04-12-2025, 11:29 PM
(This post was last modified: 26-12-2025, 01:34 PM by nivithenaughty. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
PART 5
Indhu woke before the alarm, the room still wrapped in soft darkness. For a few moments she lay listening to the steady breathing of her children on either side, feeling the cool sheet against her skin. Today was different. Today there would be no Rajan watching over her shoulder, no hurried choices, no quiet lectures about “decent” clothes. Just freedom. And Karthik.
She slipped from the bed without a sound and padded to the wardrobe-room, locking the door behind her. The long cotton nightie slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Naked under the single bulb, she faced the mirror.
Her breasts were full and high, nipples tightening in the cool air. Waist still narrow, hips flared, ass round and smooth. Between her thighs the soft patch of hair needed trimming. She sat on the low stool, parted her legs, and took the small scissors. Careful snips—left, right, a little shorter—until everything was neat and close, the lips of her pussy smooth and pink beneath the trimmed triangle. She poured the intimate wash onto her palm and rubbed slow, gentle circles, the foam sliding between her folds, over her clit. The touch was meant to be quick, hygienic, but her body responded anyway—a warm throb, a soft intake of breath. She rinsed quickly, cheeks warm.
Underarms next: hair-removal cream, six minutes, wiped clean. The rest of her body needed nothing; legs and arms were naturally hairless, skin soft and fair except for the last faint shadows high on her inner thighs and the curve where thigh met ass. Those patches were almost gone now, thanks to the nightly lotion.
She showered long and slow, shampooing her hair twice, letting the conditioner soak while she soaped her breasts, palms gliding over nipples that stiffened under her own touch. The loofah moved lower, between her thighs again, washing the freshly trimmed area until everything felt clean, sensitive, alive. When she stepped out, she lotioned every inch—breasts, nipples, the soft undersides of her ass, the tender skin right beside her pussy—until her body glowed.
Pink kurti with tiny white embroidery, white leggings that hugged her legs perfectly. The cotton was thin enough to feel cool, fitted enough to show the gentle curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips. She looked in the mirror and felt her breath catch. She looked young. She looked… beautiful.
Hair still dripping, she went to the kitchen and started filter coffee, the rich smell filling the house.
Karthik woke to that smell and the soft clink of steel glasses. He padded out barefoot, rubbing his eyes.
And stopped.
Amma stood at the counter, back to him, wet hair loose and shining down her back, pink kurti clinging where water had soaked through, white leggings moulding to her thighs and the perfect shape of her ass. When she turned, the kurti outlined her breasts, nipples faintly visible through the damp fabric. The leggings were tight enough that the soft mound between her thighs was gently outlined.
His heart slammed against his ribs. For a second he couldn't breathe. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—always had been—but today, in these clothes, with her hair wet and her skin glowing, she looked unreal. A hot rush went through him, straight to his cock. It thickened instantly, pressing against his shorts. Guilt followed like a slap. This is Amma. He forced his eyes up to her face, forced a grin.
“Amma… you look like a film heroine who just finished shooting a rain song,” he said, voice a little rough.
Indhu turned fully, startled, then laughed—soft, surprised, pleased.
“Dei, what is this early-morning drama? Coffee first.”
She handed him a steel glass, fingers brushing his. The touch sent another jolt through him. He took the glass quickly and looked away, pretending to watch the coffee swirl.
Leka shuffled in minutes later, still half-asleep. She blinked twice at her mother and her mouth fell open.
“Amma! You look… wow. Are you more excited for shopping than me?”
Indhu's cheeks went pink. She busied herself at the stove.
“Just felt like wearing something new at home. That's all.”
They ate idlies with coconut chutney, hair still dripping onto Indhu's shoulders, when Leka's phone rang.
The conversation was short and loud. When it ended, Leka's eyes were full of tears.
“Emergency social-service meeting. Collector is coming for flood-relief planning. Compulsory attendance by ten. I can't skip, Amma!”
Indhu pulled her into a hug.
“Don't cry, kanna. Go. I'll buy everything you showed me yesterday—the lavender kurti, the black shimmer leggings, the wine co-ord set, all of it. I'll send photos, okay?”
Leka sniffled, nodded, changed into one of her old modest churidars, and left in an auto with red eyes but a grateful smile.
The door shut.
Silence fell, soft and heavy.
Indhu turned slowly, smoothing her kurti over her hips.
“So… it's just the two of us today?”
Karthik's heart was still pounding from the sight of her. All day. Alone. With her looking like this—wet hair drying in loose waves, nipples pressing faintly against pink cotton, white leggings hugging every curve.
He swallowed.
“Wait five minutes, Amma. I forgot something outside.”
He ran to the ATM two streets away, withdrew the maximum cash, stuffed the thick envelope deep in his pocket, and ran back breathless.
She was waiting by the door, hair now half-dry and tousled, small handbag on her shoulder, eyes bright and a little nervous.
He held out his hand, voice steady only because he forced it.
“Ready?”
Indhu placed her hand in his—warm, soft, trembling just slightly—and felt something flutter low in her belly she hadn't felt in years.
“Ready, kanna.”
They stepped out together into the blazing July morning, mother and son, the air between them humming with excitement and something neither of them had named yet.
The train to T Nagar was crowded, but they found space near the door, Indhu holding the pole, Karthik standing protectively close behind her. Every sway of the coach pressed him against her back for a second—his chest to her shoulders, his hips brushing the curve of her ass through the thin cotton. Each time it happened he felt heat rush through him, guilt and wonder tangled together. She felt it too—the solid warmth of him, the way he steadied her without thinking—and her stomach fluttered again and again.
They reached T Nagar by nine-thirty, the streets already packed with weekend shoppers. Karthik led the way, hand lightly on her elbow when the crowd pushed too close.
First stop: a big multi-brand store with air-conditioning and bright lights.
Indhu stepped inside and stopped, overwhelmed. Racks and racks of colours she had only ever seen on screens.
Karthik grinned.
“Start anywhere, Amma. We have all day.”
She laughed, nervous and excited, and began touching fabrics—soft cotton, light georgette, shimmer leggings folded neatly on tables.
He watched her face light up with every new piece and felt his chest swell. This was why he had fought for the card, for the secret money, for today.
And when she held up a rose-gold shimmer legging against herself and looked at him with shining eyes—“This one?”—he nodded, throat tight.
“Perfect, Amma. Absolutely perfect.”
The day had only just begun.
The moment they stepped into the big store on Ranganathan Street the noise of the road vanished. Cool air, soft music, rows and rows of colour stretching in every direction. Indhu stopped just inside the entrance, both hands clutching her small handbag strap, eyes wide like a village girl seeing a mall for the first time.
Karthik watched her face and felt his chest tighten. This was why he had fought his father, why he had begged his grandmother, why he had stayed up nights scrolling through pages of clothes. To see that look.
“Come, Amma,” he said gently, touching her elbow.
“Let's start with kurtis.”
She followed him almost in a daze.
They began with the college section. Indhu moved slowly, reverently, lifting each piece as if it might break.
First the lavender kurti. Soft rayon, tiny mirrors stitched along the hem and sleeves. She held it against herself first—habit—then remembered it was for Leka and pressed it to her chest anyway.
“This colour will look so good on her fair skin,” she whispered.
“Like a doll.”
Karthik nodded, throat thick.
“Take it.”
Next the peach one, almost skin-tone, with delicate white thread work on the neck and sleeves. Indhu ran her fingers over the embroidery again and again.
“Feels costly… but so pretty.”
“Take it, Amma. She'll wear it and remember you every time.”
One by one the basket filled:
Deep maroon, plain but rich, the kind that makes any girl look elegant.
Teal with a thin gold border that caught the light when she moved it.
Classic black—simple, safe, but the fabric was butter-soft.
Wine with tiny sequins along the neckline that sparkled when she tilted it. She hesitated longest on this one.
“Too much bling?” “No,” Karthik said firmly.
“Leka will love it. Trust me.”
Leggings next. Indhu checked the waistband elasticity on every single pair, stretching it between her fingers the way only mothers do.
Matte black, basic but essential.
Charcoal grey, slightly thicker for college.
Navy blue that matched the teal kurti perfectly.
One pair with a thin rose-gold stripe running down the outer seam—exactly the kind Leka had circled a hundred times on the phone.
And the plum pair with subtle all-over shimmer that made Indhu's breath catch.
“This one is… wow.”
Karthik's heart raced. It was the exact shade he had imagined on his mother's legs at 2 a.m.
Homewear section was quieter, softer lighting. Here Indhu relaxed a little, shoulders coming down.
Three cotton pant-T-shirt sets:
Mint green, loose pants with drawstring, oversized T-shirt that would feel like a hug.
Baby pink with tiny white hearts scattered across the chest.
Soft heather grey with “Good Vibes” in faded cursive.
She folded each set carefully, smoothing the fabric with her palm, eyes soft.
“These she can wear when she's tired after college. Comfortable.”
Karthik watched her and felt something fierce and protective swell inside him. Every time she picked something beautiful and then checked the price tag with that tiny frown, he wanted to pull out the envelope right there and tell her to buy the whole shop.
But he waited.
At the billing counter the total flashed: ₹6,800.
Indhu opened her purse with steady fingers, counted out the notes one by one—five hundreds, tens, a few fifties—until the cashier took them all. The machine printed the receipt. Change: one hundred rupees and a few coins.
She took the two heavy bags, smiled brightly—too brightly—and said, “Leka is going to scream when she sees everything. And same size, so I can wear also, right?” Her laugh was light, but Karthik heard the tiny shake in it.
He took the heavier bag from her without asking. Their fingers brushed; she looked up, startled, then grateful.
Outside the heat hit them like a slap. The street was a river of people, autos honking, the smell of hot oil and fresh flowers mixing in the air.
Indhu wiped a bead of sweat from her temple with the end of her dupatta-less kurti.
“Enough for today, kanna. So hot. Let's have something cold and go home.”
Karthik's pulse was hammering. The secret envelope in his backpack felt like it weighed a thousand kilos.
He steered her gently toward the corner juice stall, the one with the old man who always added extra lemon.
“Fresh lime soda, sweet and salt?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She smiled—real this time, tired but happy, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Sweet and salt,” she agreed, and stood beside him in the small patch of shade, shoulder brushing his arm, bags at their feet, the rose-gold shimmer leggings safely folded inside.
The real shopping day had only just started.
The lime soda was cold and sharp, bubbles fizzing against Indhu's tongue as she sipped it under the thin strip of shade. The carbonation cut through the heat, leaving her lips tingling, her throat cool for the first time in hours. She watched Karthik crush his empty plastic cup and toss it into the bin with easy precision, his college T-shirt clinging slightly to his back from sweat. He looked older today—taller, more sure of himself. The bags at their feet rustled softly in the breeze from passing autos.
She set her glass down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Enough for today, kanna. So hot. Let's catch the train home before the crowd gets worse."
Karthik turned to her, eyes bright and determined, and took her hand without warning. His palm was warm, fingers strong as they closed around hers. "We just started, Amma. Come."
The word wasn't a request. It was a pull. He held her hand tight—firm, unyielding—and led her into the stream of people, weaving through the chaos of T Nagar like he knew exactly where he was going. Indhu's heart stuttered at the contact, the way his grip felt possessive, guiding. She followed without thinking, her smaller hand swallowed in his, the shopping bags bumping against her legs.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a block, her voice half-laughing, half-breathless. The sun beat down, but his hand kept her steady.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced back at her—a quick, intense look that pinned her in place. His eyes were dark, jaw set in that new way he had lately, like a man who knew his path. "Come with me," he said simply, tone low and certain. No explanation. No softening.
Indhu's stomach flipped. The words landed like a command, and something deep inside her obeyed before her mind could catch up. Why am I following like this? I'm the mother. I should pull back, ask questions, take charge. But his hand... God, the way he holds it, like he owns me. Like I'm his to lead. Her cheeks warmed, a confusing heat pooling low in her belly. He's not a kid anymore. He looks like a man. Acts like one. My man? No—stop. That's wrong. He's your son. Just your son. Shake it off, Indhu. But her feet kept moving, matching his stride, the strange thrill lingering like the fizz of soda on her tongue.
They turned onto a narrower street, away from the main drag, where the big chain stores gave way to smaller boutiques with handwritten signs and mannequins in the windows. Karthik had planned this—late nights scrolling, texts to Anu asking for "the best trendy shops for women's clothes, not too expensive but nice." He had a list in his head: three spots, starting with this one, a quiet designer boutique called "Silk Route" that specialized in bottom wear. Anu had sworn by it—"perfect for legs that deserve to shine."
He stopped in front of the shop, releasing her hand but staying close, his shoulder brushing hers. The window display was a temptation: mannequins in high-waisted skirts, jeggings that hugged like a second skin, leggings in every shade from matte black to shimmering silver. Elegant, modern, the kind of things Indhu had only window-shopped in her dreams.
Her jaw dropped. "Karthik... this is... why here?" The pieces gleamed under the lights—jeans with subtle distressing, pleated skirts that fell just right, pants in soft stretch cotton. It looked expensive. Exclusive. The kind of place where prices started at a thousand rupees a pair. She had spent almost everything on Leka's things. Panic flickered in her chest. We can't afford this. Not after the kurtis and leggings. What will I say if they ask for payment?
She leaned close, voice a hiss in his ear, breath warm against his skin. "Kanna, I don't have money left. We spent it all on Leka. We can't embarrass ourselves here—let's go home."
Karthik turned his head, eyes locking on hers, close enough that she could see the flecks of brown in the iris. His voice was steady, almost stern. "Don't talk about money. Just be silent until we come out. Promise me."
The words hung between them, a quiet order that made her breath catch. Confusion swirled in her eyes—why was he like this today? So sure, so in control? But there was something in his gaze, a quiet intensity that made her nod before she could think. "Okay... I promise."
He smiled then, small and satisfied, and pushed open the glass door. A bell tinkled softly. The saleswoman inside—a slim woman in her thirties with a neat ponytail and a name tag reading "Priya"—looked up from her ledger and smiled warmly.
"Welcome! Looking for anything specific?"
Karthik didn't hesitate. "Shimmer leggings. All colours. Size... medium."
Priya nodded, gesturing to a display wall lined with folded stacks. "Right this way. We have the new season—cotton-spandex blend, very comfortable, with metallic threads that aren't too flashy."
Indhu followed, heart pounding, as Karthik scanned the shelves like he'd studied them a hundred times. He picked with confidence: rose-gold first, the exact pair she'd admired earlier; then silver-grey with a subtle sheen; deep emerald that shifted from green to blue in the light; midnight navy that looked almost black but caught sparks when moved; and finally, a soft champagne that glowed like pale sunlight.
Five pairs, all shimmering in their own way, all in her size—medium, perfect for her slim frame and long legs. Indhu stared at the growing pile in his arms, confusion mixing with awe. How does he know my size exactly? We never talk about this. And these... they're gorgeous. Premium. Each tag read 800-1,200 rupees. Five of them? That's thousands. But the way they fold, the fabric feels like silk against my skin...
She touched the rose-gold one, fingers trembling slightly. "Karthik... these are beautiful, but... why all shimmer? And how did you know the size?"
He handed her the stack, his smile easy but his eyes holding that same quiet command. "I know, Amma. Trust me."
The words sent a shiver through her. He knows. Like he sees me, really sees me. But how? Her mind flashed to that morning—the way he'd frozen in the kitchen doorway, eyes tracing her legs in the white leggings. Does he... remember? No, stop. He's just being a good son.
Priya cleared her throat politely. "Shall I bring a trial room? These stretch beautifully once on."
Karthik nodded. "Yes. And skirts next—knee-length and ankle, simple designs."
Indhu's eyes widened. Skirts? For Leka? But as Priya led them to the next section, Karthik leaned close, voice low. "These are only for you, Amma. Leka can borrow if she wants, but I'm choosing for you. Keep that in mind."
The words landed like a secret order, firm and unyielding. Indhu's breath hitched. Only for me? Like he's deciding what touches my skin. What covers my legs. Her cheeks burned, a confusing rush of warmth spreading through her chest and lower. What am I doing, letting him lead like this? I'm the mother. I should say no, take control. But... it feels good. Safe. Exciting. Like he's protecting me from the world, dressing me up like something precious. His. No—God, no. He's your son. Shake it off.
She nodded mutely, like she was agreeing to a pact.
The skirts were elegant, nothing flashy: knee-length A-lines in soft black cotton with tiny pleats that would swish when walking; ankle-length maxis in floral prints, lightweight and flowing; one midi in charcoal grey with a subtle side slit for ease. Karthik picked three, all in her size again, folding them over his arm with the leggings.
Then the jeans section. He scanned the racks and pulled out a single pair: skinny-fit, dark wash with just enough stretch, high-waisted to hug the hips without squeezing. The tag read ₹2,000.
Indhu's eyes went wide. "Karthik, no—this is too much. Even if... Rajan won't allow jeans. Not for me."
He looked at her, eyes steady, voice dropping to that low, commanding tone. "Do as you promised. No questions. This is only for you—not even for Leka. Keep it hidden until I say so."
Her heart raced. Hidden? Like a secret between us. Like he's giving me something forbidden, something just for my eyes. The thought made her thighs press together, a faint warmth building between them. Why does this feel so... intimate? Like he's undressing me with his choices, knowing what will fit my body, what will make my ass look round and my legs long. Stop, Indhu. He's eighteen. Innocent. This is just him being thoughtful. But her body didn't listen; a soft ache settled low in her belly as he pushed her gently toward the trial room.
"Go try them. All of it."
The curtain closed behind her. The small space smelled of fresh fabric and faint perfume. Indhu stripped off the white leggings, her skin prickling in the cool air. First the rose-gold shimmers: they slid up her legs like liquid, hugging her calves, thighs, the curve of her ass until everything popped—the shimmer catching the light, making her skin glow. She turned sideways in the mirror, heart pounding. My legs... they look endless. Toned. Sexy. The fabric cupped her pussy gently, the seam pressing just right. Heat flooded her cheeks—and lower. God, I'm getting wet just looking. How does he know this would feel like this? Like it's made for my body.
The silver-grey pair next—cooler tone, but the same magic, making her ass lift and her thighs look smooth. Then emerald, navy, champagne. Each one fit like a glove, the shimmer dancing when she moved, turning her simple walk into something hypnotic.
Skirts came after. The knee-length black A-line swished perfectly, ending mid-thigh, showing just enough leg to feel daring. The ankle floral floated around her calves, soft and feminine. The grey midi with its slit teased a glimpse of thigh when she stepped. She felt beautiful. Desired. Alive.
Finally, the jeans. They stretched over her hips like they were sewn on, hugging her ass tight, the dark wash making her legs look miles long. She twisted, watched the denim pull smooth over every curve, the high waist cinching her in just right. ₹2,000. Insane. But... fuck, I look good. Like a woman who turns heads. Her nipples tightened against her bra, a fresh wave of wetness between her thighs. Karthik chose this. For me. To see me like this. Hidden, just for us. The thought made her clit throb, guilt and excitement crashing together. What is happening to me? He's my son. My baby. But this... this feels like he's claiming me. Dressing me up like his girl. No—stop. It's the surprise. The freedom. That's all.
She changed back, cheeks flushed, body humming, and stepped out. Karthik was waiting, arms full of the pieces, eyes lighting up when he saw her face.
"Everything fits?" he asked, voice soft but eager.
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes fully. "Perfect. All of them."
He grinned, that boyish smile breaking through the new intensity. "Good. Let's buy."
At the counter Priya rang it up: ₹8,500 total. Indhu's stomach dropped—they hadn't discussed payment. She opened her mouth, but Karthik was already pulling out his wallet, sliding Appa's credit card across the counter with a quiet confidence that made her breath catch.
The machine beeped approval. Bags rustled as Priya packed everything—leggings folded neatly, skirts tissue-wrapped, jeans in its own crisp envelope.
Outside, the heat felt sharper, the secret heavy in Indhu's hands. Karthik took the largest bag, his fingers brushing hers again.
"Home now?" she asked, voice small, mind still spinning from the mirror, from his choices, from the way her body had betrayed her in that tiny room.
He looked at her, eyes dark and knowing. "Soon, Amma. One more stop."
Her heart raced. Whatever came next, she knew she would follow.
Indhu woke before the alarm, the room still wrapped in soft darkness. For a few moments she lay listening to the steady breathing of her children on either side, feeling the cool sheet against her skin. Today was different. Today there would be no Rajan watching over her shoulder, no hurried choices, no quiet lectures about “decent” clothes. Just freedom. And Karthik.
She slipped from the bed without a sound and padded to the wardrobe-room, locking the door behind her. The long cotton nightie slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Naked under the single bulb, she faced the mirror.
Her breasts were full and high, nipples tightening in the cool air. Waist still narrow, hips flared, ass round and smooth. Between her thighs the soft patch of hair needed trimming. She sat on the low stool, parted her legs, and took the small scissors. Careful snips—left, right, a little shorter—until everything was neat and close, the lips of her pussy smooth and pink beneath the trimmed triangle. She poured the intimate wash onto her palm and rubbed slow, gentle circles, the foam sliding between her folds, over her clit. The touch was meant to be quick, hygienic, but her body responded anyway—a warm throb, a soft intake of breath. She rinsed quickly, cheeks warm.
Underarms next: hair-removal cream, six minutes, wiped clean. The rest of her body needed nothing; legs and arms were naturally hairless, skin soft and fair except for the last faint shadows high on her inner thighs and the curve where thigh met ass. Those patches were almost gone now, thanks to the nightly lotion.
She showered long and slow, shampooing her hair twice, letting the conditioner soak while she soaped her breasts, palms gliding over nipples that stiffened under her own touch. The loofah moved lower, between her thighs again, washing the freshly trimmed area until everything felt clean, sensitive, alive. When she stepped out, she lotioned every inch—breasts, nipples, the soft undersides of her ass, the tender skin right beside her pussy—until her body glowed.
Pink kurti with tiny white embroidery, white leggings that hugged her legs perfectly. The cotton was thin enough to feel cool, fitted enough to show the gentle curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips. She looked in the mirror and felt her breath catch. She looked young. She looked… beautiful.
Hair still dripping, she went to the kitchen and started filter coffee, the rich smell filling the house.
Karthik woke to that smell and the soft clink of steel glasses. He padded out barefoot, rubbing his eyes.
And stopped.
Amma stood at the counter, back to him, wet hair loose and shining down her back, pink kurti clinging where water had soaked through, white leggings moulding to her thighs and the perfect shape of her ass. When she turned, the kurti outlined her breasts, nipples faintly visible through the damp fabric. The leggings were tight enough that the soft mound between her thighs was gently outlined.
His heart slammed against his ribs. For a second he couldn't breathe. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—always had been—but today, in these clothes, with her hair wet and her skin glowing, she looked unreal. A hot rush went through him, straight to his cock. It thickened instantly, pressing against his shorts. Guilt followed like a slap. This is Amma. He forced his eyes up to her face, forced a grin.
“Amma… you look like a film heroine who just finished shooting a rain song,” he said, voice a little rough.
Indhu turned fully, startled, then laughed—soft, surprised, pleased.
“Dei, what is this early-morning drama? Coffee first.”
She handed him a steel glass, fingers brushing his. The touch sent another jolt through him. He took the glass quickly and looked away, pretending to watch the coffee swirl.
Leka shuffled in minutes later, still half-asleep. She blinked twice at her mother and her mouth fell open.
“Amma! You look… wow. Are you more excited for shopping than me?”
Indhu's cheeks went pink. She busied herself at the stove.
“Just felt like wearing something new at home. That's all.”
They ate idlies with coconut chutney, hair still dripping onto Indhu's shoulders, when Leka's phone rang.
The conversation was short and loud. When it ended, Leka's eyes were full of tears.
“Emergency social-service meeting. Collector is coming for flood-relief planning. Compulsory attendance by ten. I can't skip, Amma!”
Indhu pulled her into a hug.
“Don't cry, kanna. Go. I'll buy everything you showed me yesterday—the lavender kurti, the black shimmer leggings, the wine co-ord set, all of it. I'll send photos, okay?”
Leka sniffled, nodded, changed into one of her old modest churidars, and left in an auto with red eyes but a grateful smile.
The door shut.
Silence fell, soft and heavy.
Indhu turned slowly, smoothing her kurti over her hips.
“So… it's just the two of us today?”
Karthik's heart was still pounding from the sight of her. All day. Alone. With her looking like this—wet hair drying in loose waves, nipples pressing faintly against pink cotton, white leggings hugging every curve.
He swallowed.
“Wait five minutes, Amma. I forgot something outside.”
He ran to the ATM two streets away, withdrew the maximum cash, stuffed the thick envelope deep in his pocket, and ran back breathless.
She was waiting by the door, hair now half-dry and tousled, small handbag on her shoulder, eyes bright and a little nervous.
He held out his hand, voice steady only because he forced it.
“Ready?”
Indhu placed her hand in his—warm, soft, trembling just slightly—and felt something flutter low in her belly she hadn't felt in years.
“Ready, kanna.”
They stepped out together into the blazing July morning, mother and son, the air between them humming with excitement and something neither of them had named yet.
The train to T Nagar was crowded, but they found space near the door, Indhu holding the pole, Karthik standing protectively close behind her. Every sway of the coach pressed him against her back for a second—his chest to her shoulders, his hips brushing the curve of her ass through the thin cotton. Each time it happened he felt heat rush through him, guilt and wonder tangled together. She felt it too—the solid warmth of him, the way he steadied her without thinking—and her stomach fluttered again and again.
They reached T Nagar by nine-thirty, the streets already packed with weekend shoppers. Karthik led the way, hand lightly on her elbow when the crowd pushed too close.
First stop: a big multi-brand store with air-conditioning and bright lights.
Indhu stepped inside and stopped, overwhelmed. Racks and racks of colours she had only ever seen on screens.
Karthik grinned.
“Start anywhere, Amma. We have all day.”
She laughed, nervous and excited, and began touching fabrics—soft cotton, light georgette, shimmer leggings folded neatly on tables.
He watched her face light up with every new piece and felt his chest swell. This was why he had fought for the card, for the secret money, for today.
And when she held up a rose-gold shimmer legging against herself and looked at him with shining eyes—“This one?”—he nodded, throat tight.
“Perfect, Amma. Absolutely perfect.”
The day had only just begun.
The moment they stepped into the big store on Ranganathan Street the noise of the road vanished. Cool air, soft music, rows and rows of colour stretching in every direction. Indhu stopped just inside the entrance, both hands clutching her small handbag strap, eyes wide like a village girl seeing a mall for the first time.
Karthik watched her face and felt his chest tighten. This was why he had fought his father, why he had begged his grandmother, why he had stayed up nights scrolling through pages of clothes. To see that look.
“Come, Amma,” he said gently, touching her elbow.
“Let's start with kurtis.”
She followed him almost in a daze.
They began with the college section. Indhu moved slowly, reverently, lifting each piece as if it might break.
First the lavender kurti. Soft rayon, tiny mirrors stitched along the hem and sleeves. She held it against herself first—habit—then remembered it was for Leka and pressed it to her chest anyway.
“This colour will look so good on her fair skin,” she whispered.
“Like a doll.”
Karthik nodded, throat thick.
“Take it.”
Next the peach one, almost skin-tone, with delicate white thread work on the neck and sleeves. Indhu ran her fingers over the embroidery again and again.
“Feels costly… but so pretty.”
“Take it, Amma. She'll wear it and remember you every time.”
One by one the basket filled:
Deep maroon, plain but rich, the kind that makes any girl look elegant.
Teal with a thin gold border that caught the light when she moved it.
Classic black—simple, safe, but the fabric was butter-soft.
Wine with tiny sequins along the neckline that sparkled when she tilted it. She hesitated longest on this one.
“Too much bling?” “No,” Karthik said firmly.
“Leka will love it. Trust me.”
Leggings next. Indhu checked the waistband elasticity on every single pair, stretching it between her fingers the way only mothers do.
Matte black, basic but essential.
Charcoal grey, slightly thicker for college.
Navy blue that matched the teal kurti perfectly.
One pair with a thin rose-gold stripe running down the outer seam—exactly the kind Leka had circled a hundred times on the phone.
And the plum pair with subtle all-over shimmer that made Indhu's breath catch.
“This one is… wow.”
Karthik's heart raced. It was the exact shade he had imagined on his mother's legs at 2 a.m.
Homewear section was quieter, softer lighting. Here Indhu relaxed a little, shoulders coming down.
Three cotton pant-T-shirt sets:
Mint green, loose pants with drawstring, oversized T-shirt that would feel like a hug.
Baby pink with tiny white hearts scattered across the chest.
Soft heather grey with “Good Vibes” in faded cursive.
She folded each set carefully, smoothing the fabric with her palm, eyes soft.
“These she can wear when she's tired after college. Comfortable.”
Karthik watched her and felt something fierce and protective swell inside him. Every time she picked something beautiful and then checked the price tag with that tiny frown, he wanted to pull out the envelope right there and tell her to buy the whole shop.
But he waited.
At the billing counter the total flashed: ₹6,800.
Indhu opened her purse with steady fingers, counted out the notes one by one—five hundreds, tens, a few fifties—until the cashier took them all. The machine printed the receipt. Change: one hundred rupees and a few coins.
She took the two heavy bags, smiled brightly—too brightly—and said, “Leka is going to scream when she sees everything. And same size, so I can wear also, right?” Her laugh was light, but Karthik heard the tiny shake in it.
He took the heavier bag from her without asking. Their fingers brushed; she looked up, startled, then grateful.
Outside the heat hit them like a slap. The street was a river of people, autos honking, the smell of hot oil and fresh flowers mixing in the air.
Indhu wiped a bead of sweat from her temple with the end of her dupatta-less kurti.
“Enough for today, kanna. So hot. Let's have something cold and go home.”
Karthik's pulse was hammering. The secret envelope in his backpack felt like it weighed a thousand kilos.
He steered her gently toward the corner juice stall, the one with the old man who always added extra lemon.
“Fresh lime soda, sweet and salt?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She smiled—real this time, tired but happy, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Sweet and salt,” she agreed, and stood beside him in the small patch of shade, shoulder brushing his arm, bags at their feet, the rose-gold shimmer leggings safely folded inside.
The real shopping day had only just started.
The lime soda was cold and sharp, bubbles fizzing against Indhu's tongue as she sipped it under the thin strip of shade. The carbonation cut through the heat, leaving her lips tingling, her throat cool for the first time in hours. She watched Karthik crush his empty plastic cup and toss it into the bin with easy precision, his college T-shirt clinging slightly to his back from sweat. He looked older today—taller, more sure of himself. The bags at their feet rustled softly in the breeze from passing autos.
She set her glass down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Enough for today, kanna. So hot. Let's catch the train home before the crowd gets worse."
Karthik turned to her, eyes bright and determined, and took her hand without warning. His palm was warm, fingers strong as they closed around hers. "We just started, Amma. Come."
The word wasn't a request. It was a pull. He held her hand tight—firm, unyielding—and led her into the stream of people, weaving through the chaos of T Nagar like he knew exactly where he was going. Indhu's heart stuttered at the contact, the way his grip felt possessive, guiding. She followed without thinking, her smaller hand swallowed in his, the shopping bags bumping against her legs.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a block, her voice half-laughing, half-breathless. The sun beat down, but his hand kept her steady.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he glanced back at her—a quick, intense look that pinned her in place. His eyes were dark, jaw set in that new way he had lately, like a man who knew his path. "Come with me," he said simply, tone low and certain. No explanation. No softening.
Indhu's stomach flipped. The words landed like a command, and something deep inside her obeyed before her mind could catch up. Why am I following like this? I'm the mother. I should pull back, ask questions, take charge. But his hand... God, the way he holds it, like he owns me. Like I'm his to lead. Her cheeks warmed, a confusing heat pooling low in her belly. He's not a kid anymore. He looks like a man. Acts like one. My man? No—stop. That's wrong. He's your son. Just your son. Shake it off, Indhu. But her feet kept moving, matching his stride, the strange thrill lingering like the fizz of soda on her tongue.
They turned onto a narrower street, away from the main drag, where the big chain stores gave way to smaller boutiques with handwritten signs and mannequins in the windows. Karthik had planned this—late nights scrolling, texts to Anu asking for "the best trendy shops for women's clothes, not too expensive but nice." He had a list in his head: three spots, starting with this one, a quiet designer boutique called "Silk Route" that specialized in bottom wear. Anu had sworn by it—"perfect for legs that deserve to shine."
He stopped in front of the shop, releasing her hand but staying close, his shoulder brushing hers. The window display was a temptation: mannequins in high-waisted skirts, jeggings that hugged like a second skin, leggings in every shade from matte black to shimmering silver. Elegant, modern, the kind of things Indhu had only window-shopped in her dreams.
Her jaw dropped. "Karthik... this is... why here?" The pieces gleamed under the lights—jeans with subtle distressing, pleated skirts that fell just right, pants in soft stretch cotton. It looked expensive. Exclusive. The kind of place where prices started at a thousand rupees a pair. She had spent almost everything on Leka's things. Panic flickered in her chest. We can't afford this. Not after the kurtis and leggings. What will I say if they ask for payment?
She leaned close, voice a hiss in his ear, breath warm against his skin. "Kanna, I don't have money left. We spent it all on Leka. We can't embarrass ourselves here—let's go home."
Karthik turned his head, eyes locking on hers, close enough that she could see the flecks of brown in the iris. His voice was steady, almost stern. "Don't talk about money. Just be silent until we come out. Promise me."
The words hung between them, a quiet order that made her breath catch. Confusion swirled in her eyes—why was he like this today? So sure, so in control? But there was something in his gaze, a quiet intensity that made her nod before she could think. "Okay... I promise."
He smiled then, small and satisfied, and pushed open the glass door. A bell tinkled softly. The saleswoman inside—a slim woman in her thirties with a neat ponytail and a name tag reading "Priya"—looked up from her ledger and smiled warmly.
"Welcome! Looking for anything specific?"
Karthik didn't hesitate. "Shimmer leggings. All colours. Size... medium."
Priya nodded, gesturing to a display wall lined with folded stacks. "Right this way. We have the new season—cotton-spandex blend, very comfortable, with metallic threads that aren't too flashy."
Indhu followed, heart pounding, as Karthik scanned the shelves like he'd studied them a hundred times. He picked with confidence: rose-gold first, the exact pair she'd admired earlier; then silver-grey with a subtle sheen; deep emerald that shifted from green to blue in the light; midnight navy that looked almost black but caught sparks when moved; and finally, a soft champagne that glowed like pale sunlight.
Five pairs, all shimmering in their own way, all in her size—medium, perfect for her slim frame and long legs. Indhu stared at the growing pile in his arms, confusion mixing with awe. How does he know my size exactly? We never talk about this. And these... they're gorgeous. Premium. Each tag read 800-1,200 rupees. Five of them? That's thousands. But the way they fold, the fabric feels like silk against my skin...
She touched the rose-gold one, fingers trembling slightly. "Karthik... these are beautiful, but... why all shimmer? And how did you know the size?"
He handed her the stack, his smile easy but his eyes holding that same quiet command. "I know, Amma. Trust me."
The words sent a shiver through her. He knows. Like he sees me, really sees me. But how? Her mind flashed to that morning—the way he'd frozen in the kitchen doorway, eyes tracing her legs in the white leggings. Does he... remember? No, stop. He's just being a good son.
Priya cleared her throat politely. "Shall I bring a trial room? These stretch beautifully once on."
Karthik nodded. "Yes. And skirts next—knee-length and ankle, simple designs."
Indhu's eyes widened. Skirts? For Leka? But as Priya led them to the next section, Karthik leaned close, voice low. "These are only for you, Amma. Leka can borrow if she wants, but I'm choosing for you. Keep that in mind."
The words landed like a secret order, firm and unyielding. Indhu's breath hitched. Only for me? Like he's deciding what touches my skin. What covers my legs. Her cheeks burned, a confusing rush of warmth spreading through her chest and lower. What am I doing, letting him lead like this? I'm the mother. I should say no, take control. But... it feels good. Safe. Exciting. Like he's protecting me from the world, dressing me up like something precious. His. No—God, no. He's your son. Shake it off.
She nodded mutely, like she was agreeing to a pact.
The skirts were elegant, nothing flashy: knee-length A-lines in soft black cotton with tiny pleats that would swish when walking; ankle-length maxis in floral prints, lightweight and flowing; one midi in charcoal grey with a subtle side slit for ease. Karthik picked three, all in her size again, folding them over his arm with the leggings.
Then the jeans section. He scanned the racks and pulled out a single pair: skinny-fit, dark wash with just enough stretch, high-waisted to hug the hips without squeezing. The tag read ₹2,000.
Indhu's eyes went wide. "Karthik, no—this is too much. Even if... Rajan won't allow jeans. Not for me."
He looked at her, eyes steady, voice dropping to that low, commanding tone. "Do as you promised. No questions. This is only for you—not even for Leka. Keep it hidden until I say so."
Her heart raced. Hidden? Like a secret between us. Like he's giving me something forbidden, something just for my eyes. The thought made her thighs press together, a faint warmth building between them. Why does this feel so... intimate? Like he's undressing me with his choices, knowing what will fit my body, what will make my ass look round and my legs long. Stop, Indhu. He's eighteen. Innocent. This is just him being thoughtful. But her body didn't listen; a soft ache settled low in her belly as he pushed her gently toward the trial room.
"Go try them. All of it."
The curtain closed behind her. The small space smelled of fresh fabric and faint perfume. Indhu stripped off the white leggings, her skin prickling in the cool air. First the rose-gold shimmers: they slid up her legs like liquid, hugging her calves, thighs, the curve of her ass until everything popped—the shimmer catching the light, making her skin glow. She turned sideways in the mirror, heart pounding. My legs... they look endless. Toned. Sexy. The fabric cupped her pussy gently, the seam pressing just right. Heat flooded her cheeks—and lower. God, I'm getting wet just looking. How does he know this would feel like this? Like it's made for my body.
The silver-grey pair next—cooler tone, but the same magic, making her ass lift and her thighs look smooth. Then emerald, navy, champagne. Each one fit like a glove, the shimmer dancing when she moved, turning her simple walk into something hypnotic.
Skirts came after. The knee-length black A-line swished perfectly, ending mid-thigh, showing just enough leg to feel daring. The ankle floral floated around her calves, soft and feminine. The grey midi with its slit teased a glimpse of thigh when she stepped. She felt beautiful. Desired. Alive.
Finally, the jeans. They stretched over her hips like they were sewn on, hugging her ass tight, the dark wash making her legs look miles long. She twisted, watched the denim pull smooth over every curve, the high waist cinching her in just right. ₹2,000. Insane. But... fuck, I look good. Like a woman who turns heads. Her nipples tightened against her bra, a fresh wave of wetness between her thighs. Karthik chose this. For me. To see me like this. Hidden, just for us. The thought made her clit throb, guilt and excitement crashing together. What is happening to me? He's my son. My baby. But this... this feels like he's claiming me. Dressing me up like his girl. No—stop. It's the surprise. The freedom. That's all.
She changed back, cheeks flushed, body humming, and stepped out. Karthik was waiting, arms full of the pieces, eyes lighting up when he saw her face.
"Everything fits?" he asked, voice soft but eager.
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes fully. "Perfect. All of them."
He grinned, that boyish smile breaking through the new intensity. "Good. Let's buy."
At the counter Priya rang it up: ₹8,500 total. Indhu's stomach dropped—they hadn't discussed payment. She opened her mouth, but Karthik was already pulling out his wallet, sliding Appa's credit card across the counter with a quiet confidence that made her breath catch.
The machine beeped approval. Bags rustled as Priya packed everything—leggings folded neatly, skirts tissue-wrapped, jeans in its own crisp envelope.
Outside, the heat felt sharper, the secret heavy in Indhu's hands. Karthik took the largest bag, his fingers brushing hers again.
"Home now?" she asked, voice small, mind still spinning from the mirror, from his choices, from the way her body had betrayed her in that tiny room.
He looked at her, eyes dark and knowing. "Soon, Amma. One more stop."
Her heart raced. Whatever came next, she knew she would follow.
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