divya

[కుమార్]

‎ Next day they reached the small railway station .

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‎The station was tiny — old platform with cracked tiles, one small waiting room, no crowd. Only few people here and there. No rush. Quiet.

‎ Just sound of birds and distant train whistle.

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‎Divya was glowing in yellow saree. Bright color on her fair skin.

‎Tight blouse hugging her full breasts. Pallu dbangd neatly but moving soft with wind. Hair in loose braid. Bindi red. Mangalsutra shining between cleavage.

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‎She looked beautiful, traditional, like village bride. Monu holding her hand, jumping excited.

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‎Train was late by fifteen minutes. Announcement crackled on speaker.

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‎Ranjith said, “Main book stall se kuch dekh ke aata hoon.”

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‎He went to small book stall on platform. Looked at newspapers and magazines.

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‎After five minutes he turned back. Saw Divya sitting on bench. Talking with Monu. Laughing soft. Explaining train window view. Monu pointing at birds.

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‎Then Ranjith eyes caught one man.

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‎Sixty years old. Standing little far on platform.

‎Holding small bucket — full of hot samosas. Samosa seller.

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‎Man was staring at Divya.

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‎Beard gray and rough.

‎ Beedi in mouth. Smoke coming slow.

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‎Lungi and shirt dirty — oil stains, sweat marks, torn at edges. Bare feet black with dust.

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‎Ranjith observed him.

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‎Other ladies on platform — two aunties with bags, one young girl with phone — but the old man not looking at them.

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‎Only at Divya.

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‎Eyes fixed. Hungry. Slow up-down look on her saree, her breasts, her hips.

‎ When she laughed and bent to tie Monu shoelace,

‎pallu slipped little — cleavage visible more — old man eyes widened.

‎ Beedi almost fell from mouth.

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‎Ranjith saw everything.

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‎He walked back to Divya slow.

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‎Divya saw him. Smiled innocent.

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‎“Train late hai. Monu ko samosa khilayein?”

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‎Ranjith looked at the old samosa seller. Then at Divya.

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