30-12-2025, 06:34 PM
PART 10
Indhu took the phone from Karthik’s hand, her fingers brushing his for a second longer than needed. She smiled at him—small, reassuring—then put the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Anu mol?”
Anu’s voice came bright and familiar, the way it always did when she spoke to Indhu. The two had known each other since Anu joined Karthik’s college in sixth standard—bright, top-rank girl who quickly became his closest friend. Indhu liked her: polite, smart, always helpful with Karthik’s studies. But there was always that tiny, unspoken possessiveness on both sides.
Anu adored Karthik—everyone knew it, especially after she proposed last year.
Indhu adored him more—no one could compete with a mother’s love.
They were nice to each other, always. But the possessiveness lived quietly under the surface.
“Karthik told me you weren’t feeling well,” Anu said. “But I know it’s the marks, aunty. I was scolding him just now.”
Indhu sat on the sofa arm, glancing at Karthik who was pretending to scroll his phone but clearly listening. “Yes, mol. He scored less this time. I’m worried.”
Anu’s voice turned firm. “I told him the same. We have to make him study properly now. Public exams decide everything. Medical college—we planned together since tenth, remember?”
Indhu’s stomach gave a small, uncomfortable twist. Medical college. Years more of Anu and Karthik together—study sessions, late-night calls, shared dreams.
She forced her voice light. “Yes, yes. You must help him, mol. Make him focus.”
Anu laughed, but there was an edge. “Whenever we plan to study, aunty, he starts asking about my clothes—where I bought this kurti, that legging, which shop has good styles. I tell him ‘study da,’ but he says ‘it’s for Amma.’”
Indhu’s heart skipped.
Anu continued, voice dropping slightly—anger and possessiveness mixing. “I’m not sure if it’s really for you… or if he found some girlfriend and is asking for her.”
The words landed sharp.
Indhu looked at Karthik instantly. He was staring at the floor, cheeks red.
She punched his arm lightly, playful but with a tiny spark of anger. “See? Even Anu is saying.”
But inside, questions swirled.
Why the anger?
Because he’s not studying?
Or because he asked another girl about clothes—for me?
The second thought made her stomach twist again, hot and confusing.
She spoke into the phone, voice calm. “No, mol. Not like that. He got diverted a little. Won’t happen again.”
Then, firmer: “If he asks such questions again, beat him. Don’t answer.”
Anu laughed, satisfied. “Promise, aunty. I’ll make him study. We’ll both get into medical college—like we planned.”
Indhu’s stomach sank deeper.
We’ll both… years more together.
She didn’t say it aloud. Instead: “Yes, mol. Make him study well.”
She cut the call, handed the phone back to Karthik without meeting his eyes.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Anu’s voice echoed in her head: We’ll both get into medical college.
Indhu stood, walked to the kitchen, busied herself with nothing.
The possessiveness she had always felt toward Karthik—quiet, maternal—suddenly felt different. Sharper. Deeper.
She didn’t know what to do with it.
Karthik watched her go, guilt and longing twisting tighter in his chest.
The evening stretched ahead, full of everything neither could say.
—---- Fast forward —----
The days blurred into weeks, then months, in a rhythm that felt both healing and dangerous.
Karthik threw himself into studies like a man possessed. Early mornings at the desk, late nights under the table lamp, books spread across the dining table on weekends. He promised himself—and her—he would not fail again.
But he never forgot her.
Every morning when Indhu brought coffee, he looked up from his books with that soft, admiring smile. “Amma… you look beautiful today.”
Simple words, but they landed on her skin like touches—warm, lingering. She would blush, scold him lightly—“Study, dei, don’t distract”—but her nipples would tighten under whatever she wore, her pussy giving a secret throb at the way his eyes traced her body.
The compliments became daily ritual.
When she wore the rose shimmer leggings and a simple kurti: “Your legs look like they’re glowing, Amma.”
When she tried the peach-pink nightie one safe night: “You look like an angel.”
When she came home from Varsha’s class in a new salwar she had stitched herself: “No one else could make that look so perfect.”
Each time her body answered—heat between her thighs, wetness soaking her panties, breasts heavy and aching. She told herself it was just pride in his attention, but the craving grew. She started choosing clothes for his eyes, lingering in front of the mirror a little longer, imagining his gaze on her ass, her tits, the curve of her waist.
The touches grew too.
A hand on her lower back when he passed in the narrow kitchen, fingers lingering a second too long.
A hug good-night that pressed his chest to her breasts, his arms tight around her waist, face buried in her neck longer than before.
When they sat on the sofa, his head on her shoulder, her fingers stroking his hair, his breath warm on her collarbone.
No one spoke of it.
But both felt the craving build—slow, steady, unstoppable.
Indhu felt proud, fiercely proud.
My son is doing this for me. Studying hard, changing, because of what I said.
The thought made her heart swell and her pussy ache in equal measure. She started wearing the bolder pieces more often when Rajan was away—the off-shoulder tops that showed her smooth shoulders, the knee-length skirts that swished against her thighs, the luxury pyjamas that felt like silk on her naked skin underneath.
She joined Varsha’s tailoring classes three days a week. Mornings at the boutique, learning to cut, stitch, finish. Varsha was patient, funny, always teasing.
“Look at you—stitching like a pro already. All because your boyfriend told you to?”
Indhu would pinch her, laughing. “Stop it.”
But the teasing fed the fire.
Meanwhile, Karthik spent more time with Anu.
Weekend study sessions at her house or the library—heads bent over biology textbooks, chemistry formulas, physics problems. Anu was brilliant, always top rank, and she pushed him hard. “You can do this, Karthik. We’ll both get into medical college.”
He studied. He improved.
But Anu had her own plans.
She wore her best clothes for study sessions—tight leggings that hugged her slim legs, cropped tops that showed a strip of stomach, hair loose and scented. She touched his arm when explaining a concept, leaned close so her breast brushed his shoulder, laughed at his jokes a little too long.
She wanted him to see her.
To choose her.
Indhu felt it like a slow poison.
Every time Karthik came home talking about “Anu explained this chapter so well” or “Anu found this trick for organic chemistry,” Indhu’s smile stayed in place, but her stomach twisted.
Possessiveness—sharp, unfamiliar, undeniable.
He’s mine.
The thought came unbidden, hot and shameful.
He studies for me. He looks at me. He chose clothes for me.
She started asking casual questions.
“How was study with Anu?”
“What did you revise today?”
The answers were innocent, but her mind painted pictures—Anu’s hand on his, Anu’s body close, Anu stealing the looks that belonged to her.
Varsha noticed everything.
At the boutique, while Indhu stitched a hem, Varsha would tease.
“Your boyfriend spending all his time with that Anu girl now? Careful, da—she might steal him.”
Indhu would laugh it off, but her needle would pause.
Varsha watched, curious, excited.
The boy confessed it’s the mother.
The mother acts like a jealous girlfriend.
This is going to be interesting.
December arrived. Karthik’s term exams loomed.
He studied harder than ever, driven by guilt, by promise, by the need to make her proud.
Indhu finished her tailoring course—Varsha threw a small celebration, cake and coffee, praising her first complete salwar kameez.
“You’re ready to join the shop properly now,” Varsha said. “Partner?”
Indhu hugged her, eyes shining. “Partner.”
Karthik came home that evening to find his mother in the new salwar she had stitched herself—soft blue, perfect fit, hugging her breasts and waist just right.
He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Amma… you made this?”
She turned, shy and proud. “Yes. First one.”
He walked close, touched the sleeve gently. “It’s perfect. You look… incredible.”
Her pussy throbbed at the look in his eyes.
The exams were days away.
Indhu had proven herself.
Karthik was ready to prove himself.
And between them, the love—tender, forbidden, growing—waited for the next spark.
Indhu took the phone from Karthik’s hand, her fingers brushing his for a second longer than needed. She smiled at him—small, reassuring—then put the phone to her ear.
“Hello, Anu mol?”
Anu’s voice came bright and familiar, the way it always did when she spoke to Indhu. The two had known each other since Anu joined Karthik’s college in sixth standard—bright, top-rank girl who quickly became his closest friend. Indhu liked her: polite, smart, always helpful with Karthik’s studies. But there was always that tiny, unspoken possessiveness on both sides.
Anu adored Karthik—everyone knew it, especially after she proposed last year.
Indhu adored him more—no one could compete with a mother’s love.
They were nice to each other, always. But the possessiveness lived quietly under the surface.
“Karthik told me you weren’t feeling well,” Anu said. “But I know it’s the marks, aunty. I was scolding him just now.”
Indhu sat on the sofa arm, glancing at Karthik who was pretending to scroll his phone but clearly listening. “Yes, mol. He scored less this time. I’m worried.”
Anu’s voice turned firm. “I told him the same. We have to make him study properly now. Public exams decide everything. Medical college—we planned together since tenth, remember?”
Indhu’s stomach gave a small, uncomfortable twist. Medical college. Years more of Anu and Karthik together—study sessions, late-night calls, shared dreams.
She forced her voice light. “Yes, yes. You must help him, mol. Make him focus.”
Anu laughed, but there was an edge. “Whenever we plan to study, aunty, he starts asking about my clothes—where I bought this kurti, that legging, which shop has good styles. I tell him ‘study da,’ but he says ‘it’s for Amma.’”
Indhu’s heart skipped.
Anu continued, voice dropping slightly—anger and possessiveness mixing. “I’m not sure if it’s really for you… or if he found some girlfriend and is asking for her.”
The words landed sharp.
Indhu looked at Karthik instantly. He was staring at the floor, cheeks red.
She punched his arm lightly, playful but with a tiny spark of anger. “See? Even Anu is saying.”
But inside, questions swirled.
Why the anger?
Because he’s not studying?
Or because he asked another girl about clothes—for me?
The second thought made her stomach twist again, hot and confusing.
She spoke into the phone, voice calm. “No, mol. Not like that. He got diverted a little. Won’t happen again.”
Then, firmer: “If he asks such questions again, beat him. Don’t answer.”
Anu laughed, satisfied. “Promise, aunty. I’ll make him study. We’ll both get into medical college—like we planned.”
Indhu’s stomach sank deeper.
We’ll both… years more together.
She didn’t say it aloud. Instead: “Yes, mol. Make him study well.”
She cut the call, handed the phone back to Karthik without meeting his eyes.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Anu’s voice echoed in her head: We’ll both get into medical college.
Indhu stood, walked to the kitchen, busied herself with nothing.
The possessiveness she had always felt toward Karthik—quiet, maternal—suddenly felt different. Sharper. Deeper.
She didn’t know what to do with it.
Karthik watched her go, guilt and longing twisting tighter in his chest.
The evening stretched ahead, full of everything neither could say.
—---- Fast forward —----
The days blurred into weeks, then months, in a rhythm that felt both healing and dangerous.
Karthik threw himself into studies like a man possessed. Early mornings at the desk, late nights under the table lamp, books spread across the dining table on weekends. He promised himself—and her—he would not fail again.
But he never forgot her.
Every morning when Indhu brought coffee, he looked up from his books with that soft, admiring smile. “Amma… you look beautiful today.”
Simple words, but they landed on her skin like touches—warm, lingering. She would blush, scold him lightly—“Study, dei, don’t distract”—but her nipples would tighten under whatever she wore, her pussy giving a secret throb at the way his eyes traced her body.
The compliments became daily ritual.
When she wore the rose shimmer leggings and a simple kurti: “Your legs look like they’re glowing, Amma.”
When she tried the peach-pink nightie one safe night: “You look like an angel.”
When she came home from Varsha’s class in a new salwar she had stitched herself: “No one else could make that look so perfect.”
Each time her body answered—heat between her thighs, wetness soaking her panties, breasts heavy and aching. She told herself it was just pride in his attention, but the craving grew. She started choosing clothes for his eyes, lingering in front of the mirror a little longer, imagining his gaze on her ass, her tits, the curve of her waist.
The touches grew too.
A hand on her lower back when he passed in the narrow kitchen, fingers lingering a second too long.
A hug good-night that pressed his chest to her breasts, his arms tight around her waist, face buried in her neck longer than before.
When they sat on the sofa, his head on her shoulder, her fingers stroking his hair, his breath warm on her collarbone.
No one spoke of it.
But both felt the craving build—slow, steady, unstoppable.
Indhu felt proud, fiercely proud.
My son is doing this for me. Studying hard, changing, because of what I said.
The thought made her heart swell and her pussy ache in equal measure. She started wearing the bolder pieces more often when Rajan was away—the off-shoulder tops that showed her smooth shoulders, the knee-length skirts that swished against her thighs, the luxury pyjamas that felt like silk on her naked skin underneath.
She joined Varsha’s tailoring classes three days a week. Mornings at the boutique, learning to cut, stitch, finish. Varsha was patient, funny, always teasing.
“Look at you—stitching like a pro already. All because your boyfriend told you to?”
Indhu would pinch her, laughing. “Stop it.”
But the teasing fed the fire.
Meanwhile, Karthik spent more time with Anu.
Weekend study sessions at her house or the library—heads bent over biology textbooks, chemistry formulas, physics problems. Anu was brilliant, always top rank, and she pushed him hard. “You can do this, Karthik. We’ll both get into medical college.”
He studied. He improved.
But Anu had her own plans.
She wore her best clothes for study sessions—tight leggings that hugged her slim legs, cropped tops that showed a strip of stomach, hair loose and scented. She touched his arm when explaining a concept, leaned close so her breast brushed his shoulder, laughed at his jokes a little too long.
She wanted him to see her.
To choose her.
Indhu felt it like a slow poison.
Every time Karthik came home talking about “Anu explained this chapter so well” or “Anu found this trick for organic chemistry,” Indhu’s smile stayed in place, but her stomach twisted.
Possessiveness—sharp, unfamiliar, undeniable.
He’s mine.
The thought came unbidden, hot and shameful.
He studies for me. He looks at me. He chose clothes for me.
She started asking casual questions.
“How was study with Anu?”
“What did you revise today?”
The answers were innocent, but her mind painted pictures—Anu’s hand on his, Anu’s body close, Anu stealing the looks that belonged to her.
Varsha noticed everything.
At the boutique, while Indhu stitched a hem, Varsha would tease.
“Your boyfriend spending all his time with that Anu girl now? Careful, da—she might steal him.”
Indhu would laugh it off, but her needle would pause.
Varsha watched, curious, excited.
The boy confessed it’s the mother.
The mother acts like a jealous girlfriend.
This is going to be interesting.
December arrived. Karthik’s term exams loomed.
He studied harder than ever, driven by guilt, by promise, by the need to make her proud.
Indhu finished her tailoring course—Varsha threw a small celebration, cake and coffee, praising her first complete salwar kameez.
“You’re ready to join the shop properly now,” Varsha said. “Partner?”
Indhu hugged her, eyes shining. “Partner.”
Karthik came home that evening to find his mother in the new salwar she had stitched herself—soft blue, perfect fit, hugging her breasts and waist just right.
He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Amma… you made this?”
She turned, shy and proud. “Yes. First one.”
He walked close, touched the sleeve gently. “It’s perfect. You look… incredible.”
Her pussy throbbed at the look in his eyes.
The exams were days away.
Indhu had proven herself.
Karthik was ready to prove himself.
And between them, the love—tender, forbidden, growing—waited for the next spark.
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