01-12-2025, 09:46 PM
Part One: The First Crack
Chapter Two: Day 1 – Monday, 18 May 2020
The Ludo board looked older than Nikhil himself: faded colours, four chipped wooden tokens per colour, the dice cracked at one corner. He placed it on the dining table with the same care he once used to place answer sheets on her desk, afraid of creasing them.
Radha sat first, folding the pleats of her damp cotton saree with the precision she applied to everything. Nikhil took the opposite chair, spine straight, hands resting on his thighs exactly the way he had been trained to sit when the entire class was punished.
She opened the box, let the tokens tumble out, rolled the dice once between her palms as if warming it.
“Simple rules,” she said, voice perfectly level. “First to get all four tokens home wins. No stakes, no punishment. Just a break from this heat.”
Nikhil nodded so hard the chair creaked.
She rolled first. A five. Red token out. Click. “Your turn.”
He rolled a two. His fingers trembled; the dice almost slipped off the table. Green token moved. Eyes glued to the board.
They played in near silence for the first two games. Only the soft clack of wood, the distant splash of Lakshmi washing clothes in the kitchen, and the thick, wet heat pressing down.
Radha won the first game in seven minutes flat.
She leaned back slightly, fanned herself with the end of her pallu. “Still the champion,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting a fraction.
Nikhil exhaled in relief. He had been braced for sarcasm.
She reset the tokens without asking. “Best of three?”
He nodded again.
Second game. She played badly on purpose, moving tokens into the open, miscounting spaces. Nikhil noticed. His eyes flicked to her face once, twice, confused, then back to the board.
He won.
The moment his last green token slid home, his shoulders sagged. He had survived.
Third game.
Radha needed to be sure. She needed to know, beyond doubt, that the hunger she felt burning in her own stomach was mirrored in him.
She leaned forward to reach a fallen red token that had rolled near his side of the board. The movement was natural, unplanned (or so it would appear).
The pallu, already loose from the heat and repeated fanning, obeyed gravity.
It slipped.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
The neckline of her sleeveless cream blouse gaped open for four long seconds. The beige cotton bra cupped her full breasts; a deep, shadowed cleavage appeared, glistening faintly with perspiration in the dull afternoon light.
Radha did not look up.
She kept her gaze on the board, pretending to study her next move, counting heartbeats instead.
One… two… three… four…
In her peripheral vision she saw everything she needed.
Nikhil’s breath stopped entirely. His eyes dropped to the open neckline like a magnet. His lips parted. The hand hovering over the dice froze mid-air. A flush started at his throat and raced upward until his ears glowed crimson.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to remember how lungs worked.
On the silent count of five, Radha lifted her left hand, casually tugged the pallu back into place, and straightened.
Only then did Nikhil jerk his gaze back to the board, face now the colour of fresh beetroot. His fingers shook so violently when he picked up the dice that it rattled against the wood like hail on a tin roof.
Radha allowed herself one slow, hidden exhale.
Confirmation received.
The boy was not merely obedient. He was ravenous.
And he had looked at her cleavage the way a starving man stares at a locked glass case full of food: helpless, guilty, aching.
She rolled her dice, moved a red token two spaces, and spoke in her usual crisp teacher-voice.
“Your turn, Nikhil. Don’t keep the board waiting.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he croaked, voice breaking like he was thirteen again.
He rolled a six. His last token slid home.
He won the third game.
Radha smiled, small and secret, and began stacking the tokens back into their compartments.
“Thank you for playing,” she said softly.
This time she let her eyes rest on his flushed, stunned face for one deliberate second before standing.
The pallu stayed perfectly in place for the rest of the afternoon.
But the damage (sweet, irreversible damage) was done.
She knew now. He wanted her. Desperately.
And he would never, ever tell a soul.
Day 1 ended with the official score 2–1 in Nikhil’s favour on the Ludo board… and an unacknowledged, far more dangerous score of 1–0 to Radha in the game that had truly begun.
Chapter Two: Day 1 – Monday, 18 May 2020
The Ludo board looked older than Nikhil himself: faded colours, four chipped wooden tokens per colour, the dice cracked at one corner. He placed it on the dining table with the same care he once used to place answer sheets on her desk, afraid of creasing them.
Radha sat first, folding the pleats of her damp cotton saree with the precision she applied to everything. Nikhil took the opposite chair, spine straight, hands resting on his thighs exactly the way he had been trained to sit when the entire class was punished.
She opened the box, let the tokens tumble out, rolled the dice once between her palms as if warming it.
“Simple rules,” she said, voice perfectly level. “First to get all four tokens home wins. No stakes, no punishment. Just a break from this heat.”
Nikhil nodded so hard the chair creaked.
She rolled first. A five. Red token out. Click. “Your turn.”
He rolled a two. His fingers trembled; the dice almost slipped off the table. Green token moved. Eyes glued to the board.
They played in near silence for the first two games. Only the soft clack of wood, the distant splash of Lakshmi washing clothes in the kitchen, and the thick, wet heat pressing down.
Radha won the first game in seven minutes flat.
She leaned back slightly, fanned herself with the end of her pallu. “Still the champion,” she murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting a fraction.
Nikhil exhaled in relief. He had been braced for sarcasm.
She reset the tokens without asking. “Best of three?”
He nodded again.
Second game. She played badly on purpose, moving tokens into the open, miscounting spaces. Nikhil noticed. His eyes flicked to her face once, twice, confused, then back to the board.
He won.
The moment his last green token slid home, his shoulders sagged. He had survived.
Third game.
Radha needed to be sure. She needed to know, beyond doubt, that the hunger she felt burning in her own stomach was mirrored in him.
She leaned forward to reach a fallen red token that had rolled near his side of the board. The movement was natural, unplanned (or so it would appear).
The pallu, already loose from the heat and repeated fanning, obeyed gravity.
It slipped.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
The neckline of her sleeveless cream blouse gaped open for four long seconds. The beige cotton bra cupped her full breasts; a deep, shadowed cleavage appeared, glistening faintly with perspiration in the dull afternoon light.
Radha did not look up.
She kept her gaze on the board, pretending to study her next move, counting heartbeats instead.
One… two… three… four…
In her peripheral vision she saw everything she needed.
Nikhil’s breath stopped entirely. His eyes dropped to the open neckline like a magnet. His lips parted. The hand hovering over the dice froze mid-air. A flush started at his throat and raced upward until his ears glowed crimson.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to remember how lungs worked.
On the silent count of five, Radha lifted her left hand, casually tugged the pallu back into place, and straightened.
Only then did Nikhil jerk his gaze back to the board, face now the colour of fresh beetroot. His fingers shook so violently when he picked up the dice that it rattled against the wood like hail on a tin roof.
Radha allowed herself one slow, hidden exhale.
Confirmation received.
The boy was not merely obedient. He was ravenous.
And he had looked at her cleavage the way a starving man stares at a locked glass case full of food: helpless, guilty, aching.
She rolled her dice, moved a red token two spaces, and spoke in her usual crisp teacher-voice.
“Your turn, Nikhil. Don’t keep the board waiting.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he croaked, voice breaking like he was thirteen again.
He rolled a six. His last token slid home.
He won the third game.
Radha smiled, small and secret, and began stacking the tokens back into their compartments.
“Thank you for playing,” she said softly.
This time she let her eyes rest on his flushed, stunned face for one deliberate second before standing.
The pallu stayed perfectly in place for the rest of the afternoon.
But the damage (sweet, irreversible damage) was done.
She knew now. He wanted her. Desperately.
And he would never, ever tell a soul.
Day 1 ended with the official score 2–1 in Nikhil’s favour on the Ludo board… and an unacknowledged, far more dangerous score of 1–0 to Radha in the game that had truly begun.
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