6 hours ago
He showed us the drawing room first—all cream leather and glass surfaces, dominated by a wine bar with bottles arranged like soldiers. “Single malt collection,” Ravi uncle announced, running his fingers along the labels. Behind it, a home theatre system took up an entire wall, its screen dark and massive. Dad whistled low under his breath as Ravi uncle demonstrated the surround sound, the thump of bass vibrating through my soles.
Rohan’s bedroom was next—twice the size of mine, with a gaming console hooked to a monitor that curved like a cinema screen. His neatly made bed looked lost in the space. “You like it?” Rohan nudged me, grinning at my wide eyes. Then Ravi uncle’s room: king-sized bed, a wardrobe with mirrored doors reflecting our stunned faces. My fingers brushed a keypad by the doorframe, its red light blinking. “Security,” Ravi uncle said smoothly, intercepting Dad’s curious glance. “All rooms have them. For valuables.”
We settled into the drawing room’s massive sectional, sinking into leather softer than best silk cushions. Ravi uncle dimmed the lights with a remote, the home theatre screen flickering to life, he played some Hollywood action movie in a low volume . He handed Dad a tumbler of whiskey, ice clinking, then perched on the armrest beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched. Ma sat stiffly between me and Rohan, her sari pallu clutched in her lap as helicopters whirred across the screen.
"So, Bimalesh," Ravi Uncle began, leaning forward conspiratorially, the ice in his tumbler clinking. "The merchant navy life. Six months tossing on some rusty tub, eh?" He chuckled, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Tell me honestly—how do you manage it? The loneliness? The... separation?" His gaze flickered toward Ma.
Dad shifted, the leather sighing beneath him. "It’s... part of the job," he answered carefully, swirling the dark whiskey. "You learn to cope. Letters, phone calls when possible." He glanced at Ma, a silent understanding passing between them. "It’s difficult," he admitted quietly. "Missing birthdays, festivals... the everyday things."
Ravi Uncle nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze drifting deliberately from Dad to Ma. "And you, Debjani?" he asked, his voice softening unnaturally. He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, the diamond cufflink catching the chandelier light. "How is it for you? Running the household alone for half the year? Raising Ayan?" His eyes lingered on her face, intense, probing. "It must be... incredibly tough." The air thickened with his sudden, focused attention. Dad stiffened beside her.
Ma met his stare, a small, tight smile touching her lips. She smoothed her sari over her knees, a gesture both composed and defensive. "We manage, Ravi bhaiya," she replied, her voice calm but firm. "Bimalesh provides. Ayan is a good boy. My mother-in-law helps. Life... finds its rhythm."
Ravi Uncle leaned back slowly, swirling the dark whiskey in his crystal tumbler. The ice chimed like tiny bells. A wide, practiced smile spread across his face, smoothing away the intensity of moments before. "Ah, resilience! Admirable, truly admirable," he boomed, the sound jarring in the sterile room. He raised his glass again, this time encompassing all of us. "But listen, Bimalesh Bhai, Debjani," he began, his tone shifting to one of earnest benevolence. "You've been such pillars for Rohan... practically family now." His gaze swept over our modest clothes, lingering subtly on Dad's worn watchstrap. "Since you've helped me so much," he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur thick with implication, "I am there to help your family. Anytime you need. Truly." He spread his hands wide, encompassing the opulent room. "Anything !!! … Grocery , Shopping or any emergency…just call me…I will be there." The offer hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like the scent of expensive leather and imported whiskey.
Beside me, Rohan nudged my knee sharply .When I glanced at him, his eyes darted meaningfully towards the hallway leading deeper into the apartment. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly. *Come*, the gesture screamed silently. I hesitated, glancing back at the adults. Dad was staring fixedly at the amber liquid in his glass, his jaw clenched. Ma was looking down at her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture rigid. No one was watching the movie. Ravi Uncle was watching them both, that benevolent smile still plastered on his face, waiting for a reaction to his grand proclamation. They were locked in their own tense, unspoken battle. Now was the moment.
I slid off the plush sofa, the leather sighing softly. Rohan was already moving, padding silently across the vast, cold marble floor towards a corridor. I followed, the echoes of our footsteps swallowed by the thick carpets further in. He stopped before a heavy wooden door, pushed it open, and slipped inside. I followed him into near-darkness.
Rohan’s room was cavernous, dominated by a massive bed and shelves lined with untouched-looking toys. But he beelined for a sleek black desk in the corner. On it sat a computer monitor, larger and flatter than any I’d seen. He pressed a button on the tower unit beneath the desk. A low hum filled the room, and the monitor flickered to life, bathing his face in an eerie blue glow. His fingers danced over the keyboard with practiced ease, tapping keys rapidly. He pulled a small silver memory stick from his pocket and plugged it into a slot on the tower. A tiny green light blinked on the stick.
I stared, dumbfounded. "You know how to use this?" I whispered. Computers at college were clunky things we barely touched. Rohan didn’t look up. "Dad taught me," he mumbled, clicking the mouse rapidly. A window popped open on the screen, filled with rows of tiny icons. "Said it’s important to understand technology." His voice was flat. He scrolled down, clicked once, and another window opened. This one showed a list of files with cryptic names: *Invoice_Del_Jan*, *Supplier_Pay_Feb*. Business stuff. My eyes glazed over. "What are we looking at?"
Then Rohan clicked a folder named *Personal*. Inside were videos. Thumbnails flickered – blurred glimpses of skin, tangled limbs. My throat tightened. This was it. The videos he’d mentioned. "See?" Rohan whispered, his voice tight. He pointed a trembling finger at one thumbnail showing a man from behind, dark hair slicked back. "That’s him." He didn’t need to say who. The posture, the arrogance – unmistakably Ravi Uncle. He hovered the mouse over the file. "Want to see?" The question hung, thick and sour.
I shouldn’t have said yes. The word tasted like dust. "Okay." My voice cracked.
Rohan’s eyes, huge behind his glasses, darted to the bedroom door. "Close it," he hissed. "Lock it." My fingers fumbled with the heavy brass knob, clicking the lock into place. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. He turned back to the glowing screen, the blue light etching harsh shadows on his face. With a single click, the video filled the monitor.
My breath stopped. Ravi Uncle, naked, his skin slick with sweat, loomed over a woman pinned beneath him on a rumpled silk sheet. Her face was contorted—mouth open in a silent scream, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking through smudged makeup. Not pleasure. Pain. Raw, twisting agony. She clawed weakly at his shoulders, but he pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting harder. A low, guttural groan came from the computer speakers, mingled with her choked, shuddering sobs. My blood turned to ice water, freezing me where I stood.
"What..." The word scbangd out of my throat, dry and brittle. "What is this?" I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen, from the awful, rhythmic violence unfolding. It wasn't like the fleeting glimpses of skin I'd imagined. This was darkness. Invasion.
Rohan’s voice was flat, detached, beside me. "Sex." He stared at the screen, his glasses reflecting the flickering horror. "What adults do. To enjoy." He said it was like reciting a dull textbook fact. "Dad says it’s... natural. Fun." His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the desk. On screen, Ravi Uncle leaned down, biting the woman’s shoulder hard enough to make her arch and cry out – a sharp, ragged sound that cut through the speakers.
Fun? This wasn’t fun. This was terror. Her eyes weren’t closed anymore; they were wide, rolling in panic, fixed on the camera lens above the bed. She saw it. Saw *us* seeing her. A wave of nausea slammed into me. I stumbled back, bile rising hot and sour in my throat. My shoulder bumped against a shelf stacked with pristine model cars. One wobbled, fell, clattering onto the marble floor. The sound was deafening.
Rohan flinched violently, his hand jerking on the mouse. The video froze abruptly. Ravi Uncle’s face, twisted in exertion, filled the screen mid-thrust. The woman’s tear-streaked face, frozen in silent agony beneath him. The sudden silence was worse than the sounds. Heavy. Suffocating. Rohan stared at the frozen horror, his breathing shallow and rapid.
My own breath came in ragged gasps. The image burned into my retinas – the raw terror in the woman’s eyes, the possessive brutality in Ravi Uncle’s posture. This wasn’t fun. This was… monstrous. "Turn it off," I choked out, my voice thick with nausea. "Turn it off!"
Rohan flinched, his finger trembling over the mouse. But before he could click, the speakers crackled back to life, the frozen scene dissolving into motion. Ravi Uncle paused his thrusting, pulling back slightly. He wasn't looking at the camera now, but down at the woman beneath him. A slick sheen coated his chest. He ran a thumb roughly over her tear-streaked cheek, smearing her makeup.
"Shh, shh, my lovely," his voice purred from the speakers, chillingly calm amidst her ragged breaths. "You're doing so well. Such a good girl." He leaned down, planting a wet, possessive kiss on her trembling lips. She didn't respond, her eyes wide and vacant. "I'm proud of you," he murmured, his voice thick with false tenderness. "Keeping my client happy... that's what matters." He shifted his weight, grinding against her deliberately. "He was very pleased. Very pleased indeed." His hand slid down her body possessively.
The woman beneath him blinked, a flicker of something – relief? desperation? – crossing her tear-stained face. "I... I'm glad," she whispered hoarsely. "Glad you... you decided to be with me tonight." She lifted a shaky hand to touch his cheek. "After... after so many months..." Her voice cracked.
Ravi Uncle chuckled, low and satisfied, capturing her hand and pinning it back down beside her head. "Of course, my sweet," he murmured, his hips beginning a slow, grinding rhythm again. "I take excellent care of all my girls." He leaned in, kissing her deeply, possessively, his tongue forcing its way past her lips. She closed her eyes, a fresh tear escaping as she kissed him back, her body moving with his in a practiced, hollow rhythm. "You deserve it," he breathed against her mouth. "For making Mr. Ali so... enthusiastic." His thrusts became harder, faster, punctuating his words. "He paid double. *Double*."
My stomach lurched violently. I tore my eyes away, gasping for air that tasted like dust and decay. "Stop it!" I hissed, shoving Rohan's shoulder. He flinched, clicking the mouse frantically. The screen went mercifully black. The sudden silence roared in my ears, filled only by our ragged breathing and the frantic thudding of my heart against my ribs. The frozen image of the woman’s tear-streaked face was seared onto my eyelids.
![[Image: IMG-9323.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/B27Q27Xc/IMG-9323.jpg)
Rohan’s bedroom was next—twice the size of mine, with a gaming console hooked to a monitor that curved like a cinema screen. His neatly made bed looked lost in the space. “You like it?” Rohan nudged me, grinning at my wide eyes. Then Ravi uncle’s room: king-sized bed, a wardrobe with mirrored doors reflecting our stunned faces. My fingers brushed a keypad by the doorframe, its red light blinking. “Security,” Ravi uncle said smoothly, intercepting Dad’s curious glance. “All rooms have them. For valuables.”
We settled into the drawing room’s massive sectional, sinking into leather softer than best silk cushions. Ravi uncle dimmed the lights with a remote, the home theatre screen flickering to life, he played some Hollywood action movie in a low volume . He handed Dad a tumbler of whiskey, ice clinking, then perched on the armrest beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched. Ma sat stiffly between me and Rohan, her sari pallu clutched in her lap as helicopters whirred across the screen.
"So, Bimalesh," Ravi Uncle began, leaning forward conspiratorially, the ice in his tumbler clinking. "The merchant navy life. Six months tossing on some rusty tub, eh?" He chuckled, but his eyes stayed sharp. "Tell me honestly—how do you manage it? The loneliness? The... separation?" His gaze flickered toward Ma.
Dad shifted, the leather sighing beneath him. "It’s... part of the job," he answered carefully, swirling the dark whiskey. "You learn to cope. Letters, phone calls when possible." He glanced at Ma, a silent understanding passing between them. "It’s difficult," he admitted quietly. "Missing birthdays, festivals... the everyday things."
Ravi Uncle nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze drifting deliberately from Dad to Ma. "And you, Debjani?" he asked, his voice softening unnaturally. He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees, the diamond cufflink catching the chandelier light. "How is it for you? Running the household alone for half the year? Raising Ayan?" His eyes lingered on her face, intense, probing. "It must be... incredibly tough." The air thickened with his sudden, focused attention. Dad stiffened beside her.
Ma met his stare, a small, tight smile touching her lips. She smoothed her sari over her knees, a gesture both composed and defensive. "We manage, Ravi bhaiya," she replied, her voice calm but firm. "Bimalesh provides. Ayan is a good boy. My mother-in-law helps. Life... finds its rhythm."
Ravi Uncle leaned back slowly, swirling the dark whiskey in his crystal tumbler. The ice chimed like tiny bells. A wide, practiced smile spread across his face, smoothing away the intensity of moments before. "Ah, resilience! Admirable, truly admirable," he boomed, the sound jarring in the sterile room. He raised his glass again, this time encompassing all of us. "But listen, Bimalesh Bhai, Debjani," he began, his tone shifting to one of earnest benevolence. "You've been such pillars for Rohan... practically family now." His gaze swept over our modest clothes, lingering subtly on Dad's worn watchstrap. "Since you've helped me so much," he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur thick with implication, "I am there to help your family. Anytime you need. Truly." He spread his hands wide, encompassing the opulent room. "Anything !!! … Grocery , Shopping or any emergency…just call me…I will be there." The offer hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like the scent of expensive leather and imported whiskey.
Beside me, Rohan nudged my knee sharply .When I glanced at him, his eyes darted meaningfully towards the hallway leading deeper into the apartment. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly. *Come*, the gesture screamed silently. I hesitated, glancing back at the adults. Dad was staring fixedly at the amber liquid in his glass, his jaw clenched. Ma was looking down at her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture rigid. No one was watching the movie. Ravi Uncle was watching them both, that benevolent smile still plastered on his face, waiting for a reaction to his grand proclamation. They were locked in their own tense, unspoken battle. Now was the moment.
I slid off the plush sofa, the leather sighing softly. Rohan was already moving, padding silently across the vast, cold marble floor towards a corridor. I followed, the echoes of our footsteps swallowed by the thick carpets further in. He stopped before a heavy wooden door, pushed it open, and slipped inside. I followed him into near-darkness.
Rohan’s room was cavernous, dominated by a massive bed and shelves lined with untouched-looking toys. But he beelined for a sleek black desk in the corner. On it sat a computer monitor, larger and flatter than any I’d seen. He pressed a button on the tower unit beneath the desk. A low hum filled the room, and the monitor flickered to life, bathing his face in an eerie blue glow. His fingers danced over the keyboard with practiced ease, tapping keys rapidly. He pulled a small silver memory stick from his pocket and plugged it into a slot on the tower. A tiny green light blinked on the stick.
I stared, dumbfounded. "You know how to use this?" I whispered. Computers at college were clunky things we barely touched. Rohan didn’t look up. "Dad taught me," he mumbled, clicking the mouse rapidly. A window popped open on the screen, filled with rows of tiny icons. "Said it’s important to understand technology." His voice was flat. He scrolled down, clicked once, and another window opened. This one showed a list of files with cryptic names: *Invoice_Del_Jan*, *Supplier_Pay_Feb*. Business stuff. My eyes glazed over. "What are we looking at?"
Then Rohan clicked a folder named *Personal*. Inside were videos. Thumbnails flickered – blurred glimpses of skin, tangled limbs. My throat tightened. This was it. The videos he’d mentioned. "See?" Rohan whispered, his voice tight. He pointed a trembling finger at one thumbnail showing a man from behind, dark hair slicked back. "That’s him." He didn’t need to say who. The posture, the arrogance – unmistakably Ravi Uncle. He hovered the mouse over the file. "Want to see?" The question hung, thick and sour.
I shouldn’t have said yes. The word tasted like dust. "Okay." My voice cracked.
Rohan’s eyes, huge behind his glasses, darted to the bedroom door. "Close it," he hissed. "Lock it." My fingers fumbled with the heavy brass knob, clicking the lock into place. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. He turned back to the glowing screen, the blue light etching harsh shadows on his face. With a single click, the video filled the monitor.
My breath stopped. Ravi Uncle, naked, his skin slick with sweat, loomed over a woman pinned beneath him on a rumpled silk sheet. Her face was contorted—mouth open in a silent scream, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking through smudged makeup. Not pleasure. Pain. Raw, twisting agony. She clawed weakly at his shoulders, but he pinned her wrists above her head, thrusting harder. A low, guttural groan came from the computer speakers, mingled with her choked, shuddering sobs. My blood turned to ice water, freezing me where I stood.
"What..." The word scbangd out of my throat, dry and brittle. "What is this?" I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen, from the awful, rhythmic violence unfolding. It wasn't like the fleeting glimpses of skin I'd imagined. This was darkness. Invasion.
Rohan’s voice was flat, detached, beside me. "Sex." He stared at the screen, his glasses reflecting the flickering horror. "What adults do. To enjoy." He said it was like reciting a dull textbook fact. "Dad says it’s... natural. Fun." His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the desk. On screen, Ravi Uncle leaned down, biting the woman’s shoulder hard enough to make her arch and cry out – a sharp, ragged sound that cut through the speakers.
Fun? This wasn’t fun. This was terror. Her eyes weren’t closed anymore; they were wide, rolling in panic, fixed on the camera lens above the bed. She saw it. Saw *us* seeing her. A wave of nausea slammed into me. I stumbled back, bile rising hot and sour in my throat. My shoulder bumped against a shelf stacked with pristine model cars. One wobbled, fell, clattering onto the marble floor. The sound was deafening.
Rohan flinched violently, his hand jerking on the mouse. The video froze abruptly. Ravi Uncle’s face, twisted in exertion, filled the screen mid-thrust. The woman’s tear-streaked face, frozen in silent agony beneath him. The sudden silence was worse than the sounds. Heavy. Suffocating. Rohan stared at the frozen horror, his breathing shallow and rapid.
My own breath came in ragged gasps. The image burned into my retinas – the raw terror in the woman’s eyes, the possessive brutality in Ravi Uncle’s posture. This wasn’t fun. This was… monstrous. "Turn it off," I choked out, my voice thick with nausea. "Turn it off!"
Rohan flinched, his finger trembling over the mouse. But before he could click, the speakers crackled back to life, the frozen scene dissolving into motion. Ravi Uncle paused his thrusting, pulling back slightly. He wasn't looking at the camera now, but down at the woman beneath him. A slick sheen coated his chest. He ran a thumb roughly over her tear-streaked cheek, smearing her makeup.
"Shh, shh, my lovely," his voice purred from the speakers, chillingly calm amidst her ragged breaths. "You're doing so well. Such a good girl." He leaned down, planting a wet, possessive kiss on her trembling lips. She didn't respond, her eyes wide and vacant. "I'm proud of you," he murmured, his voice thick with false tenderness. "Keeping my client happy... that's what matters." He shifted his weight, grinding against her deliberately. "He was very pleased. Very pleased indeed." His hand slid down her body possessively.
The woman beneath him blinked, a flicker of something – relief? desperation? – crossing her tear-stained face. "I... I'm glad," she whispered hoarsely. "Glad you... you decided to be with me tonight." She lifted a shaky hand to touch his cheek. "After... after so many months..." Her voice cracked.
Ravi Uncle chuckled, low and satisfied, capturing her hand and pinning it back down beside her head. "Of course, my sweet," he murmured, his hips beginning a slow, grinding rhythm again. "I take excellent care of all my girls." He leaned in, kissing her deeply, possessively, his tongue forcing its way past her lips. She closed her eyes, a fresh tear escaping as she kissed him back, her body moving with his in a practiced, hollow rhythm. "You deserve it," he breathed against her mouth. "For making Mr. Ali so... enthusiastic." His thrusts became harder, faster, punctuating his words. "He paid double. *Double*."
My stomach lurched violently. I tore my eyes away, gasping for air that tasted like dust and decay. "Stop it!" I hissed, shoving Rohan's shoulder. He flinched, clicking the mouse frantically. The screen went mercifully black. The sudden silence roared in my ears, filled only by our ragged breathing and the frantic thudding of my heart against my ribs. The frozen image of the woman’s tear-streaked face was seared onto my eyelids.
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