Adultery The Forbidden Relief – My Wife's Secret

[doodhwale_bhaiya]

Shopping to bahana tha
 
The previous evening, after Ravi had asked about her whereabouts and she’d said “shopping,” Simran had felt the lie settle like a small stone in her stomach. It wasn’t entirely false—she had picked up a few things earlier—but the real reason she’d left the house was this meeting. Preeti and Shikha had insisted she join them for lunch with Arjun, and after their call, Simran couldn’t say no. They hadn’t spelled it out, but she understood the unspoken need: they wanted a third person at the table, someone close but outside the marriage, to look at the plan and quietly confirm it wasn’t madness. A silent witness, a friend’s steady gaze saying this is okay. For some reason, they wanted to keep it between the women for now. So the oxymoron here is you are going to get fucked by a man to get pregnant and being discussed among your girlfriends and the one man who is going to plant the seed, but you want to keep it among women for now.
 
So, she’d dressed simply—soft white cotton maxi, light makeup, hair loose—and left the house. So, when Ravi called to ask where she was, she had to lie.
 
The rooftop cafe felt almost too normal for what they were about to discuss: white umbrellas fluttering in the breeze, clink of ice in tall glasses, waiters gliding past with trays of bruschetta and cold coffee. Four people at a corner table—three stunning women and one tall, quietly handsome man—laughing over small talk like any group of friends on a lazy afternoon. No one glancing over would suspect the real agenda.
 
Arjun arrived last, sliding into the empty chair with an easy smile. 
“Sorry, traffic was a nightmare. Mohali side is a parking lot today.”
 
Preeti waved it off, already sipping her iced latte. 
“You’re good. We were just roasting the weather. This heat is criminal.”
 
Shikha leaned back, fanning herself dramatically with the menu. 
“I’m one degree away from melting into this chair. Simran, how are you even surviving in that dress?”
 
Simran laughed, smoothing the soft white cotton over her thigh. 
“Layers of denial and extra ice in my drink. Works wonders.”
 
They ordered quickly—bruschetta platter, more cold coffees, a lime soda for Arjun—and let the conversation drift. Easy, light, the kind of chatter that makes strangers feel like old friends.
 
But the air had weight.
 
Preeti finally set her glass down, the playful mask slipping just enough. 
“Okay… enough foreplay. Arjun. Are you still locked in for the 3rd? The timing is what we are looking at. The window’s perfect.”
 
Arjun didn’t flinch. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice low but steady. 
“Yeah. I’ve blocked the whole week just in case. I’m good.”
 
Preeti nodded, relieved. 
“Perfect. I wanted to discuss a few things before we proceed, Arjun. You have agreed that if successful, you will never come forward for claiming to be the father here. It has to be a secret and it will be for the good of everyone. Especially the baby. Do you concur?”
 
“I do. I will stand by the words we agreed on. However, its something I want you guys also to promise to never speak of it again, since I also plan to have some plans of my own.”
 
Both Shikha and Preeti said in unison, “We wont”.
 
They looked at Simran, “I am not even here”.
 
“Any last questions? Things you want to clarify before we lock the date?”
 
Arjun glanced at each woman—Preeti’s calm confidence, Shikha’s quiet strength, Simran’s attentive silence—then spoke carefully. 
“A couple. Where are we doing this? Your place? Hotel? Somewhere else?”
 
Shikha answered without hesitation. 
“Our apartment. It’s private, familiar. Preeti will be there the entire time. No weird hotel vibes.”
 
Arjun nodded slowly. 
“Got it. And Shikha… level with me. Are you really comfortable with all of this? Me, the setup, the… mechanics? If there’s anything you want to change—how we do it, pace, position, whatever makes it less awkward for you—I need to hear it. This only works if you’re okay.”
 
Shikha met his eyes, unflinching. 
“I’m okay. We’ve talked this to death. I want to carry. That’s the goal. Everything else is just… logistics. Keep it simple, natural. Whatever gets us there.”
 
Preeti added, softer, “Arjun, please don’t drink at least two days before 3rd.”
 
Arjun exhaled, shoulders dropping a fraction. 
“Alright. That helps. I just needed to hear it straight from you. No pressure, no expectations beyond that one job. I’m here to help, not complicate.”
 
Simran, who’d been listening quietly, spoke up—gentle but clear. 
“You’ve all obviously thought this through. That’s what matters most. It shows.”
 
Arjun gave her a small, appreciative nod. 
“Thanks. Coming from someone not in the middle of it… means something.”
 
The absurdity of it all hovered just under the surface: a man calmly negotiating the terms of impregnating one woman while her wife sat beside her and their mutual friend listened like a silent referee. Yet in that open-air café, under the slow spin of ceiling fans, it somehow felt… almost reasonable.
 
The conversation had settled into a comfortable rhythm—small sips of cold coffee, the occasional laugh—when Simran leaned forward slightly, her voice light but curious.
 
“Arjun… Ravi mentioned he saw you here the other night. With your girlfriend. She looked nice from a distance. Do you two have plans for the future? And… is she on board with all this?”
 
Arjun’s easy smile faltered for half a second. He set his glass down carefully, fingers drumming once on the table before he answered.
 
“She doesn’t know about this plan,” he said quietly, eyes flicking between the three women. “And I never intend to tell her. Nothing serious has happened yet—but I do plan to marry her someday. Telling her something like this… it would be misunderstood. Complicated. She’d think it’s more than it is. Better to keep it separate.”
 
Simran nodded slowly, absorbing it. 
“I get that. It’s a lot to explain to someone outside this circle. It would anger her a lot.”
 
Before Arjun could respond, Simran’s gaze shifted past him. A woman in a navy blue kurti was approaching their table—pretty, mid-twenties, long hair in a loose braid, expression shifting from curious to confused to something sharper.
 
Simran murmured, “Speaking of anger… the girl behind you is coming this way. She doesn’t look happy.”
 
Arjun turned. His face drained of colour like someone had pulled a plug. 
“Ritika…”
 
Ritika stopped at the table, arms crossed. 
“Arjun. What are you doing here? You said you were going for a meeting. Who are they?”
 
Arjun opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. His face was pure panic—eyes wide, mouth working silently like a fish on land.
 
A few seconds passed, Arjun was drowning in the pause and Preeti was seeing their plan is going in a drain. This was the girlfriend Arjun was talking about.
 
Preeti jumped in smoothly, smile bright and professional, as if this was the most normal interruption in the world.
 
“Hello! I’m Preeti Aggarwal, gynaecologist. And this is my friend Simran Kaur. We’re starting a small NGO focused on support for unmarried mothers—financial planning, medical aid, legal guidance. Mr. Arjun here is helping us sort out liquidity and funding models. He’s been kind enough to give us some time today.”
 
Simran picked up the thread without missing a beat, voice calm and technical. 
“We’re looking at micro-grant structures right now—tiered disbursements based on trimester milestones, tied to verified medical check-ups. Arjun was just walking us through cash-flow projections for the first year. It’s a bit dry, but important.”
 
Ritika’s suspicious frown softened a fraction. She looked from Preeti’s confident smile to Simran’s earnest expression, then back to Arjun, who was still frozen. Shikha was looking for a chair for Ritika.
 
Preeti gestured to the empty chair. 
“Please, join us. We were just wrapping up the numbers. Would you like a cold coffee? Or something else?”
 
Arjun finally found his voice, though it came out a little hoarse. 
“Ritika… this is Ritika. My fiancé.”
 
He cleared his throat, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 
“Ritika, meet Preeti and Simran. They’re doing good work. And this is Shikha. Arjun bit his tongue. Why did he have to introduce Shikha separately.”
 
Ritika hesitated, then sat—still watching Arjun closely. 
“Fiancé,” she repeated, almost testing the word. “Nice to meet you.”
 
They ordered another round—cold coffee for Ritika, a fresh lime soda for the table. The conversation shifted to safer ground: NGO logistics, funding challenges, how hard it was to get donors for “unconventional” causes. Preeti and Simran kept it smooth—technical enough to sound legitimate, light enough to avoid suspicion.
 
After twenty minutes, Ritika softened a little more, even laughing at one of Preeti’s dry jokes about paperwork. But her eyes kept flicking to Arjun—questioning, not angry anymore, just… watchful.
 
Eventually, she stood. 
“I should get going. Nice meeting you all. Good luck with the NGO.”
 
Arjun stood too, kissing her cheek quickly. 
“I’ll call you later.”
 
Ritika nodded, gave a small wave, and left—heels clicking on the tiled floor.
 
The table exhaled collectively as soon as she was out of earshot.
 
Preeti leaned back. 
“That… was close.”
 
Shikha let out a shaky laugh. 
“Understatement of the year.”
 
Simran looked at Arjun, voice gentle. 
“You okay?”
 
Arjun rubbed his face with both hands. 
“Yeah. Just… didn’t expect her to show up. Thanks for the save.”
 
Preeti smiled wryly. 
“Anytime. Now… where were we?”