Incest Not just a Mother Anymore - Tale

[nivithenaughty]

PART 9

The house felt hollow after Rajan stormed out, the slammed door still echoing in the walls.

Leka sat on the sofa, knees drawn up, eyes red and swollen, silent for once. Indhu knelt in front of Karthik, cradling his face, thumbs gently stroking the red marks blooming on his cheek. Tears fell freely down her own face, dripping onto his shirt.

“My baby… my poor baby,” she whispered over and over, voice breaking. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry he did this to you.”

Karthik's eyes were wet, but he didn't cry out loud. He just leaned into her touch, letting her hold him like he was small again.

After a long time she stood, wiped her face with the edge of her pallu, and took his hand. “Come. You need to eat.”

Leka started to follow, but Indhu shook her head gently. “Give us a little time, kanna.”

Leka nodded, still silent, and disappeared into the bedroom.

In the kitchen Indhu heated the leftover chicken curry and rice, moving on autopilot. She made one plate—big, heaped with rice, extra gravy, the pieces he liked best. Then she sat Karthik on the dining chair, pulled another close in front of him, and took the spoon herself.

“Open,” she said softly, the first spoonful trembling slightly in her hand.

He obeyed without protest, eyes down. She fed him slowly, carefully, like he was five and had fever. Between bites she wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb, the gesture so tender it hurt.

She wanted to ask.  
What happened, kanna?  
Why the marks?  
Why the distance these weeks?  
But his cheek was still red, his eyes still haunted. She couldn't add more pain.

Instead, when half the plate was gone, she spoke quietly, voice steady only because she forced it.

“This is your last year of college, Karthik. These marks… they decide everything—college, future. I know you're hurting right now. But you're strong. You can still fix this.”

He looked down, spoon paused.

She set it aside and took both his hands in hers, squeezing tight.

“I'm telling you the truth, kanna. I live for you. Leka will grow up, marry one day, leave this house. But you… you're my world. The only reason I stay with your father, put up with everything, is you. If you grow well, settle well, become the good man I know you are… that's my whole life. My only dream.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. Tears spilled again.

Karthik's head bowed lower. “Sorry, Amma,” he whispered, so low she almost missed it.

She shook her head, pulled him into another hug, his face against her shoulder. “No sorry. Just… study hard. For you. For us. Promise me.”

He nodded against her, arms coming around her waist slowly. “Promise.”

She picked up the spoon again, fed him the rest in silence. When the plate was nearly empty she took a bite herself—same spoon, same plate, like when he was little and refused to eat alone.

When it was done she led him to the bedroom by the hand.

Leka was already under the sheet on her side, eyes puffy but pretending to sleep.

Indhu changed quickly into her cotton nightie, turned off the light, and climbed into the middle.

Karthik lay on his side facing her, still in his day clothes.

She reached for him in the dark, pulled him close until his head rested in the curve of her neck, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. No space between them. His breath warm against her skin, her fingers stroking his hair slowly, gently.

There was no heat tonight. No forbidden throb.

Only pure, fierce love—mother holding her wounded child, both of them finding the only safe place left in the world.

His arms came around her waist, holding just as tight.

Leka's breathing evened out on the other side.

Indhu pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, kanna. Tomorrow is new.”

He nodded against her neck, breath hitching once, then steadying.

They slept like that—wrapped together, hearts beating in the same broken rhythm, healing slowly in the dark.

No words.

Just the quiet promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.

-------------------------------

Indhu opened her eyes to pale light filtering through the curtains. It was late—past eight, judging by the angle of the sun. Rajan must have come in after midnight; he was on the far edge of the bed, still in yesterday's shirt, snoring softly with the heavy breath of too much drink. The room smelled faintly of whisky.

Karthik was beside her, facing her in sleep, one leg thrown carelessly over her thigh, one arm dbangd across her hip and waist like he had reached for her in the night and found her. His face was peaceful again, the red marks from yesterday's slaps faded to faint pink shadows. His breath stirred the loose hair at her neck.

She lay still for a long moment, feeling the weight of his arm, the warmth of his leg against hers. Her heart ached with tenderness and leftover fear.

Carefully, gently, she lifted his arm and leg, sliding out from under him without waking him. He stirred, murmured something soft, and settled again.

She stood, looked down at him for a long second—her boy, her wounded boy—and felt tears threaten again.

Rajan was home, so no coffee in bed for the kids today. They would come to the kitchen when they woke.

She went to the bathroom, washed her face with cold water until the puffiness around her eyes eased, and changed into one of her oldest cotton nighties—the faded blue-check one, long sleeves, ankle length. Safe. Invisible. The kind Rajan approved of.

In the kitchen she moved on autopilot—dosa batter on the tawa, coconut chutney ground fresh, sambar reheated. But her hands were heavy, her heart heavier.

Leka came in first, eyes still red from crying yesterday. She hugged Indhu without a word, tight and quick, then helped set the table in silence.

Rajan woke next. He shuffled into the hall in his lungi and banian, hair tousled, face puffy from drink and anger. He poured himself coffee, black and strong, and sat at the table scrolling his phone.

Then he looked at the bedroom door and raised his voice. “This boy is still sleeping? Wake him up! Grown-up man failing exams and sleeping till nine like a baby?”

Indhu's spoon clattered against the pan. She turned, voice low but firm. “Let him sleep, Rajan. Yesterday was enough.”

Rajan's eyes narrowed. “Enough? He needs discipline. Look at the marks! Sleeping late, wasting time—that's why he failed.”

Indhu's anger flared, hot and sudden. “Discipline? You call slapping him discipline? He's not a child anymore. He's eighteen. You can't hit him like that.”

Rajan slammed his cup down. “And whose fault is that? You and your children—you three decide everything in this house. What to wear, what to buy, what to say. I'm just the fool paying bills. He should focus on studies, not playing fashion designer for you women!”

Indhu went very still. The words cut deep.

“It wasn't just his decision,” she said quietly. “We all chose together.”

Rajan laughed, bitter. “All three of you against me. Fine. Live like I don't belong here. One day you'll need me, and I won't come running. Remember that.”

His usual speech—the saviour complex, the threat wrapped in self-pity.

He finished his coffee, grabbed his laptop bag, and left without another word. The car started, gate clanged, silence returned.

Leka's eyes were wide. “Amma…”

Indhu shook her head. “Go get ready for college. Don't wake your brother.”

Leka nodded, hugged her again, and left for the bathroom.

When the door shut behind Leka for college, the house was finally empty except for the boy still sleeping.

Indhu cleaned the kitchen slowly—wiping counters that were already clean, scrubbing the tawa harder than needed. Then she walked to the hall, sat on the sofa, and stared at nothing.

Her mind circled the same thoughts.

He failed because of me.  
Because of the shopping.  
Because I let him take charge.  
Because I enjoyed it too much.

Tears came again, silent this time.

She sat there a long time, the house quiet around her, waiting for Karthik to wake, waiting for the day to decide what came next.

But in her heart, one thing was clear.

No matter what, she would not let him carry this alone.


--------------------------------------

Indhu stood in the empty hall a long time after Leka left, the house too quiet, the air thick with yesterday's anger. The red marks on Karthik's cheek flashed in her mind again and again. Her chest ached like someone had pressed a hot iron to it.

She picked up her phone and dialled Varsha before she could think too hard.

Varsha answered on the second ring. “Indhu? So early—what happened?”

The words spilled out—Rajan's fury, the slaps, the mark sheet, Karthik's silence as he took every blow. Indhu's voice cracked halfway through, tears coming fast.

“I feel like it's my fault, Varsha. The shopping, the clothes… Rajan said he was wasting time on what we women should wear. If I hadn't let him—”

“Stop,” Varsha cut in, voice firm but gentle. “Stop right there. That man's anger is his own. You didn't make him hit his son. And Karthik? That boy loves you. He wanted you happy. That's not a crime.”

Indhu sobbed quietly. “But the marks… he failed because of me.”

“He failed because he's human and hurting. You think one shopping day ruined him? No. Talk to him. Where is he now?”

“Sleeping. I didn't wake him.”

Varsha's tone softened. “Wake him, feed him, then bring him here. Don't lock yourself in that house with yesterday's ghosts. Come to the shop. We'll talk. I'll make your favourite filter coffee.”

Indhu wiped her eyes. “Okay… okay.”

She hung up, took a shaky breath, and walked to the bedroom.

Karthik was still asleep, curled on his side facing her spot, one arm stretched across the empty sheet like he had been reaching for her in his dreams. His face was peaceful again, the red marks faded to faint shadows. He looked younger like this—her little boy, safe in sleep.

Indhu's heart twisted with love and pain.

She slipped off her slippers and climbed gently onto the bed, lying on her side facing him. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close until his head rested against her chest. She pressed soft kisses to his forehead, his temple, the warm curve of his cheek—tender, healing kisses, like she could erase yesterday with every touch.


Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing it back, tracing the shell of his ear.

He stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. For a moment he just looked at her—face inches away, kajal a little smudged from tears, loose hair framing her face, the old nightie soft against his skin.

A sleepy, dreamy smile curved his mouth.

“My angel…” he murmured, voice thick and low. “You look beautiful.”

Then his eyes closed again, like the words had slipped out without thought, and he nuzzled closer into her neck.

Indhu's breath caught. Butterflies exploded in her stomach—wild, fluttering, impossible to ignore.  
He's half-asleep. He doesn't know what he said.  
But the words sank into her like warm honey, spreading through her chest, her belly, lower. Her nipples tightened against the cotton nightie, a soft ache starting between her legs.

She kissed his cheek again, lingering this time, then—playful, tender—nipped gently at his jaw with her teeth.

Karthik's eyes flew open. He blinked, startled, then calmed instantly when he saw her face so close, eyes soft and shining.

For a long moment they just looked at each other—his gaze sleepy but full of quiet sorry, hers full of love and forgiveness she didn't need words for.

She smiled first, small and teasing, to break the weight. “Dei, sleepyhead. It's past ten. Get up, or I'll bite harder next time.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his eyes stayed serious. “Why didn't you wake me earlier?”

She stroked his hair again. “Today you rest. Yesterday was enough.”

He searched her face, then slowly—carefully—lowered his head to her lap, turning to look out the window at the bright morning beyond the curtains.

Indhu's fingers kept moving through his hair, gentle circles at his temple, tracing his ear.

After a long quiet minute he whispered, “I'm sorry, Amma.”

She leaned down, kissed the top of his head. “No sorry today. Freshen up, bathe. We'll eat, then go to Varsha aunty's shop. Okay?”

He nodded against her thigh, the movement slow, trusting.

He rose eventually, stretched, and padded to the bathroom.

Indhu went to the kitchen, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

She made two plates—idli, chutney, a little extra sambar for him—and waited, smiling to herself.

The compliment still echoed, soft and sweet.

My angel.

You look beautiful.

Today felt like the first page of something new.


------------------------------

The idlies were still warm when Karthik came out of the bathroom, hair damp, face scrubbed clean, wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts. He looked younger, softer, the red marks from yesterday barely visible now.

Indhu had set two plates on the small dining table—idli, coconut chutney, a little extra sambar on the side. She motioned for him to sit.

“Come eat, kanna. Before it gets cold.”

He sat opposite her, quiet at first, but the smell of food and her gentle smile pulled him in. She served him two more idlies without asking, the way she always did.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clink of steel spoons the only sound.

Karthik broke it first. “Varsha aunty… why didn't she marry again? After her husband left her for that other woman?”

Indhu paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. She set it down, thinking how to answer.

“She had a daughter, kanna. Little one, only four when he left. Varsha decided that girl was her whole world. No second marriage, no complications. She learned tailoring—worked in big shops first, saved every rupee, then opened her own boutique. Now she's independent. Happy.”

Karthik nodded slowly, eyes on his plate. “Strong woman.”

Indhu smiled, soft and proud. “Very. And you know… she keeps asking me to learn tailoring with her. Work together. Make the shop bigger. She's been saying it for years.”

Karthik looked up, interested. “You should, Amma. If you want. It'll be good—your own money, your own time. Not always depending on…” He trailed off.

Indhu's eyes softened. She knew what he meant.

“Your father always says I do nothing, sit at home, spend his money. Maybe if I earn… the scolding will be less.”

Karthik's jaw tightened. “You do everything, Amma. Everything.”

She reached across the table, squeezed his hand once. “Thank you, kanna.”

They finished the plate—sharing the last idli, the way they used to when money was tight and food was precious.

Indhu stood to clear the plates, then paused, a playful glint in her eye. “So… what should I wear to Varsha's shop?”

Karthik hesitated, cheeks warming. He opened his mouth, closed it.

Indhu laughed, light and teasing. “Varsha always says you're my young boyfriend. So choose something for your girlfriend, ha?”

The words hit him like a spark. Butterflies exploded in his stomach—wild, dizzying. Girlfriend. The joke wasn't new, but coming from her mouth, in that soft, playful voice, it felt real. Dangerous. Perfect.

He swallowed, trying to play cool. “If Appa was traveling… I'd say the jeans. The ones we hid.”

Her breath caught, eyes widening just a fraction.

“But he might come home anytime,” Karthik continued, voice low. “Too risky. Wear something comfortable.”

Indhu tilted her head, smile turning mischievous. “Then go pick for me. Wardrobe room. I'll wait.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. He stood too fast, nearly knocking the chair.

In the wardrobe-room he stood among her clothes, the secret shelf at the top burning in his mind. He ignored it. Safe today.

He scanned the new pieces—the luxury ones, the ones he had chosen with shaking hands.

Grey shimmer leggings—subtle, elegant, the kind that would make her legs glow without screaming.  
Black kurti—three-quarter sleeves, soft neckline, fitted just enough to show her shape.

He carried them out, cheeks warm.

Indhu took them with a smile that made his stomach flip again. “Good choice, boyfriend.”

He escaped to the hall while she changed.

When she stepped out, his breath caught.


The grey shimmer caught the light with every step, making her legs look endless and smooth. The black kurti hugged her waist, the neckline showing the delicate line of her collarbones. Hair loose, a touch of kajal, rose lipstick.

She looked… radiant.

Indhu caught his stare and felt the butterflies return—warm, fluttering, impossible to ignore.

She locked the house, pocketed the key.

They stepped out together into the warm late-morning sun, walking side by side toward Varsha's shop.

No words.

Just the soft brush of her arm against his, the quiet jingle of her bangles, and the shimmer of her legs with every step.

The distance was gone.

For now.


--------------------------------------

The walk to Varsha's shop was short, but it felt longer—every step under the hot sun charged with the quiet that had settled between them after breakfast. Indhu's hand brushed Karthik's once or twice, accidental, but neither pulled away.

The boutique door jingled as they pushed it open. The cool air and familiar smell of new cloth and coffee wrapped around them.

Varsha looked up from her sewing machine, needle paused mid-stitch, and her face split into a huge, mischievous grin.

“Ayyo! Look who came—the new couple of the town visiting my small shop!”

She dropped the cloth and came around the counter, arms wide.

Karthik froze in the doorway, cheeks instantly red.

Varsha turned to him, eyes twinkling. “Finally found your way to my shop, da? I was waiting years for this day.”

Indhu reached over and pinched Varsha's arm—hard. “Dei! What couple announcement is this? Stop it!”

Varsha laughed, rubbing the spot but not repentant. “Truth only, Indhu! Look at you two—walking in together like newlyweds.”

Indhu pinched her again, harder. “Stop it, Varsha! Enough!”

Varsha turned to Karthik, who was now scarlet and looking for the nearest chair to disappear into. “Am I wrong, thambi? Tell your aunty.”

Karthik opened his mouth, closed it, went completely blank. Words failed him entirely.

Varsha threw her head back and laughed loud, the sound filling the small shop. “Look at his face! Priceless!”

Indhu swatted her shoulder. “This is why he never comes here! You always bully him, tease him—he gets scared!”

Varsha wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “He has no proper aunty in the family to pull his leg. So I took the job. Someone has to!”

She turned toward the small back room where the stove was. “Come, coffee for the new couple.”

Indhu followed her in, shooting Karthik an apologetic look. He sat on the corner chair near the window, pulled out his phone, and pretended to scroll—anything to hide the burning in his face.

In the tiny back room, Indhu helped Varsha light the stove, voices low.

Indhu spoke first, serious now. “Varsha, please. He's already worried about something. Don't make those comments in front of him. He might get more scared. We need to find out what's bothering him.”

Varsha measured coffee powder, eyes soft. “What else could it be at his age? Hormones. Girls. That's all that troubles boys like him. Let's find out who the lucky girl is.”

Then, naughty grin returning, she leaned close and winked. “Or maybe… it's you.”

Indhu's hand flew to Varsha's shoulder, swatting hard. “Dei! Stop saying things like that!”

Varsha laughed again. “Look at you—nobody would guess you're his mother. You look like his girlfriend. And let me guess—this outfit? His selection, right?”

Indhu froze, spoon paused over the milk.

Varsha's eyes widened. “I was kidding! But… really?”

Indhu's voice dropped to a whisper, cheeks burning. “Not just that day. Even today… he picked this for me.”

Varsha's mouth fell open, then she reached over and pinched Indhu's cheek playfully. “Ayyo! You really became his girlfriend now!”

Indhu pushed her hand away, flustered. “Stop it, Varsha. It's not funny anymore. He's my son. Don't forget that.”

She turned to leave the room.

Varsha's voice followed, teasing but fond. “You're the one forgetting, Indhu.”

Indhu stepped back into the shop, face flaming, unable to meet Karthik's eyes.

He was sitting exactly where she left him, phone in hand, earphones in, playing a game loudly enough that the tinny music leaked out. But the shop was small. Sound carried. He had heard every word.

His cheeks were still red, heart racing from the teasing—and from the truth in it he couldn't admit.

He kept his eyes on the screen, thumb moving fast, pretending he was lost in the game.

Indhu sat on the tailor's high stool near the mirror, back to him, smoothing her kurti unnecessarily, trying to cool the blush that wouldn't leave her face.

Varsha brought the coffee tray out a minute later—three steel glasses, biscuits on a plate.

She handed one to Karthik first, grinning. “Coffee for the boyfriend.”

He took it without looking up, mumbled “thank you,” and kept playing.

Varsha and Indhu exchanged a look—half amused, half worried.

The afternoon stretched ahead, full of unspoken things.

And in the small shop, with the sewing machine humming and coffee cooling, the three of them sat in a silence that felt louder than any words.


----------------------------------------

Varsha finished the last stitch on the blouse she had been working on—a deep maroon with delicate gold thread along the neckline. She bit off the thread, held it up to the light, nodded in satisfaction, and hung it on the rack near Karthik's chair.

Then she scooted her stool closer to him, close enough that her knee almost brushed his. She tilted her head, examining his face with the frankness only an old friend could get away with.

“Dei, the marks are still there a little,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek with gentle fingers. “Faint, but I can see.”

Karthik's cheeks burned hotter than the slap had. He shifted, uncomfortable under her closeness and care, eyes dropping to his lap.

Indhu nodded from across the room, eyes sad. “It's better than yesterday, but…”

Varsha dropped her hand but didn't move back. “So, thambi… who is the lucky girl?”

Karthik blinked, confused. “What girl?”

Varsha grinned, but her eyes were sharp. “Boys your age—when marks fall, when they go quiet and distant—it's always a girl. Who is she? The one filling your head so much you forgot studies?”

Karthik froze. His face went scarlet. He looked desperately at Indhu for rescue.

Indhu just smiled—small, knowing, a little mischievous—and gestured with her hand: Answer her.

He swallowed, voice barely there. “There… there's no girl like that.”

Varsha raised an eyebrow. “No? Then why the marks? Why the failure? Your mother has been crying to me every day these weeks—saying her boy went distant, doesn't talk, doesn't look at her properly. She even thought some girl came between you two and stole you from her.”

She shot Indhu a naughty look.

Indhu's cheeks flamed. “Varsha!”

Karthik went completely silent.

The words hit him like cold water.

Amma cried.  
Because of me.  
Because I pulled away.

Guilt flooded back, sharp and poisonous—the videos, the fantasies, the shame that had made him build walls. He had thought distance would fix him, protect her. Instead he had hurt her more.

Varsha reached over and shook his knee gently. “Dei, what's going on in that head? Talk to aunty. If you want private, I'll send your mother out for biscuits—you can tell me freely.”

He shook his head fast. “No… nothing like that. I… I made some mistakes. I understand now. From today… I'll focus on studies. Promise.”

Varsha studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. But remember—one thing. Studies are important, yes. But your mother…” She glanced at Indhu, voice softening. “She loves you more than you can imagine. Don't make her feel alone. Don't leave her out. She can't handle that.”

Karthik's throat tightened. He looked at Indhu—really looked—her eyes soft and worried and full of love.

“I won't,” he whispered. “Never again.”

Then, voice barely audible: “Sorry, Amma.”

Indhu's eyes filled instantly. She smiled through the tears, nodding.

A knock at the door broke the moment—sharp, timely.

“Biryani delivery!”

Varsha jumped up, laughing to lighten the air. “Perfect timing! Lunch is here.”

They paused the heavy talk, spread newspaper on the cutting table, opened the packets—fragrant mutton biryani, chicken grill sizzling on skewers, raita on the side.

The three of them ate together, passing pieces, tearing naan, the teasing gone for now, replaced by the quiet comfort of food and company.

But the words lingered in the small shop, settling into hearts that were already changing.

And outside, the afternoon sun moved slowly across the sky, waiting for whatever came next.


--------------------------------------------------


Indhu finished eating first. She wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, the taste of spicy mutton biryani still warm on her tongue. She stood up, stretched a little, and smiled at Varsha and Karthik who were still picking at the chicken grill.

“That was perfect. Thank you, Varsha.”

Varsha waved her off with a grin, but her eyes had been thoughtful the whole lunch. She kept looking between Indhu and Karthik—the way Indhu's face softened every time Karthik took a bite she had served him, the way Karthik's gaze lingered on Indhu's lips when she licked a bit of gravy off them. Something was there. Something more than mother and son. The idea excited her in a naughty way she couldn't quite push down.

What if the “girl” troubling him isn't a girl at all? What if it's her?  
The thought was taboo, straight out of those secret stories she read late at night. A mother distracting her son so much he forgets everything else. The idea made her stomach flutter with guilty heat.

She needed to know.

Indhu started toward the sink to wash her plate.

Varsha saw her chance.

“Indhu, dei—this biriyani masala is too strong. My stomach is already burning. Can you go to the corner shop and get two cold Sprite bottles? Please?”

Indhu laughed softly. “You and your weak stomach. Fine, I'll go.”

She washed her hands quickly, grabbed her small purse, and stepped out. The door jingled shut behind her.

The moment the sound faded, Varsha turned to Karthik.

He was still eating slowly, eyes on his plate, the faint red marks on his cheek catching the light.

Varsha scooted her stool closer, voice low and caring. “Karthik… now your mother isn't here. Tell me openly. Is it a woman bothering you?”

He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, face turning pink.

She kept her tone soft, like an aunty who only wanted to help. “I won't judge, thambi. Just want to know what's hurting you.”

He set the spoon down, looking uncomfortable. “There… there's no woman like that. Promise.”

Varsha studied him for a long second, then smiled—slow and knowing.

“I know what's bothering you,” she said quietly. “And who.”

Karthik's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear. “What… what do you mean?”

“I can't say yet. But when your mother comes back… I'll tell her.”

His face went pale. “Aunty, please—no. Who do you think it is? There's no one. Please don't tell Amma anything.”

Varsha leaned back, letting him sweat a little. “If there's no one, why are you so scared?”

He shifted on the chair, voice desperate now. “Please, aunty. Tell me what you're thinking.”

She tilted her head, smile turning playful but sharp. “If I say my guess and I'm wrong… will you tell me the truth? Who is really on your mind? Promise on your mother.”

Karthik hesitated, heart racing. Anything but the real truth. He could make up someone safe.

He nodded fast. “Promise.”

Varsha's smile widened, triumphant.

“It's Anu, isn't it? You're in love with Anu.”

Karthik blinked, stunned. Relief hit him hard—thank God, not Amma. But how did Anu even come into this?

He shook his head. “No! Anu's just a friend. How did you—”

Varsha shrugged. “My daughter is in tenth, same college. She told me you two are always together. Even heard Anu proposed last year.”

Karthik groaned inside. college gossip. “It's true she asked, but I never saw her like that. She's like a sister. Best friend since sixth. Not her.”

Varsha's eyes lit up. “Then there is someone.”

He realized his mistake too late.

“I… no, I mean—”

Varsha's smile turned loud and victorious.

She had him.

Varsha's knowing laugh hanging in the small shop, Karthik trapped, heart pounding, the secret still safe but the trap sprung.


--------------------------------


Karthik's heart stopped when he realised what he had just said.

“I… no, I mean—”

He had slipped. Badly. Admitted there was someone without meaning to.

Varsha's eyes lit up, sharp and knowing. She leaned forward on her stool, voice gentle but relentless.

“See? There is someone. Tell me, Karthik. Who is she?”

He shook his head fast, panic rising. “No—no one. I'm not in a relationship. That's not why the marks fell.”

Varsha didn't buy it. She kept her tone soft, caring, like an aunty who only wanted to help.

“Then what is the reason? You promised on your mother. Tell me the truth.”

Karthik's mind raced. He couldn't say the porn. Couldn't say the videos, the fantasies, the way he had pictured Amma in every filthy scene. He would sound like a psycho. A monster.

His hands shook in his lap. He stared at the floor, throat tight.

Varsha waited, patient.

Finally she moved closer, voice even softer. “I won't tell your mother anything. I'm here to help you, thambi. Just say it.”

He looked up, eyes pleading. “Aunty… please…”

She reached out, touched his knee lightly. “Is it your mom?”

The words landed like a bomb.

Karthik froze.

His breath stopped. Blood rushed in his ears. Tears welled up instantly, hot and sudden.

Varsha saw it—the way his face crumpled, the tears spilling over before he could stop them.

She stood quickly, moved to him, sat on the arm of his chair and pulled him into a gentle hug, one hand wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Shh… it's okay. It's okay, kanna.”

He couldn't speak. Just shook in her arms, shame and relief crashing together.

Varsha stroked his hair, voice calm. “It's not your mistake. Every boy's first crush is his mother. Every girl's is her father. That's normal. And you… you have a gorgeous mother. Any boy would feel something. I'd think something was wrong if you didn't.”

He pulled back a little, eyes red, voice broken. “But aunty… it feels bad. Wrong. When I see her… something happens inside me. I can't control it. Every woman I look at… I see her. I see Amma everywhere.”

Varsha nodded, no judgment in her eyes. “It's strong because she's close. Always there. Beautiful, kind, taking care of you. But listen to me—it's not wrong to feel. It's wrong only if you let it ruin you. Control it. Channel it. Study hard. Make her proud. She's not going anywhere. If it was a classmate or teacher, you'd lose her after college. Your luck? It's your mother. She'll be with you forever.”

Karthik wiped his eyes, breathing shaky. “I… I want to be normal again. For her.”

Varsha smiled softly. “Then be normal. Score high. Make her smile. That's all she wants.”

He nodded, slow and serious. “I will.”

They heard footsteps outside—the soft jingle of Indhu's bangles.

Varsha squeezed his shoulder once and moved back to her stool, casual as if nothing had happened.

Karthik wiped his face quickly, grabbed his phone, pretended to scroll.

The door opened.

Indhu walked in with cold Sprite bottles, smiling, oblivious.

Varsha's smile was innocent, but her eyes held the secret.

The quiet knowledge burning between aunt and nephew, the mother stepping back into the room none the wiser.


--------------------------------------------


Indhu returned with two cold Sprite bottles, condensation dripping down the green glass. She handed one to Varsha and one to Karthik, then popped hers open with a satisfying hiss.

The spicy biryani had left their mouths tingling, and the cold fizz cut through it perfectly. They drank in companionable quiet for a moment, the small shop filled with the soft gurgle of swallowing and the occasional laugh when bubbles tickled their noses.

Varsha wiped her mouth and leaned back, eyes sparkling with her usual mischief.

“So, Indhu—finally you're ready to learn tailoring? I've been asking for years!”

Indhu laughed, cheeks pink. “Yes, yes. I understood now. Arrange the classes from next week. Your tutor itself. In a few months I'll be ready to join the shop properly.”

Varsha clapped her hands. “About time! We'll make this boutique double size.”

Indhu glanced at Karthik, almost shyly, like she was waiting for his approval. “What do you think, kanna?”

He nodded immediately, smile soft and proud. “You should, Amma. It'll be good.”

Varsha caught the look—the way Indhu's eyes lingered on his for permission, the way his nod made her light up. Inside, her curiosity burned hotter.

Does Indhu feel it too? Or is it just motherly?  
These two weeks Indhu cried every day because he went distant… that's not just a mother missing her son. That's longing.

She decided then: she would keep Karthik's confession locked tight. No telling Indhu. Not yet.  
She wanted to watch this unfold on its own.  
A little push here and there—nothing obvious—just enough to see where the delicate thread led.

For her dirty mind, the idea was thrilling.

She grinned wide. “Look at you two—boyfriend asking permission, girlfriend waiting for approval. Perfect couple!”

Indhu swatted her arm. “Varsha! Stop it!”

Karthik's cheeks went red again, but he couldn't hide the small smile.

Varsha turned to him. “Seriously, thambi—where did you learn about those fancy shops you took her to? Shimmer leggings, luxury nighties, all that? You're eighteen—how do you know women's fashion so well?”

Karthik looked down, ears burning. “Reels… and fashion influencers on Instagram.”

Indhu raised an eyebrow, half-scolding, half-amused. “No more phone for you, then. Focus on studies, not fashion reels.”

He looked up at her with those big, pleading eyes—the same ones he used when he was small and wanted extra chocolate. “Okay, Amma… promise.”

Varsha laughed. “If he scores good marks in public exams, what will you give him as gift, Indhu?”

Indhu didn't hesitate, voice warm and sure. “Everything he wants. Anything.”

Varsha's mind went straight to the gutter, but she kept her face innocent. “Will see. How about a vacation trip—just you and him?”

Indhu smiled easily. “Sure. If that's what he wants, I'll take him anywhere.”

Inside Karthik's head: Why is Varsha aunty teasing like this? Vacation… alone with Amma…  
The thought made his stomach flip—excitement, fear, longing.

Varsha winked at him. “Karthik, if you score high, I'll sponsor the trip. Just you and your mom. Deal?”

He looked at Indhu, then back at Varsha, not sure what to say.

Indhu smiled at him, eyes soft. “Only if you want, kanna.”

He swallowed. “I'll… I'll score good marks.”

Varsha clapped. “That's my boy!”

Before they left, Varsha pulled Indhu aside for a quick hug, whispering, “Never ask him about the failure. Just give hope. Stand with him. He'll come back stronger.”

Then to Karthik: “Study well, thambi. That's what makes your mom happiest.”

They stepped out into the evening light, bags in hand, walking side by side again.

The teasing lingered in the air like perfume.

And in Varsha's mind, the plan was already forming—quiet pushes, gentle nudges, watching the forbidden flame grow.

But for now, she kept the secret.

And let them walk home together, closer than before.


------------------------------


The walk home from Varsha's shop was quiet, but not the heavy kind from before. This quiet had weight—soft, warm, full of things neither dared to say. Their arms brushed occasionally, accidental but lingering a second too long. The shopping bags swung between them, rustling with every step.

They reached the gate, unlocked the door, and stepped into the cool, empty house. Leka wouldn't be back for another hour; Rajan was at work.

Indhu dropped the bags on the dining table and walked straight to the sofa, sinking into it with a tired sigh. She folded her legs up beneath her, the grey shimmer leggings catching the late afternoon light from the window. The fabric stretched tight over her thighs and calves, the subtle metallic threads making her skin glow like it was dusted with starlight.



Karthik followed slower, placing his bags carefully, then sat on the other end of the sofa—close enough to feel her warmth, far enough to pretend it was normal.

Neither spoke.

They just looked.

Shy glances at first—eyes meeting, then darting away, cheeks warming. But the glances grew longer, bolder.

Karthik couldn't help it. His gaze dropped to her legs—folded neatly, ankles crossed, the shimmer dancing every time she shifted. Even her ankles looked perfect to him—delicate bones, smooth skin, the way the leggings hugged every curve.  
Varsha aunty's words echoed in his head: “Every boy's first crush is his mother… I'd think something wrong if you didn't feel anything.”  
Admiring Mom isn't sin.  

The thought loosened something in his chest. He let his eyes trace higher—the soft roundness of her thighs pressed together, the gentle dip where hip met waist.

Indhu felt his stare like a touch. Heat bloomed under her skin, starting at her cheeks and sliding down her neck, pooling low in her belly.  

He's looking at my legs. Really looking.  

The realization made her pussy clench, a soft, secret throb. She should cross her legs tighter, hide, scold him. But she didn't. She let him look, heart racing, enjoying the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath seemed to catch.



His gaze moved higher—over the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her breasts under the black kurti, finally settling on her face. Her lips.

Those lips he had imagined in the darkest moments—soft, full, rose from the lipstick she wore today.

He thought: I would do anything in this world to see a smile on those lips. Anything to keep her safe from Appa. Anything to make her happy forever.

The intensity in his eyes made Indhu's breath shallow. She felt it between her thighs—warm, wet, aching.  
Why does this feel so good? His eyes eating me up… I missed this. I missed him looking at me like I'm… everything.  
But he's my son. This is wrong.  
Still, she didn't move. Didn't speak.

When his stare locked on her lips—hungry, wondering—she couldn't take it anymore.

She stood abruptly, cheeks burning. “I'll… change.”

She hurried to the wardrobe-room, closed the door, leaned against it with her heart pounding.

Inside, she stripped off the shimmer leggings and kurti slowly, skin tingling. The mirror showed her in just bra and panties—breasts full, nipples hard, the faint wetness darkening the cotton between her legs.

She touched herself there once—light, guilty—and pulled away fast.

Old ankle-length nightie on—safe, modest.

But the heat didn't leave.

Back in the hall, Karthik's phone rang on the sofa beside him.

He picked it up. “Hello?”

“Karthik? Why didn't you come to college today?” Anu's voice, worried but sharp.

He froze. “I… wasn't feeling well.”

Pause. “Your father beat you, didn't he? For the marks?”

His throat tightened. “How did you know?”

“What else would happen if you failed? Idiot! You need to score well for public exams. We both want to be doctors, remember? If you mess this up, you won't even get engineering.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I understood.”

The wardrobe-room door opened. Indhu stepped out in the long nightie, hair tied loosely, face flushed.

She held out her hand for the phone.

Karthik handed it over, relieved.

Indhu smiled softly. “Hello, Anu mol? … Yes, he's home today. Resting…”

Her voice was warm, normal, but her eyes met Karthik's across the room—and held.

Mother and son locked in a gaze that said everything and nothing, the air between them thick with the weight of what had almost been spoken.