06-01-2026, 12:10 AM
Part 11
The morning of the first public exam arrived cold and clear, the kind of January day when the Chennai sun felt gentle instead of punishing.
Karthik woke early, nerves jangling. He had studied until two a.m., the books still open on his desk like soldiers waiting for battle. He showered fast, dressed in his college uniform white shirt pressed the night before by Indhu's careful hands, navy pants, tie knotted with shaking fingers.
He stood in front of the small mirror in the bathroom, staring at himself.
Eighteen.
Last year of college.
One chance to fix everything.
He thought of the marks sheet hidden in his drawer.
He thought of Rajan's slap.
He thought of Amma's tears.
And he thought of her always her.
He walked out to the kitchen where Indhu was packing his exam kit hall ticket, pens, water bottle, a small banana for luck. She wore a simple cream saree today, hair tied in a loose bun, a thin line of kajal making her eyes look deeper. She looked beautiful, and the sight of her made his chest ache with love and guilt and something darker he still couldn't name.
Leka was already at the table, eating toast, scrolling her phone.
Karthik stopped in front of Indhu, palms pressed together in the traditional gesture.
“Amma… blessing.”
He bent to touch her feet.
Indhu's heart cracked open.
She caught his shoulders before he could bend fully, pulled him up, and wrapped her arms around him tight chest to chest, her breasts soft against his college shirt, her cheek pressed to his. She kissed one cheek, then the other slow, warm, lingering kisses full of every prayer she had whispered for him these months.
“You'll do wonderfully, kanna,” she whispered against his skin. “This exam is yours. I'm so proud of you already.”
Her scent jasmine, coffee, clean cotton filled his lungs. His arms tightened around her waist without thinking, pulling her closer for one endless second. He felt her body against his the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip under his palm and heat rushed straight to his cock, thickening it instantly against his pants.
Guilt slammed in right behind it.
This is Amma. Blessing me. And I'm getting hard.
What kind of son am I?
He pulled back fast, face burning, eyes on the floor.
Leka watched from the table, toast forgotten, eyes wide.
She had never seen them like this so close, so long, kisses that felt… different. Pure family love, she told herself. But jealousy stabbed sharp and sudden.
Why does he get all that? Why is he special?
She stood up, marched over, and wedged herself between them.
“Amma! Me too!” she demanded, arms out.
Indhu laughed, surprised, and hugged her tight, kissing both cheeks. “Of course, mol. Good luck with your test today.”
But Leka wasn't satisfied. She looked at Karthik triumphantly.
Indhu playfully swatted both of them. “Enough, you two! Always competing. Karthik will be man of the house one day he's special.”
She turned to him, cupped his burning cheek, and pressed one more quick kiss there. “Go win, kanna.”
Karthik's cock throbbed harder at the words man of the house. The taboo weight of it made him dizzy.
Leka pouted but grabbed her bag. “Fine. I'm leaving.”
Indhu walked them both to the door, waving until Leka's auto disappeared.
Then she turned to Karthik.
He stepped close again, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her into one last hug tighter this time, face buried in her neck.
“This exam is for you, Amma,” he whispered against her skin, voice rough with everything he couldn't say.
Her arms tightened around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair. She felt the hard line of him against her belly again just for a second and her pussy clenched, wet heat blooming instantly.
Guilt flooded her.
He's going for his exam. Pure moment. And my body…
Why can't I control this?
She kissed his cheek once more soft, lingering. “I know, kanna. I'm with you.”
He pulled back, eyes dark and shining, and left quietly, bag on shoulder, the weight of her love and his promise carrying him out the door.
Indhu stood in the kitchen long after he left, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat of her heart.
Pride fierce, overwhelming.
He's doing this for me.
Happiness warm, glowing.
My boy is growing into the man I always dreamed.
Worry sharp, maternal.
Please let him win. Please let him be happy.
And underneath it all, the taboo pulse she couldn't silence:
The way his body felt against mine.
The way he looked at me.
The way I want more.
She stood there in the quiet house, saree pallu slipping from her shoulder, cheeks flushed, pussy still throbbing softly from the hug.
The day stretched ahead empty, waiting.
And in her heart, love and guilt and longing twisted tighter than ever.
The echo of his hug still warm on her skin, the forbidden questions circling without answers.
------------------
The house felt too quiet after Karthik left.
Indhu stood in the kitchen a long time, the exam kit still on the table, his coffee glass half-empty. Pride and worry warred inside her pride that he was fighting for a better future, worry that something deeper was still hurting him.
She needed peace.
She needed prayer.
She picked up her phone and called Varsha.
“Varsha… I'm going to the Murugan temple nearby. For Karthik's exam. Will you come?”
Varsha's voice was warm. “Of course, da. Give me ten minutes.”
They met at the temple gate twenty minutes later. Indhu in a simple green saree, hair tied back, small bindi on her forehead. Varsha in a bright yellow salwar, dupatta dbangd loosely.
The temple was small but peaceful morning aarti just finished, the air thick with incense and vibhuti. They bought archana tickets, stood in the short queue, hands pressed together as the priest chanted.
Indhu closed her eyes.
Let him write well.
Let him be calm.
Let him come home happy.
She felt the weight of the morning hug again his arms tight around her waist, the hard press of him against her belly for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty. She felt it now, standing in front of God, a soft ache between her legs at the memory.
Wrong. So wrong.
But so real.
They finished darshan, took prasad sweet pongal in small leaf cups and found a quiet spot on the stone floor near a pillar, backs against cool granite, legs stretched out.
For a while they just sat, watching devotees come and go, the bell ringing softly in the background.
Varsha broke the silence. “You're worrying too much, Indhu. I can see it on your face.”
Indhu sighed, eyes on her hands. “I can't help it. I keep thinking… maybe I'm the reason he failed last time. The shopping, the clothes, all that time we spent… maybe I distracted him.”
Varsha studied her friend the beautiful, worried face, the loose hair catching the light, the saree clinging softly to her curves. Inside, Varsha's mind raced.
He confessed it's you.
He's in love with you.
And you… you're scared because you feel it too.
She wanted to tell her. Wanted to push, to see what would happen if the truth was out. But something held her back this was theirs to discover.
Instead she said gently, “At his age… it's common, Indhu. Hormones. Growing up. Boys get attracted to women close to them. Teachers, aunts… even mothers sometimes. Especially when the mother looks like you stunning, young, taking care of everything. It's natural. Don't take it wrong.”
Indhu's breath caught.
The morning hug flashed again his hardness against her, unmistakable.
He felt something.
And I felt it too.
Her pussy gave a slow, guilty throb. She pressed her thighs together under the saree, heat spreading.
“But… it feels bad,” she whispered. “He's my son.”
Varsha smiled softly. “Feeling isn't wrong. Acting is different. He's a good boy. He'll control it. And you… you're doing everything right.”
Indhu nodded, but the questions circled.
Why does his look make me wet?
Why do I crave his compliments, his touch?
Why does the thought of him with Anu hurt so much?
They sat a little longer, then walked back to Varsha's shop. Indhu left for home soon after, the temple peace settling over her like a thin blanket comforting, but not quite enough to cover the fire underneath.
She reached home, the quiet wrapping around her again.
Karthik was writing his exam.
And she was left with her thoughts love, pride, guilt, and the slow, undeniable craving that grew every day.
Indhu alone in the empty house, the weight of Varsha's words and her own forbidden feelings pressing down, waiting for Karthik to come home.
-----------------------
Indhu spent the morning after the temple visit in a quiet haze cleaning the already clean house, folding laundry that didn't need folding, anything to keep her hands busy while her mind circled the same thoughts.
Karthik in the exam hall, pen scratching paper.
Karthik coming home with good news.
Karthik's arms around her this morning, the hard press of him against her belly, the way her pussy had throbbed in answer.
She pushed the last thought down, hard.
Lunch was simple leftover chicken curry and rice eaten alone at the table. The house felt too big without the kids. She washed the plates, changed into a comfortable cotton nightie, and lay down for the usual afternoon nap, hoping sleep would quiet the storm inside her.
Sleep came quick, deep and dreamless.
She woke to the sharp knock at the door three impatient raps.
Her heart leaped. Karthik? Early? Good news?
She rushed to the door, barefoot, nightie clinging from the heat, hair loose and messy from sleep.
She opened it with a smile already forming.
Rajan stood there, laptop bag on shoulder, office shirt wrinkled from the train.
The smile died on her face.
He noticed instantly. His eyes narrowed.
“What? Smile gone the moment you see me?” His voice was low, edged with anger. “Don't you want your husband home?”
Indhu's stomach dropped. “Nothing like that,” she said quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She turned to the kitchen, busying herself with tea milk on the stove, ginger crushed, elaichi added. Anything to avoid his eyes.
Rajan dropped his bag in the hall and followed her.
She felt him behind her before he touched his presence heavy, familiar, unwanted.
Then his arms came around her from behind, hands sliding over her stomach, pulling her back against him. His breath hot on her neck, the faint smell of train sweat and whisky.
Indhu jerked like she'd been burned, shoving his hands away hard.
“Don't!”
Rajan stepped back, furious. “What the hell? I'm your husband! I can't even hug you now?”
She turned, heart pounding, nightie twisted from sleep, the fabric clinging to her breasts and hips in a way she suddenly hated.
“Even if you're my husband,” she said, voice shaking but firm, “you can't touch me without my consent.”
Rajan laughed, bitter and loud. “Consent? All these movie dialogues you're learning? This is not some film, Indhu. This is reality. I'm your husband I have rights.”
He stepped closer, eyes dropping to her body the way the nightie had ridden up slightly from sleep, showing the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her ass. The fabric was thin, worn from years, and it outlined everything.
He softened his voice, but his eyes were hungry. “How can I even stay angry? Look at you getting sexier every day. These hips…” His gaze lingered. “I can't control myself anymore.”
Indhu's skin crawled. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hardening nipples from the cool air and his stare.
“Don't sweet-talk me,” she said quietly. “We agreed no touching until I say so.”
Rajan exhaled, frustrated. “I agreed. But you're making it impossible. Day by day you look like this beauty increasing, body like…” He gestured, words failing. “There are pills now, you know. For performance. So you won't be disappointed like before.”
Indhu looked at him, disgust twisting her stomach. The old failures in bed, the insecurity that had turned into suspicion and fights.
She had learned one thing from years of arguments: saying no made him explode. Postponing cooled him down.
“I'll… think about it,” she said carefully. “Right now my mind is only on Karthik. His exams. Getting him into medical college.”
Rajan paused, thinking.
At least not a flat no.
And the boy did fail… she's worried.
He nodded, almost pleased. “Fine. Focus on him. I understand.”
He gave her one last long look eyes tracing her hips, her breasts, the messy hair that made her look freshly fucked and walked to the hall.
Indhu stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the counter, body shaking with anger and relief.
Indhu alone with her thoughts, the unwanted touch still burning on her skin, the promise of “thinking about it” hanging heavy, and the quiet knowledge that her heart and body belonged to someone else entirely.
Indhu finished stirring the tea, the steam rising in lazy curls from the steel glass. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with the unsaid words from their argument. She poured the hot liquid carefully, added the right amount of sugar two spoons for him, just how he liked it and carried it to the hall.
Rajan was sitting on the sofa, legs spread wide, scrolling his phone. He didn't look up when she approached.
"Tea," she said quietly, holding out the glass.
He took it without a word, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. The touch made her skin crawl. She pulled back fast, wiping her hand on her nightie like it was dirty.
He sipped, eyes still on the screen, and she turned away, walking back to the kitchen. The door to the bedroom was open; she heard him shift on the sofa, but she didn't look back.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter for a moment, taking a deep breath. The stove was still warm from lunch, the smell of chicken masala lingering in the air. She started dinner prep on autopilot washing rice, chopping onions, her knife moving steady but her mind racing.
Why did I push him away so hard?
It's Rajan. My husband. The man who tied the thaali around my neck. He has rights, doesn't he?
But the thought of his arms around her, his breath on her neck, made her stomach twist with disgust. It wasn't like that before not always. There were times in the early years, when she was young and scared, when his touch had been the only thing she knew. But now? Now it felt wrong. Invasive. Like a stranger grabbing what wasn't his.
Like I belong to someone else.
The thought came unbidden, and her heart skipped. Belong to who? Rajan is my husband. The father of my children.
But the image of Karthik's hug from this morning flooded her mind the way his arms had wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his cheek against her neck, the hard line of his body pressed to hers for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty, nipples hardening against her bra. She had felt alive. Wanted. Safe.
With Rajan, it was different. Hateful. Like cheating.
Cheating? On who? On Karthik?
The idea was insane. Wrong. Her son. Her baby boy. But the feeling was there, deep and undeniable. Her heart belonged to him the way he looked at her, the way he fought for her, the way he made her feel seen. And her body… God, her body reacted to him in ways it never had to Rajan. Even now, thinking of Karthik's arms, her pussy clenched, a fresh wave of wetness soaking her panties. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the ache build, nipples tightening against the old nightie.
This is sin. He's my son. Born from me. I carried him inside.
But why does it feel right? Why does Rajan's touch feel like betrayal?
She shook her head, tears stinging. I can't admit this. Can't accept it. Can't embrace it. Can't deny it either.
She started chopping the vegetables harder, the knife thumping against the board. Dinner would be chicken fry tonight simple, spicy, the way the kids liked. But her mind wouldn't stop.
Rajan had asked: What will change your mind? To like me again?
She had said she'd think about it. But how long could she postpone? Days? Weeks? Months?
The thought of sex with him again his body on hers, his breath heavy, his hands grabbing made her skin crawl. It felt like cheating. Cheating on Karthik. Why? Why did guilt add to every touch from her own husband?
Her pussy throbbed at the wrongness of it all. She imagined Karthik's hands instead gentle, loving, knowing every inch of her. Her nipples hardened painfully, breasts heavy and sensitive. She wanted to touch herself, right there in the kitchen, but the guilt stopped her cold.
I can't understand this. I can't feel like this.
But I do.
In the bedroom, Rajan lay on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan whirring slow.
How to get her back?
He had made mistakes big ones. The abuse, the slaps, the accusations about her character when she was innocent. The false claims that she was seeing other men, just because she was beautiful and he was insecure. He had beaten her in the early years, left bruises that faded but scars that didn't. He had called her names, made her cry, turned their marriage into a prison.
But that was past. Years ago. He had stopped. Mostly.
Now she was even more beautiful glowing, sexier, like she was blooming late. Her hips swayed more when she walked, her breasts fuller under those new clothes, her ass round and tempting in the leggings she wore when he wasn't around. He knew about the shopping. Knew about the changes. And it drove him mad.
I was lucky to have her. Young, beautiful, village girl. Everyone in office envies me. “Rajan sir, your wife is a lottery,” they say. Behind my back, they call me the lucky bastard.
But now? Now he couldn't touch her. Couldn't enjoy what was his.
The astrologer's words from twenty years ago echoed: “Issue with her horoscope. Marrying her won't lead to happy life.”
He had ignored it. Married her anyway. Now look.
Remediation? Pariharam? He could find that old astrologer. Or a new one. Do pujas, wear gems, whatever it took to fix this curse.
Because he wanted her back. Wanted her under him again, moaning, legs wrapped around him. Wanted to bury his face in those full breasts, grab that round ass, slide into her wet pussy and make her forget everything but him.
He shifted on the bed, cock stirring under the lungi.
Soon.
He would fix this.
Indhu finished chopping the onions and garlic for the chicken fry, tears from the onions mixing with her own. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the sting grounding her.
Rajan's words replayed: “Pills for performance. You won't be disappointed.”
Disgust twisted her gut. The idea of him inside her again rough, quick, over in minutes made her pussy dry up like a desert. No warmth. No love. Just duty.
But with Karthik… God, just thinking of his hug this morning his strong arms around her waist, his cheek against her neck, the faint press of his hardness against her belly made her wet all over again. Her pussy throbbed now, nipples hardening under the old nightie, breasts feeling heavy and sensitive.
Why? Why him? My son.
Social rules screamed no. Moral voice inside her whispered sin. But her heart didn't care. Her body didn't listen.
She imagined it Karthik's hands on her breasts, gentle, exploring, his mouth on her nipples, sucking slow. His cock hard from this morning sliding between her thighs, filling her, making her moan.
Her hand slipped under the nightie without thinking, fingers brushing her pussy lips wet, swollen, aching. She circled her clit once, twice, breath catching.
Then stopped.
No. Wrong.
He's my son.
But the craving stayed, a fire she couldn't put out.
Rajan lay longer, mind turning.
How to claim her?
Sweet talk? Gifts? The pills?
She was sexier now breasts fuller, ass rounder, hips swaying like an invitation. He got hard just thinking of her in those new clothes she hid from him.
The astrologer was right. A curse.
He would find him. Do the pariharam. Break it.
Then she would be his again. Under him, legs spread, pussy wet and ready, moaning his name.
He adjusted his lungi, cock half-hard.
Soon.
------
Indhu was in the kitchen, the chicken fry already done, mutton curry simmering on low flame, rice cooker clicking to “keep warm.” The house smelled rich and spicy, but her appetite was gone.
She glanced at the clock six-fifteen.
Karthik should have been home by now. Exam finished at four. Usually he came straight, dropped his bag, hugged her, told her everything how the paper was, which questions he nailed, which ones tricked him.
Today nothing.
She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and picked up her phone.
Dialled his number.
It rang. And rang.
On the last ring, someone picked up.
“Hello? Aunty?” Anu's voice bright, familiar, a little breathless.
Indhu's heart sank a little. “Anu mol? Where's Karthik?”
“He's here at my place, aunty. Came to check answers together. Biology paper he thinks he did really well! Don't worry.”
Indhu forced her voice steady. “Put him on the phone, mol.”
“He's in the other room with my notes. We're studying for tomorrow's exam too. He said he'll come home after nine, okay? I'll send him safely.”
The call ended before Indhu could protest.
She stood frozen, phone still at her ear, the beep of the disconnected line loud in the quiet kitchen.
After nine.
At Anu's house.
Her chest tightened, a sharp, sudden pain.
He didn't call me.
He didn't come home.
He went to her.
Images flooded her mind Karthik and Anu at a study table, heads close, laughing over answers. Anu's hand brushing his when passing a book. Anu's eyes on him the way they always were full of love she had carried for years.
Anu was perfect for him. Same age. Smart always first rank. Good family. Beautiful in that young, fresh way. She loved him openly, had proposed, waited patiently.
Karthik needed her. She pushed him to study, believed in his dreams medical college, together.
Indhu's stomach twisted harder.
Why does this hurt so much?
He's eighteen. Anu is right for him pretty, clever, from a good home. She'll keep him on track.
I should be happy.
Relieved.
But the jealousy was a living thing hot, ugly, clawing at her insides.
He's mine.
My boy. My world.
The thought was immediate, possessive, shocking in its intensity.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.
He's not yours like that. He's your son.
Let him go. Let him love a girl his age.
That's right. That's normal.
But the pain didn't listen.
She imagined them together Anu's hand on his arm, her laugh when he said something funny, the way she looked at him like he was everything.
Indhu's pussy gave an involuntary clench, but it was different this time mixed with hurt, not desire.
She leaned against the counter, eyes stinging.
I'm jealous.
Of a nineteen-year-old girl.
Because she has his time. His attention. His future.
The doorbell rang Leka.
Indhu wiped her eyes quickly, forced a smile.
Dinner was quiet.
Rajan ate in silence, scrolling work emails.
Leka asked, “Where's Karthik?”
“With Anu. Studying.”
Leka grinned. “Finally they became lovers, ha? Studying together every day now.”
Rajan looked up, eyebrow raised.
Indhu kept her voice even. “Just studying.”
Rajan grunted. “Anu is good girl. Top rank. Big family. Tell him to accept her. She'll pull him up.”
Leka nodded sadly. “Boys always get choices. Girls don't.”
The words hit Indhu like stones.
She remembered her own marriage sixteen, father gone, mother and brother forcing her into Rajan's house because they needed the alliance. Her brother married his love later. She got duty. Pain. A life she never chose.
They finished eating.
Rajan went to watch TV.
Leka helped clean, then disappeared to her phone.
Karthik came home after nine-thirty quiet “I'm tired, Amma,” straight to bed, no hug, no story about the exam.
He lay on the far edge, back turned.
Indhu changed into her nightie, climbed in beside him.
Leka was already asleep on the other side.
The bed felt huge and cold.
Indhu lay awake, eyes open in the dark.
Her heart was a storm.
Jealousy.
Love.
Guilt.
Fear.
He's growing up.
He needs a girl like Anu.
Not… me.
But the thought of losing him to studies, to Anu, to life felt like dying.
She turned toward his back, hand hovering, wanting to touch his shoulder, pull him close.
She didn't.
The night stretched long, her heart not sleeping, questions circling without answers.
Indhu in the dark, aching with love she couldn't name, jealousy she couldn't justify, and the slow, terrifying realization that her world was shifting under her feet.
The morning of the first public exam arrived cold and clear, the kind of January day when the Chennai sun felt gentle instead of punishing.
Karthik woke early, nerves jangling. He had studied until two a.m., the books still open on his desk like soldiers waiting for battle. He showered fast, dressed in his college uniform white shirt pressed the night before by Indhu's careful hands, navy pants, tie knotted with shaking fingers.
He stood in front of the small mirror in the bathroom, staring at himself.
Eighteen.
Last year of college.
One chance to fix everything.
He thought of the marks sheet hidden in his drawer.
He thought of Rajan's slap.
He thought of Amma's tears.
And he thought of her always her.
He walked out to the kitchen where Indhu was packing his exam kit hall ticket, pens, water bottle, a small banana for luck. She wore a simple cream saree today, hair tied in a loose bun, a thin line of kajal making her eyes look deeper. She looked beautiful, and the sight of her made his chest ache with love and guilt and something darker he still couldn't name.
Leka was already at the table, eating toast, scrolling her phone.
Karthik stopped in front of Indhu, palms pressed together in the traditional gesture.
“Amma… blessing.”
He bent to touch her feet.
Indhu's heart cracked open.
She caught his shoulders before he could bend fully, pulled him up, and wrapped her arms around him tight chest to chest, her breasts soft against his college shirt, her cheek pressed to his. She kissed one cheek, then the other slow, warm, lingering kisses full of every prayer she had whispered for him these months.
“You'll do wonderfully, kanna,” she whispered against his skin. “This exam is yours. I'm so proud of you already.”
Her scent jasmine, coffee, clean cotton filled his lungs. His arms tightened around her waist without thinking, pulling her closer for one endless second. He felt her body against his the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip under his palm and heat rushed straight to his cock, thickening it instantly against his pants.
Guilt slammed in right behind it.
This is Amma. Blessing me. And I'm getting hard.
What kind of son am I?
He pulled back fast, face burning, eyes on the floor.
Leka watched from the table, toast forgotten, eyes wide.
She had never seen them like this so close, so long, kisses that felt… different. Pure family love, she told herself. But jealousy stabbed sharp and sudden.
Why does he get all that? Why is he special?
She stood up, marched over, and wedged herself between them.
“Amma! Me too!” she demanded, arms out.
Indhu laughed, surprised, and hugged her tight, kissing both cheeks. “Of course, mol. Good luck with your test today.”
But Leka wasn't satisfied. She looked at Karthik triumphantly.
Indhu playfully swatted both of them. “Enough, you two! Always competing. Karthik will be man of the house one day he's special.”
She turned to him, cupped his burning cheek, and pressed one more quick kiss there. “Go win, kanna.”
Karthik's cock throbbed harder at the words man of the house. The taboo weight of it made him dizzy.
Leka pouted but grabbed her bag. “Fine. I'm leaving.”
Indhu walked them both to the door, waving until Leka's auto disappeared.
Then she turned to Karthik.
He stepped close again, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her into one last hug tighter this time, face buried in her neck.
“This exam is for you, Amma,” he whispered against her skin, voice rough with everything he couldn't say.
Her arms tightened around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair. She felt the hard line of him against her belly again just for a second and her pussy clenched, wet heat blooming instantly.
Guilt flooded her.
He's going for his exam. Pure moment. And my body…
Why can't I control this?
She kissed his cheek once more soft, lingering. “I know, kanna. I'm with you.”
He pulled back, eyes dark and shining, and left quietly, bag on shoulder, the weight of her love and his promise carrying him out the door.
Indhu stood in the kitchen long after he left, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat of her heart.
Pride fierce, overwhelming.
He's doing this for me.
Happiness warm, glowing.
My boy is growing into the man I always dreamed.
Worry sharp, maternal.
Please let him win. Please let him be happy.
And underneath it all, the taboo pulse she couldn't silence:
The way his body felt against mine.
The way he looked at me.
The way I want more.
She stood there in the quiet house, saree pallu slipping from her shoulder, cheeks flushed, pussy still throbbing softly from the hug.
The day stretched ahead empty, waiting.
And in her heart, love and guilt and longing twisted tighter than ever.
The echo of his hug still warm on her skin, the forbidden questions circling without answers.
------------------
The house felt too quiet after Karthik left.
Indhu stood in the kitchen a long time, the exam kit still on the table, his coffee glass half-empty. Pride and worry warred inside her pride that he was fighting for a better future, worry that something deeper was still hurting him.
She needed peace.
She needed prayer.
She picked up her phone and called Varsha.
“Varsha… I'm going to the Murugan temple nearby. For Karthik's exam. Will you come?”
Varsha's voice was warm. “Of course, da. Give me ten minutes.”
They met at the temple gate twenty minutes later. Indhu in a simple green saree, hair tied back, small bindi on her forehead. Varsha in a bright yellow salwar, dupatta dbangd loosely.
The temple was small but peaceful morning aarti just finished, the air thick with incense and vibhuti. They bought archana tickets, stood in the short queue, hands pressed together as the priest chanted.
Indhu closed her eyes.
Let him write well.
Let him be calm.
Let him come home happy.
She felt the weight of the morning hug again his arms tight around her waist, the hard press of him against her belly for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty. She felt it now, standing in front of God, a soft ache between her legs at the memory.
Wrong. So wrong.
But so real.
They finished darshan, took prasad sweet pongal in small leaf cups and found a quiet spot on the stone floor near a pillar, backs against cool granite, legs stretched out.
For a while they just sat, watching devotees come and go, the bell ringing softly in the background.
Varsha broke the silence. “You're worrying too much, Indhu. I can see it on your face.”
Indhu sighed, eyes on her hands. “I can't help it. I keep thinking… maybe I'm the reason he failed last time. The shopping, the clothes, all that time we spent… maybe I distracted him.”
Varsha studied her friend the beautiful, worried face, the loose hair catching the light, the saree clinging softly to her curves. Inside, Varsha's mind raced.
He confessed it's you.
He's in love with you.
And you… you're scared because you feel it too.
She wanted to tell her. Wanted to push, to see what would happen if the truth was out. But something held her back this was theirs to discover.
Instead she said gently, “At his age… it's common, Indhu. Hormones. Growing up. Boys get attracted to women close to them. Teachers, aunts… even mothers sometimes. Especially when the mother looks like you stunning, young, taking care of everything. It's natural. Don't take it wrong.”
Indhu's breath caught.
The morning hug flashed again his hardness against her, unmistakable.
He felt something.
And I felt it too.
Her pussy gave a slow, guilty throb. She pressed her thighs together under the saree, heat spreading.
“But… it feels bad,” she whispered. “He's my son.”
Varsha smiled softly. “Feeling isn't wrong. Acting is different. He's a good boy. He'll control it. And you… you're doing everything right.”
Indhu nodded, but the questions circled.
Why does his look make me wet?
Why do I crave his compliments, his touch?
Why does the thought of him with Anu hurt so much?
They sat a little longer, then walked back to Varsha's shop. Indhu left for home soon after, the temple peace settling over her like a thin blanket comforting, but not quite enough to cover the fire underneath.
She reached home, the quiet wrapping around her again.
Karthik was writing his exam.
And she was left with her thoughts love, pride, guilt, and the slow, undeniable craving that grew every day.
Indhu alone in the empty house, the weight of Varsha's words and her own forbidden feelings pressing down, waiting for Karthik to come home.
-----------------------
Indhu spent the morning after the temple visit in a quiet haze cleaning the already clean house, folding laundry that didn't need folding, anything to keep her hands busy while her mind circled the same thoughts.
Karthik in the exam hall, pen scratching paper.
Karthik coming home with good news.
Karthik's arms around her this morning, the hard press of him against her belly, the way her pussy had throbbed in answer.
She pushed the last thought down, hard.
Lunch was simple leftover chicken curry and rice eaten alone at the table. The house felt too big without the kids. She washed the plates, changed into a comfortable cotton nightie, and lay down for the usual afternoon nap, hoping sleep would quiet the storm inside her.
Sleep came quick, deep and dreamless.
She woke to the sharp knock at the door three impatient raps.
Her heart leaped. Karthik? Early? Good news?
She rushed to the door, barefoot, nightie clinging from the heat, hair loose and messy from sleep.
She opened it with a smile already forming.
Rajan stood there, laptop bag on shoulder, office shirt wrinkled from the train.
The smile died on her face.
He noticed instantly. His eyes narrowed.
“What? Smile gone the moment you see me?” His voice was low, edged with anger. “Don't you want your husband home?”
Indhu's stomach dropped. “Nothing like that,” she said quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She turned to the kitchen, busying herself with tea milk on the stove, ginger crushed, elaichi added. Anything to avoid his eyes.
Rajan dropped his bag in the hall and followed her.
She felt him behind her before he touched his presence heavy, familiar, unwanted.
Then his arms came around her from behind, hands sliding over her stomach, pulling her back against him. His breath hot on her neck, the faint smell of train sweat and whisky.
Indhu jerked like she'd been burned, shoving his hands away hard.
“Don't!”
Rajan stepped back, furious. “What the hell? I'm your husband! I can't even hug you now?”
She turned, heart pounding, nightie twisted from sleep, the fabric clinging to her breasts and hips in a way she suddenly hated.
“Even if you're my husband,” she said, voice shaking but firm, “you can't touch me without my consent.”
Rajan laughed, bitter and loud. “Consent? All these movie dialogues you're learning? This is not some film, Indhu. This is reality. I'm your husband I have rights.”
He stepped closer, eyes dropping to her body the way the nightie had ridden up slightly from sleep, showing the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her ass. The fabric was thin, worn from years, and it outlined everything.
He softened his voice, but his eyes were hungry. “How can I even stay angry? Look at you getting sexier every day. These hips…” His gaze lingered. “I can't control myself anymore.”
Indhu's skin crawled. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hardening nipples from the cool air and his stare.
“Don't sweet-talk me,” she said quietly. “We agreed no touching until I say so.”
Rajan exhaled, frustrated. “I agreed. But you're making it impossible. Day by day you look like this beauty increasing, body like…” He gestured, words failing. “There are pills now, you know. For performance. So you won't be disappointed like before.”
Indhu looked at him, disgust twisting her stomach. The old failures in bed, the insecurity that had turned into suspicion and fights.
She had learned one thing from years of arguments: saying no made him explode. Postponing cooled him down.
“I'll… think about it,” she said carefully. “Right now my mind is only on Karthik. His exams. Getting him into medical college.”
Rajan paused, thinking.
At least not a flat no.
And the boy did fail… she's worried.
He nodded, almost pleased. “Fine. Focus on him. I understand.”
He gave her one last long look eyes tracing her hips, her breasts, the messy hair that made her look freshly fucked and walked to the hall.
Indhu stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the counter, body shaking with anger and relief.
Indhu alone with her thoughts, the unwanted touch still burning on her skin, the promise of “thinking about it” hanging heavy, and the quiet knowledge that her heart and body belonged to someone else entirely.
Indhu finished stirring the tea, the steam rising in lazy curls from the steel glass. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with the unsaid words from their argument. She poured the hot liquid carefully, added the right amount of sugar two spoons for him, just how he liked it and carried it to the hall.
Rajan was sitting on the sofa, legs spread wide, scrolling his phone. He didn't look up when she approached.
"Tea," she said quietly, holding out the glass.
He took it without a word, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. The touch made her skin crawl. She pulled back fast, wiping her hand on her nightie like it was dirty.
He sipped, eyes still on the screen, and she turned away, walking back to the kitchen. The door to the bedroom was open; she heard him shift on the sofa, but she didn't look back.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter for a moment, taking a deep breath. The stove was still warm from lunch, the smell of chicken masala lingering in the air. She started dinner prep on autopilot washing rice, chopping onions, her knife moving steady but her mind racing.
Why did I push him away so hard?
It's Rajan. My husband. The man who tied the thaali around my neck. He has rights, doesn't he?
But the thought of his arms around her, his breath on her neck, made her stomach twist with disgust. It wasn't like that before not always. There were times in the early years, when she was young and scared, when his touch had been the only thing she knew. But now? Now it felt wrong. Invasive. Like a stranger grabbing what wasn't his.
Like I belong to someone else.
The thought came unbidden, and her heart skipped. Belong to who? Rajan is my husband. The father of my children.
But the image of Karthik's hug from this morning flooded her mind the way his arms had wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his cheek against her neck, the hard line of his body pressed to hers for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty, nipples hardening against her bra. She had felt alive. Wanted. Safe.
With Rajan, it was different. Hateful. Like cheating.
Cheating? On who? On Karthik?
The idea was insane. Wrong. Her son. Her baby boy. But the feeling was there, deep and undeniable. Her heart belonged to him the way he looked at her, the way he fought for her, the way he made her feel seen. And her body… God, her body reacted to him in ways it never had to Rajan. Even now, thinking of Karthik's arms, her pussy clenched, a fresh wave of wetness soaking her panties. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the ache build, nipples tightening against the old nightie.
This is sin. He's my son. Born from me. I carried him inside.
But why does it feel right? Why does Rajan's touch feel like betrayal?
She shook her head, tears stinging. I can't admit this. Can't accept it. Can't embrace it. Can't deny it either.
She started chopping the vegetables harder, the knife thumping against the board. Dinner would be chicken fry tonight simple, spicy, the way the kids liked. But her mind wouldn't stop.
Rajan had asked: What will change your mind? To like me again?
She had said she'd think about it. But how long could she postpone? Days? Weeks? Months?
The thought of sex with him again his body on hers, his breath heavy, his hands grabbing made her skin crawl. It felt like cheating. Cheating on Karthik. Why? Why did guilt add to every touch from her own husband?
Her pussy throbbed at the wrongness of it all. She imagined Karthik's hands instead gentle, loving, knowing every inch of her. Her nipples hardened painfully, breasts heavy and sensitive. She wanted to touch herself, right there in the kitchen, but the guilt stopped her cold.
I can't understand this. I can't feel like this.
But I do.
In the bedroom, Rajan lay on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan whirring slow.
How to get her back?
He had made mistakes big ones. The abuse, the slaps, the accusations about her character when she was innocent. The false claims that she was seeing other men, just because she was beautiful and he was insecure. He had beaten her in the early years, left bruises that faded but scars that didn't. He had called her names, made her cry, turned their marriage into a prison.
But that was past. Years ago. He had stopped. Mostly.
Now she was even more beautiful glowing, sexier, like she was blooming late. Her hips swayed more when she walked, her breasts fuller under those new clothes, her ass round and tempting in the leggings she wore when he wasn't around. He knew about the shopping. Knew about the changes. And it drove him mad.
I was lucky to have her. Young, beautiful, village girl. Everyone in office envies me. “Rajan sir, your wife is a lottery,” they say. Behind my back, they call me the lucky bastard.
But now? Now he couldn't touch her. Couldn't enjoy what was his.
The astrologer's words from twenty years ago echoed: “Issue with her horoscope. Marrying her won't lead to happy life.”
He had ignored it. Married her anyway. Now look.
Remediation? Pariharam? He could find that old astrologer. Or a new one. Do pujas, wear gems, whatever it took to fix this curse.
Because he wanted her back. Wanted her under him again, moaning, legs wrapped around him. Wanted to bury his face in those full breasts, grab that round ass, slide into her wet pussy and make her forget everything but him.
He shifted on the bed, cock stirring under the lungi.
Soon.
He would fix this.
Indhu finished chopping the onions and garlic for the chicken fry, tears from the onions mixing with her own. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the sting grounding her.
Rajan's words replayed: “Pills for performance. You won't be disappointed.”
Disgust twisted her gut. The idea of him inside her again rough, quick, over in minutes made her pussy dry up like a desert. No warmth. No love. Just duty.
But with Karthik… God, just thinking of his hug this morning his strong arms around her waist, his cheek against her neck, the faint press of his hardness against her belly made her wet all over again. Her pussy throbbed now, nipples hardening under the old nightie, breasts feeling heavy and sensitive.
Why? Why him? My son.
Social rules screamed no. Moral voice inside her whispered sin. But her heart didn't care. Her body didn't listen.
She imagined it Karthik's hands on her breasts, gentle, exploring, his mouth on her nipples, sucking slow. His cock hard from this morning sliding between her thighs, filling her, making her moan.
Her hand slipped under the nightie without thinking, fingers brushing her pussy lips wet, swollen, aching. She circled her clit once, twice, breath catching.
Then stopped.
No. Wrong.
He's my son.
But the craving stayed, a fire she couldn't put out.
Rajan lay longer, mind turning.
How to claim her?
Sweet talk? Gifts? The pills?
She was sexier now breasts fuller, ass rounder, hips swaying like an invitation. He got hard just thinking of her in those new clothes she hid from him.
The astrologer was right. A curse.
He would find him. Do the pariharam. Break it.
Then she would be his again. Under him, legs spread, pussy wet and ready, moaning his name.
He adjusted his lungi, cock half-hard.
Soon.
------
Indhu was in the kitchen, the chicken fry already done, mutton curry simmering on low flame, rice cooker clicking to “keep warm.” The house smelled rich and spicy, but her appetite was gone.
She glanced at the clock six-fifteen.
Karthik should have been home by now. Exam finished at four. Usually he came straight, dropped his bag, hugged her, told her everything how the paper was, which questions he nailed, which ones tricked him.
Today nothing.
She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and picked up her phone.
Dialled his number.
It rang. And rang.
On the last ring, someone picked up.
“Hello? Aunty?” Anu's voice bright, familiar, a little breathless.
Indhu's heart sank a little. “Anu mol? Where's Karthik?”
“He's here at my place, aunty. Came to check answers together. Biology paper he thinks he did really well! Don't worry.”
Indhu forced her voice steady. “Put him on the phone, mol.”
“He's in the other room with my notes. We're studying for tomorrow's exam too. He said he'll come home after nine, okay? I'll send him safely.”
The call ended before Indhu could protest.
She stood frozen, phone still at her ear, the beep of the disconnected line loud in the quiet kitchen.
After nine.
At Anu's house.
Her chest tightened, a sharp, sudden pain.
He didn't call me.
He didn't come home.
He went to her.
Images flooded her mind Karthik and Anu at a study table, heads close, laughing over answers. Anu's hand brushing his when passing a book. Anu's eyes on him the way they always were full of love she had carried for years.
Anu was perfect for him. Same age. Smart always first rank. Good family. Beautiful in that young, fresh way. She loved him openly, had proposed, waited patiently.
Karthik needed her. She pushed him to study, believed in his dreams medical college, together.
Indhu's stomach twisted harder.
Why does this hurt so much?
He's eighteen. Anu is right for him pretty, clever, from a good home. She'll keep him on track.
I should be happy.
Relieved.
But the jealousy was a living thing hot, ugly, clawing at her insides.
He's mine.
My boy. My world.
The thought was immediate, possessive, shocking in its intensity.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.
He's not yours like that. He's your son.
Let him go. Let him love a girl his age.
That's right. That's normal.
But the pain didn't listen.
She imagined them together Anu's hand on his arm, her laugh when he said something funny, the way she looked at him like he was everything.
Indhu's pussy gave an involuntary clench, but it was different this time mixed with hurt, not desire.
She leaned against the counter, eyes stinging.
I'm jealous.
Of a nineteen-year-old girl.
Because she has his time. His attention. His future.
The doorbell rang Leka.
Indhu wiped her eyes quickly, forced a smile.
Dinner was quiet.
Rajan ate in silence, scrolling work emails.
Leka asked, “Where's Karthik?”
“With Anu. Studying.”
Leka grinned. “Finally they became lovers, ha? Studying together every day now.”
Rajan looked up, eyebrow raised.
Indhu kept her voice even. “Just studying.”
Rajan grunted. “Anu is good girl. Top rank. Big family. Tell him to accept her. She'll pull him up.”
Leka nodded sadly. “Boys always get choices. Girls don't.”
The words hit Indhu like stones.
She remembered her own marriage sixteen, father gone, mother and brother forcing her into Rajan's house because they needed the alliance. Her brother married his love later. She got duty. Pain. A life she never chose.
They finished eating.
Rajan went to watch TV.
Leka helped clean, then disappeared to her phone.
Karthik came home after nine-thirty quiet “I'm tired, Amma,” straight to bed, no hug, no story about the exam.
He lay on the far edge, back turned.
Indhu changed into her nightie, climbed in beside him.
Leka was already asleep on the other side.
The bed felt huge and cold.
Indhu lay awake, eyes open in the dark.
Her heart was a storm.
Jealousy.
Love.
Guilt.
Fear.
He's growing up.
He needs a girl like Anu.
Not… me.
But the thought of losing him to studies, to Anu, to life felt like dying.
She turned toward his back, hand hovering, wanting to touch his shoulder, pull him close.
She didn't.
The night stretched long, her heart not sleeping, questions circling without answers.
Indhu in the dark, aching with love she couldn't name, jealousy she couldn't justify, and the slow, terrifying realization that her world was shifting under her feet.
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