10-12-2025, 03:14 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-12-2025, 02:18 AM by John446. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
CHAPTER – 75
Rajesh’s recovery had been nothing short of miraculous. He now walked the entire length of the house without the walker, insisted on watering the marigolds himself, and had started teasing Trisha about her “over-protective nurse” routine.
Kavya sent Danish daily updates with photos: Papa ji doing light dumbbells, Papa ji laughing at an old Amitabh film, Papa ji stealing an extra gulab jamun when Trisha wasn’t looking.
Feroz, back in Hyderabad, had also stayed in touch.
He called Kavya once a week “just to check on uncle’s health”, his deep, calm voice always gentle and concerned. He texted every few days: short, polite messages asking for BP readings or how the new medicines were suiting Rajesh uncle. Kavya always replied promptly, gratefully.
Trisha had insisted on a mother-daughter shopping trip to Sarojini Nagar. “Just us girls,” she said with a wink. “You’ve been looking after everyone; let me spoil my daughter a little.”
They came home laden with bags: three satin nighties (wine-red, midnight-blue, blush-pink), two chiffon sarees (emerald and crimson), and matching lace lingerie sets that made Kavya blush so hard Trisha laughed for five straight minutes.
Back home, Rajesh napped, the house quiet.
Kavya locked her bedroom door, heart racing with excitement.
She tried everything on, one by one, taking mirror selfies in each outfit for Danish:
Wine-red satin nightie with black lace trim – robe open, one strap fallen, hand between thighs, shy-sexy smile.
Midnight-blue nightie – sheer enough to hint at everything, nipples faintly visible.
Blush-pink set – tiny lace bra and panties, sheer robe, posing on the bed.
Emerald saree – dbangd low on hips, sleeveless blouse, pallu slipping off shoulder.
Crimson saree – backless blouse, midriff completely bare, seductive side pose.
Five perfect photos. She selected all of them, caption ready:
https://imgur.com/a/a2UY1KY
https://imgur.com/a/7yMCrxK
https://imgur.com/a/j5iQ3eY
https://imgur.com/a/Cjrp5r0
https://imgur.com/a/NyKnaRc
https://imgur.com/a/LiWOEiW
Kavya → Danish 11:41 PM Mummy took me shopping today ❤️ pick your favourite… or all of them can’t wait to wear these for you
At that exact moment, a message from Feroz slid down:
Papa 11:41 PM Kavya beta, everything okay? Did Papa ji take his 8 PM BP tablet? Doctor called to remind.
Two chats open side-by-side. Kavya’s thumb (still flushed and excited from posing) tapped the wrong one.
Send all.
Five photos flew.
Delivered. Seen in 0.5 seconds.
Blue ticks.
Kavya’s blood froze.
She stared at the screen in absolute horror.
Five photos (wine-red nightie with hand between thighs, midnight-blue sheer, blush-pink lace lingerie, emerald saree with bare midriff, crimson backless blouse) now sitting in her father-in-law’s chat.
Seen.
Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet. She waited.
Feroz was sitting alone on the terrace sofa, a half-read Urdu poetry book open on his lap, the courtyard fountain trickling softly in the background. His phone buzzed once. A message from Kavya.
He opened it expecting the usual health update.
Instead five photos loaded in rapid succession.
Wine-red satin nightie, robe open, hand between her thighs.
Midnight-blue sheer silk, nipples faintly visible through the fabric.
Blush-pink lace bra and panty set, robe barely covering anything.
Emerald saree dbangd low on her hips, backless blouse, midriff glowing.
Crimson georgette saree, pallu slipped off one shoulder, seductive side pose.
Papa is typing…
Dots appeared for twenty-three seconds.
Then:
Papa 11:42:08 PM Beta, all five photos deleted instantly. Nothing saved, nothing cached. Your privacy is completely safe with me.
Papa 11:42:31 PM You look absolutely radiant. Danish is the luckiest man alive. Don’t worry even for a second. Everything is alright.
Papa 11:42:54 PM Good night, beta. Sleep peacefully.
Kavya sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, phone in both hands, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Kavya 11:43:22 PM Thank you, Papa ❤️ I don’t know what to say. Good night.
She turned the phone face-down, curled into a ball under the blanket still wearing the wine-red nightie, and cried quietly (relief mixed with lingering shame).
In Hyderabad, Feroz stood alone on the dark terrace, phone clenched in his fist.
He had lied.
He had deleted the photos from the chat. He had cleared the recently-deleted folder. He had turned on airplane mode and restarted the phone.
But in the 1.8 seconds before his conscience caught up, he had long-pressed each image and saved them to a hidden, password-protected folder titled “Old Book Scans”.
Five photos now lived there: wine-red satin nightie with hand between thighs, midnight-blue sheer silk, blush-pink lace lingerie, emerald saree with bare midriff, crimson backless blouse.
He stood under the cold night sky, breathing slow and deliberate, guilt and forbidden heat twisting so tightly he felt physically ill.
He had broken a trust.
He had looked at his bahu (his son’s wife) in ways no father-in-law ever should.
And he had kept the evidence.
He whispered a dua into the darkness (for forgiveness, for strength, for the day he would have the courage to delete them forever).
But tonight was not that day.
Rajesh’s recovery had been nothing short of miraculous. He now walked the entire length of the house without the walker, insisted on watering the marigolds himself, and had started teasing Trisha about her “over-protective nurse” routine.
Kavya sent Danish daily updates with photos: Papa ji doing light dumbbells, Papa ji laughing at an old Amitabh film, Papa ji stealing an extra gulab jamun when Trisha wasn’t looking.
Feroz, back in Hyderabad, had also stayed in touch.
He called Kavya once a week “just to check on uncle’s health”, his deep, calm voice always gentle and concerned. He texted every few days: short, polite messages asking for BP readings or how the new medicines were suiting Rajesh uncle. Kavya always replied promptly, gratefully.
Trisha had insisted on a mother-daughter shopping trip to Sarojini Nagar. “Just us girls,” she said with a wink. “You’ve been looking after everyone; let me spoil my daughter a little.”
They came home laden with bags: three satin nighties (wine-red, midnight-blue, blush-pink), two chiffon sarees (emerald and crimson), and matching lace lingerie sets that made Kavya blush so hard Trisha laughed for five straight minutes.
Back home, Rajesh napped, the house quiet.
Kavya locked her bedroom door, heart racing with excitement.
She tried everything on, one by one, taking mirror selfies in each outfit for Danish:
Wine-red satin nightie with black lace trim – robe open, one strap fallen, hand between thighs, shy-sexy smile.
Midnight-blue nightie – sheer enough to hint at everything, nipples faintly visible.
Blush-pink set – tiny lace bra and panties, sheer robe, posing on the bed.
Emerald saree – dbangd low on hips, sleeveless blouse, pallu slipping off shoulder.
Crimson saree – backless blouse, midriff completely bare, seductive side pose.
Five perfect photos. She selected all of them, caption ready:
https://imgur.com/a/a2UY1KY
https://imgur.com/a/7yMCrxK
https://imgur.com/a/j5iQ3eY
https://imgur.com/a/Cjrp5r0
https://imgur.com/a/NyKnaRc
https://imgur.com/a/LiWOEiW
Kavya → Danish 11:41 PM Mummy took me shopping today ❤️ pick your favourite… or all of them can’t wait to wear these for you
At that exact moment, a message from Feroz slid down:
Papa 11:41 PM Kavya beta, everything okay? Did Papa ji take his 8 PM BP tablet? Doctor called to remind.
Two chats open side-by-side. Kavya’s thumb (still flushed and excited from posing) tapped the wrong one.
Send all.
Five photos flew.
Delivered. Seen in 0.5 seconds.
Blue ticks.
Kavya’s blood froze.
She stared at the screen in absolute horror.
Five photos (wine-red nightie with hand between thighs, midnight-blue sheer, blush-pink lace lingerie, emerald saree with bare midriff, crimson backless blouse) now sitting in her father-in-law’s chat.
Seen.
Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet. She waited.
Feroz was sitting alone on the terrace sofa, a half-read Urdu poetry book open on his lap, the courtyard fountain trickling softly in the background. His phone buzzed once. A message from Kavya.
He opened it expecting the usual health update.
Instead five photos loaded in rapid succession.
Wine-red satin nightie, robe open, hand between her thighs.
Midnight-blue sheer silk, nipples faintly visible through the fabric.
Blush-pink lace bra and panty set, robe barely covering anything.
Emerald saree dbangd low on her hips, backless blouse, midriff glowing.
Crimson georgette saree, pallu slipped off one shoulder, seductive side pose.
Papa is typing…
Dots appeared for twenty-three seconds.
Then:
Papa 11:42:08 PM Beta, all five photos deleted instantly. Nothing saved, nothing cached. Your privacy is completely safe with me.
Papa 11:42:31 PM You look absolutely radiant. Danish is the luckiest man alive. Don’t worry even for a second. Everything is alright.
Papa 11:42:54 PM Good night, beta. Sleep peacefully.
Kavya sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, phone in both hands, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Kavya 11:43:22 PM Thank you, Papa ❤️ I don’t know what to say. Good night.
She turned the phone face-down, curled into a ball under the blanket still wearing the wine-red nightie, and cried quietly (relief mixed with lingering shame).
In Hyderabad, Feroz stood alone on the dark terrace, phone clenched in his fist.
He had lied.
He had deleted the photos from the chat. He had cleared the recently-deleted folder. He had turned on airplane mode and restarted the phone.
But in the 1.8 seconds before his conscience caught up, he had long-pressed each image and saved them to a hidden, password-protected folder titled “Old Book Scans”.
Five photos now lived there: wine-red satin nightie with hand between thighs, midnight-blue sheer silk, blush-pink lace lingerie, emerald saree with bare midriff, crimson backless blouse.
He stood under the cold night sky, breathing slow and deliberate, guilt and forbidden heat twisting so tightly he felt physically ill.
He had broken a trust.
He had looked at his bahu (his son’s wife) in ways no father-in-law ever should.
And he had kept the evidence.
He whispered a dua into the darkness (for forgiveness, for strength, for the day he would have the courage to delete them forever).
But tonight was not that day.
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