04-03-2026, 11:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-03-2026, 11:49 PM by heygiwriter. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
EPILOGUE TWO VERSIONS
Epilogue VERSION 1 - Slips a bit, Yet unbroken, Reconciled. Love Unshaken.
– Six Months Later (The Slip & The Moon)
Vikram stepped out of Swathi’s house in Bangalore a little after 11 p.m. — shirt untucked, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken before leaving, breathing still uneven. Krish had flown to Delhi that morning for a three-day supplier meeting. Swathi had texted him late afternoon: “Some old paperwork needs your signature. Come over?”
He had gone.
What started as signatures on a file ended with wine, then her hand sliding up his thigh, then her mouth on his neck. He hadn’t stopped. He had fucked her — hard, quiet, guilty — in the same bedroom she once shared with Krish. When it was over he had dressed quickly, muttered something about a late meeting, and left.
Now — sitting in his car outside — he dialed Mirnaa.
She answered on the second ring — voice soft, sleepy, warm.
“Hey… you okay? It’s late.”
Vikram swallowed — lied smoothly.
“Yeah… just wrapped a business meet in Bangalore. Got delayed. How’s Rithanya? What’re you doing?”
Mirnaa laughed quietly — the sound he loved most in the world.
“She’s asleep. I’m lying here… missing you. When are you coming home?”
“Soon,” he said — throat tight. “Very soon.”
A pause.
Then — her voice dropped, teasing but edged with something sharper.
“Don’t you know… I would punish you if you lied to me?”
He forced a chuckle.
“I didn’t lie, love.”
Another pause.
Just silence — long enough to make his stomach twist.
Then — softly:
“Good night, Vikram.”
She hung up.
The call ends.
The camera pulls back — slowly — from the cctv.
Mirnaa is lying naked on their bed moonlight spilling across her full breasts, nipples dark and beaded with milk. Bharath is already there head bowed between them mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking slow and deep. Warm milk flows onto his tongue sweet, intimate and he groans softly against her skin, hand cupping the other breast, thumb circling the wet tip until beads of milk drip down her ribs and pool on the sheet.
Mirnaa’s fingers are threaded through his hair guiding him — eyes half-closed, lips parted on a soft sigh.
She remembers — in that hazy, heated moment — how she knew.
Earlier that day — Vikram’s call had cut off abruptly, but not before she heard it: Vikram you just fucked me twice from morning you wanted another round? the faint rustle of fabric, a woman’s soft sigh, its swathi's voice. the unmistakable wet sound of lips parting, tongues meeting, a quiet moan swallowed by the line going dead. He had forgotten to end the call properly. The kiss had lasted three seconds too long.
That was all it took.
She had sat frozen Rithanya napping in the nursery — then picked up her phone again.
She called Bharath.
“I need you,” she said simply.
He arrived an hour before
Now — his mouth moves to the other breast sucking harder — milk flowing freely and Mirnaa arches soft moan escaping hips lifting toward him. He shifts settles between her thighs enters her in one slow, deep thrust. Missionary intimate — eyes locked. She wraps her legs around his waist heels digging into his lower back — urging him deeper.
He moves steady, hungry hands braced on either side of her head watching every flicker on her face. Milk leaks between them slick, warm smearing across their chests. She rakes her nails down his back cries muffled against his shoulder body clenching as she comes. He follows — burying deep — spilling inside her with a broken groan.
They stay tangled breathing hard until the aftershocks fade.
The next evening – Beach house verandah
They sit under the same shawl moon low and heavy. Rithanya sleeps inside.
No anger. No tears. No accusations.
Mirnaa speaks first — voice calm.
“I know where you were last day.”
Vikram looks at her — no denial left.
“I fucked Swathi,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Mirnaa nods once — slow.
“I know.”
She turns to him — eyes steady.
“Bharath was here yesterday afternoon. While you were in Bangalore.”
Vikram’s breath catches.
She continues — soft, honest.
“No silly excuses i did it for punishing you.. i called him. We talked. Then… we had sex.
Silence stretches — thick but not hostile.
Vikram exhales — shaky.
He looks down at the sand — toes digging in.
“Are we… done?”
Mirnaa reaches over — slips her hand into his.
“No,” she says softly. “We’re not done. We’re just… human.”
She leans her head on his shoulder.
“Love is still here,” she whispers. “It didn’t die because of one night. Or two. It just… got bruised. We can live with bruises.”
Vikram turns — cups her face — kisses her slowly, deeply — tasting salt and forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he says against her lips.
“I’m sorry too,” she echoes.
They sit like that — holding each other — watching the moon reflect on the water.
No grand promises. No dramatic vows.
Just quiet understanding.
That sex — outside — can happen.
But love — the real kind — stays home.
And theirs — scarred, stubborn, unbreakable — is still here.
Epilogue 2 – The Temptation & The Trust
(Six Months Later – Lighter, Rooted in Faith)
Vikram stood in Swathi’s living room — Bangalore — heart hammering.
Krish was in Delhi. Swathi had called him over “for old paperwork.” Wine had been poured. Conversation had turned soft. Her hand had rested on his thigh — lingered. She had leaned in — kissed him — slow, familiar. His hands had slid under her blouse — felt the warmth he once knew too well.
But at the last second — he froze. He got remainded of promises and warnings..
Mirnaa telling him i will punish you..
He pulled back.
“I can’t,” he said — voice low, steady. “I’m sorry.”
Swathi stared — eyes glistening — then nodded once.
“Go home,” she whispered. “To her.”
He left — drove straight back to Chennai — arrived just after midnight.
The house was dark except for the nightlight in Rithanya’s room.
He stepped inside — found Mirnaa in the rocking chair — feeding their six-month-old daughter. Rithanya suckled greedily — tiny fist curled around Mirnaa’s finger — eyes half-closed in bliss.
Mirnaa looked up — saw his face — and smiled softly.
“You’re back early.”
Vikram knelt in front of her — took her free hand — pressed it to his lips.
“I almost didn’t come back,” he confessed — voice raw. “Swathi… she tried. I went far. Too far. But I stopped. I couldn’t. Not anymore.”
Mirnaa looked at him — calm — no shock, no anger.
“I know,” she said simply.
Vikram blinked.
“You… know?”
She nodded — stroking Rithanya’s cheek.
“I trust you,” she said. “I always have.
Even when I pretended not to. I knew you wouldn’t break your promise. And you didn’t.”
Vikram’s throat closed — tears burning.
Mirnaa shifted Rithanya gently — laid her in the crib — then turned back to him.
She took his face in both hands — kissed him slow, deep — tasting of milk and forgiveness.
“I never doubted you,” she whispered against his lips. “Not once.”
They stood there — foreheads touching — breathing each other in.
Outside — the city hummed on.
Inside — Rithanya sighed in her sleep.
And their love — tested, tempted, but never broken — stood stronger than ever.
Epilogue VERSION 1 - Slips a bit, Yet unbroken, Reconciled. Love Unshaken.
– Six Months Later (The Slip & The Moon)
Vikram stepped out of Swathi’s house in Bangalore a little after 11 p.m. — shirt untucked, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken before leaving, breathing still uneven. Krish had flown to Delhi that morning for a three-day supplier meeting. Swathi had texted him late afternoon: “Some old paperwork needs your signature. Come over?”
He had gone.
What started as signatures on a file ended with wine, then her hand sliding up his thigh, then her mouth on his neck. He hadn’t stopped. He had fucked her — hard, quiet, guilty — in the same bedroom she once shared with Krish. When it was over he had dressed quickly, muttered something about a late meeting, and left.
Now — sitting in his car outside — he dialed Mirnaa.
She answered on the second ring — voice soft, sleepy, warm.
“Hey… you okay? It’s late.”
Vikram swallowed — lied smoothly.
“Yeah… just wrapped a business meet in Bangalore. Got delayed. How’s Rithanya? What’re you doing?”
Mirnaa laughed quietly — the sound he loved most in the world.
“She’s asleep. I’m lying here… missing you. When are you coming home?”
“Soon,” he said — throat tight. “Very soon.”
A pause.
Then — her voice dropped, teasing but edged with something sharper.
“Don’t you know… I would punish you if you lied to me?”
He forced a chuckle.
“I didn’t lie, love.”
Another pause.
Just silence — long enough to make his stomach twist.
Then — softly:
“Good night, Vikram.”
She hung up.
The call ends.
The camera pulls back — slowly — from the cctv.
Mirnaa is lying naked on their bed moonlight spilling across her full breasts, nipples dark and beaded with milk. Bharath is already there head bowed between them mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking slow and deep. Warm milk flows onto his tongue sweet, intimate and he groans softly against her skin, hand cupping the other breast, thumb circling the wet tip until beads of milk drip down her ribs and pool on the sheet.
Mirnaa’s fingers are threaded through his hair guiding him — eyes half-closed, lips parted on a soft sigh.
She remembers — in that hazy, heated moment — how she knew.
Earlier that day — Vikram’s call had cut off abruptly, but not before she heard it: Vikram you just fucked me twice from morning you wanted another round? the faint rustle of fabric, a woman’s soft sigh, its swathi's voice. the unmistakable wet sound of lips parting, tongues meeting, a quiet moan swallowed by the line going dead. He had forgotten to end the call properly. The kiss had lasted three seconds too long.
That was all it took.
She had sat frozen Rithanya napping in the nursery — then picked up her phone again.
She called Bharath.
“I need you,” she said simply.
He arrived an hour before
Now — his mouth moves to the other breast sucking harder — milk flowing freely and Mirnaa arches soft moan escaping hips lifting toward him. He shifts settles between her thighs enters her in one slow, deep thrust. Missionary intimate — eyes locked. She wraps her legs around his waist heels digging into his lower back — urging him deeper.
He moves steady, hungry hands braced on either side of her head watching every flicker on her face. Milk leaks between them slick, warm smearing across their chests. She rakes her nails down his back cries muffled against his shoulder body clenching as she comes. He follows — burying deep — spilling inside her with a broken groan.
They stay tangled breathing hard until the aftershocks fade.
The next evening – Beach house verandah
They sit under the same shawl moon low and heavy. Rithanya sleeps inside.
No anger. No tears. No accusations.
Mirnaa speaks first — voice calm.
“I know where you were last day.”
Vikram looks at her — no denial left.
“I fucked Swathi,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Mirnaa nods once — slow.
“I know.”
She turns to him — eyes steady.
“Bharath was here yesterday afternoon. While you were in Bangalore.”
Vikram’s breath catches.
She continues — soft, honest.
“No silly excuses i did it for punishing you.. i called him. We talked. Then… we had sex.
Silence stretches — thick but not hostile.
Vikram exhales — shaky.
He looks down at the sand — toes digging in.
“Are we… done?”
Mirnaa reaches over — slips her hand into his.
“No,” she says softly. “We’re not done. We’re just… human.”
She leans her head on his shoulder.
“Love is still here,” she whispers. “It didn’t die because of one night. Or two. It just… got bruised. We can live with bruises.”
Vikram turns — cups her face — kisses her slowly, deeply — tasting salt and forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he says against her lips.
“I’m sorry too,” she echoes.
They sit like that — holding each other — watching the moon reflect on the water.
No grand promises. No dramatic vows.
Just quiet understanding.
That sex — outside — can happen.
But love — the real kind — stays home.
And theirs — scarred, stubborn, unbreakable — is still here.
Epilogue 2 – The Temptation & The Trust
(Six Months Later – Lighter, Rooted in Faith)
Vikram stood in Swathi’s living room — Bangalore — heart hammering.
Krish was in Delhi. Swathi had called him over “for old paperwork.” Wine had been poured. Conversation had turned soft. Her hand had rested on his thigh — lingered. She had leaned in — kissed him — slow, familiar. His hands had slid under her blouse — felt the warmth he once knew too well.
But at the last second — he froze. He got remainded of promises and warnings..
Mirnaa telling him i will punish you..
He pulled back.
“I can’t,” he said — voice low, steady. “I’m sorry.”
Swathi stared — eyes glistening — then nodded once.
“Go home,” she whispered. “To her.”
He left — drove straight back to Chennai — arrived just after midnight.
The house was dark except for the nightlight in Rithanya’s room.
He stepped inside — found Mirnaa in the rocking chair — feeding their six-month-old daughter. Rithanya suckled greedily — tiny fist curled around Mirnaa’s finger — eyes half-closed in bliss.
Mirnaa looked up — saw his face — and smiled softly.
“You’re back early.”
Vikram knelt in front of her — took her free hand — pressed it to his lips.
“I almost didn’t come back,” he confessed — voice raw. “Swathi… she tried. I went far. Too far. But I stopped. I couldn’t. Not anymore.”
Mirnaa looked at him — calm — no shock, no anger.
“I know,” she said simply.
Vikram blinked.
“You… know?”
She nodded — stroking Rithanya’s cheek.
“I trust you,” she said. “I always have.
Even when I pretended not to. I knew you wouldn’t break your promise. And you didn’t.”
Vikram’s throat closed — tears burning.
Mirnaa shifted Rithanya gently — laid her in the crib — then turned back to him.
She took his face in both hands — kissed him slow, deep — tasting of milk and forgiveness.
“I never doubted you,” she whispered against his lips. “Not once.”
They stood there — foreheads touching — breathing each other in.
Outside — the city hummed on.
Inside — Rithanya sighed in her sleep.
And their love — tested, tempted, but never broken — stood stronger than ever.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)