Misc. Erotica Meera - The Math Teacher

[shamson9571]

Priya let out a low whistle. “Wah, meri biwi! Aag lagaa di.”

Meera laughed, embarrassed, adjusting the pallu self-consciously. “This dbang is dangerous. One wrong move and…”
“And the audience gets a geography lesson,” Priya finished, grinning.
Arjun stood frozen by the blackboard, script forgotten in his hand.

Shetty sir clapped for attention. “Places! Act One from top. Arjun—prompt if needed.”
The lights dimmed to a warm amber. The play began.

Arjun barely followed the plot, something about a modern wife and traditional saas clashing, misunderstandings, eventual harmony. All he saw was Meera moving across the stage: the red silk catching light with every step, the low dbang revealing the smooth plane of her midriff whenever she turned, the jasmine in her hair releasing scent that drifted down to him on the auditorium air-conditioning.

In the second scene Priya—as the husband—returned “from office” and pulled Meera into a playful argument that ended with her hands on Meera’s waist, spinning her once. The red saree flared; the audience (mostly crew) whooped. Meera laughed - genuine, breathless and for a moment leaned back against Priya’s chest, head tilted, the curve of her neck exposed.

Arjun’s grip on the script crumpled the paper.
The terrace scene - the one Priya had rehearsed with Meera was next.
Lights shifted to cool blue. Fake stars glittered on the backdrop.

Priya (husband) cornered Meera (wife) against the painted pabangt.
Lines flowed: accusations, hurt feelings, the slow thaw.
Then the scripted moment: Priya stepped close, cupped Meera’s face gently, and delivered the big reconciliation line:
“All these years I thought equations needed solving… but you, jaaneman, are the constant I never want to differentiate.”

The crew aww-ed. Priya’s thumbs brushed Meera’s cheeks — real tenderness in the gesture, not just acting. Meera’s eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat.
Arjun felt something inside him fracture along a clean, sharp line.
The scene ended. Lights up.

The cast applauded. Shetty sir declared it “almost perfect.”

Arjun sat in the dark after everyone left, long after the lights dimmed, staring at the empty stage.
The Taylor series of his feelings had converged to a single, terrifying term:
He was in love with her.
Not infatuation. Not obsession.
Love.

And tomorrow there would be another rehearsal.
And the day after, another.
And every day, the series would add one more term, expanding, growing, until it either converged to her - or diverged into something he could no longer control.
He folded the prompter’s script carefully, slipped it into his bag, and walked home through streets still wet from yesterday’s rain.
The city smelled of jasmine and wet earth.
Just like her.