you don’t feel anything now… I do. I always will. And I’ll try to be the man you can connect to. Eventually"
She looked at him with sad gratitude.
"You must walk away. Before you regret chasing someone who will never return the feelings"
He shook his head.
"I won’t regret you. Ever"
Silence stretched between them like a thin, strained wire. Then he dropped the revelation:
"I already have a hotel in Goa long before I built one in Jabalpur. I’ll be there often. You won’t be far"
"Vikram… no. I told you—" Her eyes widened—quiet panic.
"It won’t be like before" he said quickly.
"No chasing. No… sexual expectations. Just time. Friendship. A chance to understand each other again. If something grows, it grows. If not… I’ll still be there when you need me"
She looked away, overwhelmed.
"The truth is, I don’t feel anything like that anymore"
"And that’s okay" Vikram said softly.
"Let this be a fresh start"
Dinner ended. They rejoined their friends near the entrance. Ragini wrapped her arm around Sonarika’s, her voice bright:
"Ready for the sleepover?"
"Yes. Let’s go" Sonarika smiled.
She turned to Vikram.
"Good night"
He stepped back respectfully, hands in pockets, posture casual.
"Good night, Sonarika. Whatever happens… no pressure. No expectations. Just cordial friendship"
She nodded, grateful but conflicted.
"And this time" Vikram added gently.
"I will get to know the real you , and I will relate to you as a person, not as a desire"
Before she could respond, Ragini tugged her away—gently but with purpose—toward the waiting cars. As she walked, a heaviness pressed into her chest. Vikram, despite everything, still looked at her with hope. Hope she could no longer return. And that guilt ate at her. But beneath it all, beneath the tangled mess of old wounds and new beginnings, one truth pulsed quietly, stubbornly, painfully:
There was only one man she would miss when she moved to Goa.
Only one man she still loved without admitting it aloud.
Only one man her heart refused to let go of.
Hemant.
The man she hurt. The man she lost. The man who walked out of her send-off like he didn’t care—
Yet still held a thread of her healing body and heart.
SOMETIME LATER AT RAGINI'S APARTMENT
Ragini’s apartment was warm and dim, scented with jasmine candles. Laughter echoed faintly from the living room where the girls opened snacks, poured soft drinks, and prepared for their night of harmless fun.
But Sonarika stood apart near the window, watching the city lights blur behind the glass. She held a cup of tea between her hands, letting the warmth anchor her—but her mind drifted far, far away. Memories rose like waves. Not forced. Not summoned. Just… returning to her, one after another.
She saw herself in a breezy white dress on a Goa beach—only months after her wedding. Sunlight glinted off the water. Hemant’s hand was in hers, shy but certain. He wasn’t the titan he is now. He was gentle. Laughing easily. He held her sandals because she wanted to run barefoot into the waves.
That trip was the first time she felt the world shrink to just the two of them.
The memory shifted—their living room, a Bollywood melody playing softly. She held his hands, trying to guide him, trying not to laugh too loudly at his stiff steps.
"Left foot, Hemant… left foot— no, not right—"
He tripped, nearly falling into her, and they both burst into laughter. He kissed her cheek awkwardly afterward, embarrassed and in love. She touched her cheek now. The warmth was long gone.
Then came the boat—floating lanterns on the water, fireflies dancing in the dark. Their honeymoon suite was surrounded by nothing but silence and moonlit ripples. Her wedding bangles jingled softly as she rested her head on his chest. He played with her hair absentmindedly, a habit he formed without realizing. And later that night— Their most passionate and intimate act. Sweet. Nervous. Full of hope.
He believed Karan was conceived that night. She still held on to the Kitchen fucking memory and stayed with it. But those were the days where her life was full of spark.
The memory faded into the scent of prenatal oils, hospital checkups, and swollen feet. She had been moody, exhausted, frightened. But Hemant? He was perfect. He stopped all extra shifts to stay home. He cooked. He cleaned. He massaged her legs when they cramped. He stayed awake through her midnight cravings. He read pregnancy books to understand every ache.
"Tell me what you need" he had said.
"And I’ll do it before you say it twice"
She closed her eyes now, swallowing the ache. Karan’s Birth The strongest memory arrived with a sting. She lay tired, trembling, overwhelmed—holding their newborn son. Their families celebrated outside, voices ringing with joy.
But Hemant…
He didn’t go to Karan first. He went to her. He cupped her face gently, tears in his eyes.
"You did it" he whispered.
"You brought him into this world. I’m so proud of you"
He kissed her forehead with reverence. Only then did he hold his son. That moment crystallized everything— The love he had for her, The devotion, The purity of that early life. And she shattered it.
A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it quickly. Ragini hadn't seen; she hoped no one did. Those memories were treasures— warmth wrapped in grief, love wrapped in loss. If time had a rewind button… She would go back to every moment. She would hold him tighter. She would delete every trace of Vikram. She would protect that life with both hands.
But time only moved forward. And her mistakes could only be carried, not erased. There was no more Hemant for her. No more of his warmth, No more of his hand in her hair, No more of his tired smile when he came home late, No more of the man whose heart she once called home.
Only memories.
Memories and consequences.
She took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the window—older, wiser, lonelier… but determined. Karan. Her son. Her anchor. She might have failed as a wife— But she would not fail as a mother.
Her new life in VATIKA…Her journey of healing…Her work…Her discipline…All of it would be for him. To raise him well. To give him stability. To give him love unbroken by adult mistakes. No matter how shattered she felt inside, she would not let those cracks touch her child. She whispered softly.
"Whatever happens… Karan will have the best version of me"
In the quiet of the night, surrounded by giggles and gossip she barely heard, Sonarika hugged her memories close— Not to revive them. But to honor what they once meant. And to finally accept that the man who starred in all of them…was no longer hers.
But he would always, always be the love she remembers.
The women dialled down. The colorful party wears were quickly shed, replaced by an assortment of cozy pajamas and slinky nightgowns. They’d danced to thumping music until the downstairs neighbor complained, then collapsed into a heap of limbs and lyrics, singing off-key to old Bollywood classics. It was Mouni, ever the skeptic, who had yawned and declared the night was winding down.
That’s when Ragini had pounced, producing a bottle of amber liquor and a empty wine bottle.
"Not so fast. We’re playing by my rules tonight. Truth or Dare. Dares are alcohol-based. You refuse a dare, you take a shot. But the truths…"
She said, her eyes glinting with mischief
"…are strictly carnal. Your deepest, naughtiest sexual histories. No holds barred"
The game had begun, and the revelations had flowed faster than the liquor. Ragini herself had been the first victim of the spin. Mouni teasingly remarked.
"You reap what you sow lady"
"Ugghhh....fine....ask me"
"Hmm...tell us the best sexual experience in your life"
Ragini smiled as her face brightened. She eventually started her narration.
"Okay......it was a week after my divorce was finalised. I was frequenting a beach restaurant on a daily. That is where I met him , Paolo , he was a french national , a painter. Came to Goa for some artwork. We ended up having a conversation , and that conversation led to a rapport and frequent visits in other places in Goa. And then one day at a beachside pub , he initiated it , kissing me deeply. I felt all kinds of butterflies in my stomach , plus I was still fuming from my divorce and that bastard that was my once husband. But my god , when I saw Paolo's cock , I felt it was worth it. I couldn't fit it all in my mouth but I deepthroated him hard. The kind of fucking he gave me that night , it was something celestial level. He gave me that Johnny Sins treatment!"
All the girls laughed at Ragini's last remark as they continued the bottle challenge. It eventually landed on Mouni. Ragini put up the question to her.
"Tell us the tale of how you lost your vriginity Mouni?"
Mouni raised her eyebrow as she grinned and then started.
"It was my second college year. There was a boy who every girl fancied including myself. His name was Rahul , a college rockstar. You know , long hair , charming face , impressive physique. But there was this bitch who called herself my friend , Tanya. She too wanted to get it with Rahul despite having a boyfriend Mahesh, who was a geek and a nerd. Eventually on a college annual day , Tanya broke it up with Mahesh to try her luck with Rahul. I ended up consoling Mahesh who was broken. I pitied him , he was a decent boy with nice mindset. Soon one thing led to another , and I slept with him. And Mahesh became the man to take my virginity , and dare I say , he was only nerd from the outside , but when it came to sex , he was something else. And he was packing in his trunks which really took me to a higher existence plain. And for poor Tanya , she became the loser in that scenario. Turns out Rahul was a closeted chauvinist and she had to endure a toxic relationship for the next two years until they eventually broke up after college. At the end of the day I was the lucky one!"
Mouni giggled as she recollected those memories. The next bottle turn was on Neha as she narrated an embarrassing story.
"So I had a patient that came to me. He was a young man , having problems with confidence and assurance. I worked with him , building some workshop with him. One day , he ended up getting adventurous and tried to kiss me. I retorted and stopped him , telling him that he was reckless by mistake. He stopped coming and I felt disappointed. Then a week later on that weekend , I hooked up with a man on a pub and we had a one night stand. He was slightly older but his actions will put even the youngest men to shame. That morning as I went to his kitchen wearing just his shirt , I was shocked to see the young man there. Turns out the old guy was the man's father. He looked at me and said just one word , 'reckless' , and since then I've stopped doing random hook ups"
Everyone laughed at her awkward story. But it also loosened the moment between the ladies. Eventually the bottle landed on Sonarika as Ragini prepared her question.
"What is your favorite sex position? And don't you dare tell me its missionary"
"Hmm..." Sonarika pretended to think as she giggled.
"Come on Sonarika....spill some bold truth....what is your favorite sex position?"
Sonarika sighed and smiled and responded.
"Well , its the Flat Iron.......the Hot Seat.....and the Pearly Gates!"
All the women were stunned listening to Sonarika as she described the sex positions by its name. They were definitely not beginners positions
"Wow , Sonarika. I didn't knew you were this knowledgable about sex positions"
"It was recent knowledge actually. Vikram , he had a chart of different sex positions pasted on his bedroom , every day we would explore a new one during our affair days. It was a carnal class of pleasure and passion"
She wasn’t just listing positions; she was reliving them. Her eyes lost focus as she spoke.
"The flatiron… he’d press my shoulders down into the bed, my ass in the air. He’d enter me from behind, so deep, but that wasn’t it. He’d reach one hand around to pinch my nipples. The combined pressure, inside and out… I would cum almost instantly. It was… efficient"
She took a sip of wine, her lips staining darker.
"The hotseat was for slow end days of the week. I’d straddle him, reverse, so I could watch us in the mirror. He’d guide my hips, a slow, grinding circle. I’d control the depth, rocking back onto him until I could feel him in my stomach. I’d watch his hands squeeze my breasts, watch my own face contort, and it was like watching the most erotic film starring… me"
Ragini’s face had fallen slightly. She’d hoped for a story about Hemant, Sonarika’s husband.
"So Vikram was the best, then? The great awakener?"
"No" Sonarika said sharply, the word a crack of ice.
"That’s not what I said. He was a fantastic fuck, Ragini. The best I’d ever had. Physically. He made my body do things I didn’t know it could. But that’s all it was. A physical reaction"
Sonarika continued.
"What I had with Vikram was definitely impressive sex. But I no longer see it as an awakening , but rather my descend to a darker path. Hemant is the one that guided me , and in the end , his sex was the truly healing factor of my life. If it wasn't for him , I would've succumbed to this sickness long ago. Even the best orgasm I had is still with Hemant and whether you like it or not , it was missionary with him. And the truth is , whatever I had with Vikram , I understand it now that I can do those same things with Hemant if I wanted. The sad part is I was too late to see it"
All the women noticed the sadness of Sonarika as her eyes went wet. She revealed.
"Lately , I've been having this fantasy. Something that has stemmed from watching my hot husband getting off the bathroom often in just a towel. I desire to have him fuck me in the stand and deliver sex position. I loved our shower sessions. It was the only place that gave us some privacy in that apartment. God I loved those wet mornings!"
Ragini smiled seeing how Sonarika glitters when she talks about Hemant.
"There is also something kinky we did"
"Go ahead.....reveal it to us"
Sonarika was hesitent to reveal it but eventually she said a word and everyone was amazed.
"Breastfeeding"
The ladies smiled as Mouni chimed in with a justification.
"That’s natural, Sonarika. Every mother feels that. The nipples are erogenous zones, after all"
"No, it’s not that" Sonarika said, her voice gaining a little strength, a confessional momentum.
"It started before I was a mother. When I was five months pregnant with Karan"
She looked around the circle, seeing only rapt attention.
"Hemant… he was so nervous about having sex. Terrified he’d hurt me or the baby. The desire was there, I could see it in his eyes, but he was holding back so tightly"
She wrapped her arms around herself, a self-soothing gesture.
"One night, I was so… aching for him. I took his hand and guided his mouth to my breast. I was already leaking a little. I told him it would all be okay. And he… he drank"
A stunned silence fell.
"And?" Ragini prompted, her voice barely a breath.
"And I had an orgasm!" Sonarika said simply, a shiver running through her at the memory.
"Just from that"
The sensation flooded back to her now, the hot, wet pull of his mouth, the shocking, electric jolt of pleasure that arced straight from her nipple to her core, the way her back had arched off the bed completely without her permission.
"He wasn’t into it at first, thought it was strange. But he saw what it did to me. After that, he’d worship them. For hours. That became our seduction. I’d just… tweak my cleavage, or let him glimpse a lace edge, and that was it. He was mine"
The raw intimacy of the confession left the room quiet for a moment, each woman lost in her own interpretations of the image.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an intense, hushed tone.
"Vikram gave me orgasms. But Hemant… Hemant consummated me. He planted his seed in me and we made a person, a beautiful, brilliant boy. That feeling… of being so full of him, of us, of creating a life… that’s a bond no affair, no matter how passionate, can ever break or replicate. He is Karan’s father. And for that, and for the love I still have for him that’s somehow grown through all this mess… he will always be my best lover"
The room was silent, the raw vulnerability of the confession leaving no room for jokes or follow-up dares. Ragini simply reached out and squeezed Sonarika’s hand, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated, painful truth.
Ragini’s next question was gentle but precise, a surgeon’s scalpel.
"Then why, Sonarika? Why did you dance with Vikram tonight? In front of everyone? In front of Hemant?"
Tears welled in Sonarika’s eyes instantly, brilliant and painful.
"I wasn't expecting Hemant to come there after everything , and besides.....I wanted to know"
She choked out.
"I needed to feel if there was any connection left. Any spark from the affair that blew up my life"
A single tear traced a path down her cheek.
"And there was nothing. Nothing. It felt empty. Hollow. Dancing with him just made me see the whole thing for what it was—a reckless, stupid sin. It cost me my peace. It cost me my home. It cost me him"
She broke then, the composure she’d held all evening shattering. Ragini was there in an instant, pulling her into a fierce, supportive hug, rocking her gently as the other women made soft, comforting noises.
After a few minutes, the storm of sobs subsided. Sonarika pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice raw but clearer.
"The worst part is… I still love him. And now… now he’s this… this forbidden fruit"
She let out a wet, shaky laugh.
"Have you seen him recently? The way he’s been handling himself, that new confidence? It drives me wild. I… I’ve been relieving myself lately"
She confessed, the admission leaving her in a rush,
"Thinking only of him. Of his hands. Of his mouth on my breasts. But I know I can’t have him. I hurt him too much"
The heavy, sensual weight of her confession settled over the group. The playful energy of the game was gone, replaced by a thick, molten tension. The truths were no longer stories from the past; they were live wires sparking in the present. Ragini looked at Sonarika, then slowly scanned the faces of the other women, her eyes dark and thoughtful in the candlelight. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint sound of traffic far below
The moment stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, until Neha finally cleared her throat.
"Well… I think we all need another drink after that"
As glasses were refilled and the tension began to dissipate into a more somber, reflective mood, Mouni leaned over and murmured to Sonarika.
"This stand and deliver fantasy… you should tell him. You really should"
SOME TIME LATER
The world swam back into focus, a haze of vanilla-scented candle smoke and the sharp, lingering taste of whiskey. Sonarika’s head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache that pulsed behind her eyes. She was lying on a soft mattress, the cool cotton of a sheet tangled around her legs. The living room was dark now, the candles extinguished, the only light a pale silver streak of moonlight filtering through the window.
A warm, solid weight pressed against her back, accompanied by the soft, steady rhythm of deep breathing. Mouni. Sound asleep, one arm thrown carelessly across Sonarika’s waist, her lithe body radiating the heat of deep slumber and one too many drinks. Ragini must have finally called an end to the night, shepherding her tipsy friends to bed.
A deep, aching loneliness coiled in Sonarika’s belly, sharper than the headache. The memory of her confession, of the overwhelming desire for Hemant, laid her bare all over again. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to sleep, to escape the hollow feeling.
Then, she felt it.
A shift in the air. A presence.
Her eyes fluttered open. A figure stood silhouetted in the moonlight by the door. Tall, broad-shouldered, a towel slung low around his hips. The faint, clean scent of his shower gel—sandalwood and bergamot—drifted across the room, cutting through the stale party air. His scent.
Hemant.
Her breath hitched. This wasn’t real. It couldn't be. He was a forbidden fantasy, a ghost from a life she’d shattered. Yet, her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, hopeful drumbeat. The towel was the one she knew so well, the deep blue one he always used after his morning shower, the fabric worn soft from years of use.
He moved toward the bed with that quiet, confident gait she’d ached for. The moonlight caught the hard planes of his chest, the newly defined muscles of his abdomen that had been driving her wild from a distance. He looked like a dream, a vision woven from her most desperate desires.
He didn’t say a word. He never did in these moments. He simply reached the bedside and looked down at her, his gaze a physical caress in the semi-darkness. His eyes, dark and intense, held none of the anger or betrayal of the real world. They held only a deep, smoldering hunger. For her.
He lowered himself onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Mouni, lost in her own drunken oblivion, didn’t stir. His hand, warm and so familiar, came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He leaned down, and his mouth found hers.
It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated longing. Soft at first, a gentle exploration, a silent question. She answered it with a soft, desperate moan, her lips parting for him. His tongue slid against hers, tasting of mint and him, and it was everything. It was the kiss she’d been replaying in her mind for months, the connection she thought she’d lost forever. Her hands came up, her fingers sliding into his still-damp hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fire down her jaw, her neck. He nuzzled the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she shuddered, a full-body tremor of need. His hands were on her now, sliding the thin strap of her camisole down her shoulder, his mouth following the path of his fingers. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin.
He pulled the sheet down, baring her to the waist. The cool night air pebbled her nipples an instant before his mouth closed over one. A broken cry escaped her lips. Oh god. It was exactly as she remembered, as she’d fantasized. The hot, wet suction, the skillful flick of his tongue, the gentle scbang of his teeth that sent electric jolts straight to her core. She arched her back, pressing her breast deeper into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair.
"Yes....Yes.....Ahh....Ahhhh.....Don’t stop"
He worshipped her breasts as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world, lavishing equal attention on each one, sucking and licking until she was writhing beneath him, her hips making small, involuntary circles against the mattress. The loneliness was gone, burned away by a rising inferno of pure sensation. This was her Hemant. The one who knew her body better than she knew it herself.
His hand slid down her trembling stomach, past the waistband of her thin sleep shorts, his fingers seeking the heat between her legs. She was already soaked, her arousal a slick, aching proof of how much she wanted this phantom, this dream. His fingers found her clit, and he circled it slowly, expertly, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure.
"Hemant" she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper.
"Please......take me honey...."
He understood. He always did. He hooked his fingers into her shorts and panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs and discard them. Then he was moving, his body settling between her thighs. The rough terrycloth of his towel brushed against her inner thighs, a tantalizing friction. He was still wearing it.
He kissed her again, deeply, as he positioned himself at her entrance. She could feel the thick, hard length of him pressing against her, hot even through the towel. He was hard, pulsing and yearning for her like he always did and the anticipation of him filling her was an agony of pleasure. He pushed forward, and the towel provided a maddening, delicious barrier, the textured fabric rubbing against her sensitive folds as he pressed into her.
It was a slow, impossibly deep penetration. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her in a way that felt more real than anything in her waking life. She cried out, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic rocking that was pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Each thrust was a perfect, glorious friction. The towel, now soaked with her arousal, became an instrument of torture and bliss, its rough texture amplifying every sensation. He built the pace slowly, masterfully, each movement calculated to unravel her. He murmured her name against her lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps that mirrored her own.
"I’ve missed you" Sonarika confessed, the words a ghost in the dark room.
"I've missed us.....doing this!"
Tears of joy and desperate longing welled in her eyes. This was the connection. This was what she’d thrown away. Her body climbed higher and higher, teetering on the edge of an abyss of pleasure so profound it felt spiritual. She could feel the tension coiling tightly in her belly, a spring wound to its breaking point.
"I’m going to cum!" she sobbed, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath his.
"Hemant, I’m CUMMING!!!!"
He drove into her one last, perfect time, hitting a spot so deep it stole the air from her lungs. The climax exploded through her, a silent, blinding supernova that shattered her into a million pieces. Wave after wave of pure, undiluted pleasure wracked her body, her inner muscles clenching around him in frantic, pulsing waves of release. She saw stars behind her eyelids, her entire universe narrowing to the exquisite sensation of him buried inside her, the source of her absolute completion.
She floated there, in that blissful, weightless space, waiting for the final, grounding punctuation of his own release. Waiting to feel the hot, liquid proof of his pleasure flooding into her.
But it never came.
The warmth of his body vanished. The weight on the mattress lifted. The scent of sandalwood faded.
Sonarika’s eyes flew open.
The room was empty. The space beside her was cold. Mouni still snored softly beside her, undisturbed.
A dream. A hallucination. A cruel, beautiful trick played by a drunk and lonely heart.
The aftermath of her powerful orgasm was still thrumming through her, a bittersweet echo in the silent darkness. Her body was slick with sweat and her own arousal, but the bed beside her was empty. A sigh, heavy with a profound and aching loss, escaped her lips. She curled onto her side, pulling the sheet up to her chin.
'Finally Hemant, you're in my dreams. And even in my dreams, you give me the best fucking of my life'
Sonarika thought, the words a silent prayer into the night. A single, hot tear traced a path down her temple and into her hairline. She closed her eyes, the ghost of his touch still tingling on her skin, and let the deep, empty silence of the room swallow her whole.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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