14-03-2026, 11:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 14-03-2026, 11:04 PM by Harry Jordan. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
(CHAPTER CONTD)
The next few days passed with an unfamiliar calm settling over Sonarika’s life.
The mornings in the Janakpuri bungalow began with sunlight pouring across the backyard lawn where she had started building her small garden. The soil there had begun to soften under her constant care, and neat rows of saplings now stood where there had once been plain grass. Basil, jasmine, hibiscus, and a handful of medicinal herbs were already taking root.
Working with the plants brought her a quiet satisfaction she hadn’t felt in years.
Sometimes she would kneel there with her hands in the soil for hours, gently loosening the earth around a root or adjusting the spacing between saplings. The scent of damp mud and leaves filled the air, grounding her thoughts. Not far away, chaos usually unfolded on the lawn. Anjali had taken it upon herself to teach Karan how to play volleyball. The idea had sounded simple at first. In reality it became a daily comedy of missed serves, exaggerated dives, and loud arguments about rules that neither of them fully understood.
"Anju didi, you cheated!"
"I didn’t cheat! That was a perfect serve!"
"That ball went outside!"
"You don’t even know where the line is!"
Sonarika often paused her gardening just to watch them. Karan would run wildly across the grass trying to hit the ball, while Anjali attempted to demonstrate techniques she herself had barely mastered. Every now and then the ball would fly straight into one of Sonarika’s plant pots.
"Careful!" she would shout.
"Sorry!" they would yell together before bursting into laughter.
Watching them filled her with warmth. Two innocent souls playing freely in the sunlight, completely unaware of the fragile cracks hidden beneath the surface of their family. They didn’t know that the world around them was quietly shifting. They didn’t know that her marriage was slowly dissolving. And part of her was grateful for that innocence. In the evenings she sometimes took Karan and Anjali to the nearby park. It had a walking path lined with tall trees and a small play area where children gathered every evening. Karan loved the place. He would run straight to the swings or chase other kids across the grass, his laughter echoing through the park.
Sonarika often sat on a bench nearby watching him. The joy on his face made everything else fade for a while. For those moments she was simply a mother watching her child grow. Nothing more complicated than that. One evening, as the sun dipped below the trees, her phone buzzed. It was Neha.
"I wanna go out....shall we get together for some night cap?" Neha asked over the call.
Sonarika hesitated for a second before smiling.
"Why not?"
Since the place Neha suggested was close to the neighborhood, Sonarika left Karan at home with Anjali.
"Make sure he calls his Papa before sleeping" she told her sister while handing over her phone.
Anjali nodded.
"Okay Didi"
With that reassurance, Sonarika left the house and met Neha outside a lively pub not far from the main market road. Inside, music pulsed through the dimly lit hall while colored lights swept across the dance floor. The atmosphere was vibrant, full of laughter and movement. It had been a long time since Sonarika had stepped into a place like this. At first she felt slightly out of place. But Neha pulled her onto the dance floor.
"Just to be clear....there won't be any therapy....only friend things!" Neha laughed.
They danced for a while, letting the music carry them. Later they sat at a high table with a couple of drinks, the conversation slowly drifting into more personal territory. At some point Sonarika mentioned her reunion with Reshma. Neha listened carefully. Then Sonarika revealed something she hadn’t told many people before.
"We were… intimate" she said calmly.
Neha’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"With another woman?"
Sonarika nodded.
"It was during our teenage years. Exploration more than anything"
Neha leaned back slightly, thinking.
"Then why didn’t you ever have those feelings toward Meghna?" she asked.
"She was openly bisexual even back then"
Sonarika smiled faintly.
"I didn’t know that at the time. I only learned about Meghna’s bisexuality later… after I had started dating Rocky"
She took a small sip of her drink.
"And honestly, my thing with Reshma wasn’t about orientation. It was curiosity. We were teenagers discovering things about ourselves"
Neha nodded slowly.
"That makes sense"
They sat in silence for a moment before Neha spoke again.
"You really are healing" she said.
Sonarika gave a small smile.
"I feel that way too"
But Neha’s expression turned thoughtful.
"Still… you should also prepare yourself for something"
Sonarika frowned slightly.
"What?"
Neha looked at her carefully before answering.
"A future without Hemant"
The words felt unexpectedly heavy. Sonarika blinked.
"Why would you say that?"
Neha sighed quietly.
"Ragini mentioned something to me. There are rumors circulating in certain business circles"
"What rumors?"
Neha hesitated before saying the name.
"That Hemant has changed.....he has been getting very close with Pranitha Mehta"
Sonarika’s mind immediately recognized it.
Pranitha Mehta.
A powerful member of the Mehta family—the owners of RegalCorp, one of the largest corporate empires in the country. Years ago, when Hemant had worked at Quadron, he had been involved in managing the setup of Pranitha’s multi-speciality hospital project in Mumbai. She remembered that project well.
Now Neha continued.
"People are talking about how close Hemant has become with her recently. And that closeness has paved the way for him to welcome a different lifestyle"
"What kind of lifestyle?"
"You know....the lifestyle of hookups and flings....some close rumors is that Pranitha follows a very open lifestyle as she has hooked up with film stars....and she is apparently giving Hemant a taste of that pleasure!"
Sonarika stared quietly at the table.
"If that’s true....then Hemant will be a way different person than you knews in your time with him"
Neha added carefully. The thought settled uncomfortably in Sonarika’s mind. It would make sense. Hemant is more than broken , he has been a betrayed man in their relationship. In a way her actions might've caused doubts in his character and manhood to the point he would stray to these kinds of flings.
Later that night, Sonarika walked home alone through the quiet neighborhood streets. Neha’s words echoed repeatedly in her thoughts. A future without Hemant. He may already be moving on. When she reached the bungalow, the house was silent. Anjali had fallen asleep on the couch with a blanket over her shoulders. Karan was curled up beside her, one arm around a pillow. Her parents’ bedroom lights were off. Sonarika quietly covered them with another blanket before heading to her room. A message notification blinked on her laptop screen. It was from Neha.
A news link.
Sonarika opened it slowly. The article headline flashed across the screen:
'YOD Industries in Strategic Partnership Talks with RegalCorp'
The article mentioned discussions between Hemant’s company and the Mehta corporate group regarding future expansion projects. Sonarika read the lines again and again. Her chest tightened. Because she understood something the article didn’t explicitly say. If YOD Industries and RegalCorp were aligning this closely…Hemant’s world was evolving into something far bigger than the life they had once shared. A world she might no longer belong to. The realization hit her quietly but deeply. Sitting alone in the dim light of her room, Sonarika closed the laptop and pressed her palms over her eyes.
For days she had felt hopeful, optimistic about rebuilding herself. But this news reopened a wound she thought she had begun to heal. The man she still loved might already be walking toward a completely different future. One that didn’t include her. Tears slowly slipped down her cheeks as she sat there in silence. She didn’t wake anyone. She didn’t make a sound. She simply allowed herself to cry quietly into the night, releasing the pain she could no longer hold back.
Because sometimes healing meant facing the hardest truth of all—that the person you love most might already be drifting beyond your reach.
Sonarika's consciousness swam upward through layers of warm, clinging sleep, not toward light, but toward a feeling. It was a low, throbbing pulse that seemed to originate from her core and radiate outwards, making every nerve ending hum. Her breaths were shallow, rapid puffs against her pillow. A soft, needy sound escaped her lips—her own moan, she realized distantly. What…?
Her hips gave a small, involuntary roll, pushing into a delicious, wet warmth. Oh. Sensation crystallized into understanding. That was a mouth. That was a tongue. There.
She forced her heavy eyelids open, the world a bleary, morning-gray blur. The duvet was pushed down to her waist. She was naked from the waist down. And there, between her splayed thighs, was the familiar, beloved shape of her husband’s head, his dark hair tousled from sleep. Hemant.
His face was buried in her, his broad shoulders shifting as he worked. A long, slow, luxurious lick from her entrance all the way up to her clit made her back arch off the mattress with a sharp gasp. The motion woke her fully, the grogginess burned away by pure, electric pleasure.
He felt her tense, her awakening. He pulled back just enough to glance up, his lips glistening with her arousal. His eyes, dark and intense, held a mix of hunger and a soft apology.
"I am sorry" he murmured, his voice a husky rasp against her inner thigh.
"And good morning"
The fight. Right. The vague memory of raised voices, a slamming door, the cold silence in bed last night surfaced and then dissolved, meaningless against the heat of his mouth. She couldn’t even remember what it was about. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the aching emptiness he was so expertly filling.
She felt the lace of her panties—she’d fallen asleep in them—stretched and pushed aside, a frustrating barrier. With a urgency that surprised her, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband. She breathed, lifting her hips. He helped, pulling the flimsy garment down her legs and tossing it aside without breaking contact, his mouth finding her again immediately. This time, skin to skin.
Oh God. His tongue was flat and firm, painting slow, maddening circles around her clit before zeroing in with pinpoint precision. One of his hands came up to cradle her hip, his thumb digging into the soft flesh, holding her in place for his feast. The other hand slid beneath her, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass, pulling her more firmly onto his mouth.
"Aahhh, Hemant…"
She moaned, her head falling back, fingers tangling in his hair. Not to guide, but to anchor herself.
"You… you always find my spot so easily"
He groaned against her, the vibration shooting straight to her womb. He lifted his head for just a second, his breath hot on her soaked skin.
"You are my woman" he stated, as if it were the simplest, most fundamental truth.
"It is my only ambition"
Then he dove back in, his tongue spearing into her this time, fucking her with it shallowly, mimicking the act she already craved. It was relentless, worshipful, needy. He was reading her body like a favorite book, each twitch, each gasp, each clench of her inner muscles guiding him. The coil in her lower belly wound tighter and tighter, a spring of pure pleasure threatening to snap. But she didn’t want it like this. Not this time.
With a force of will that shuddered through her, she pushed at his shoulders.
"Stop. Hemant, stop"
He pulled away instantly, his face flushed, eyes questioning and dark with concern.
"Did I hurt—?"
"No" she cut him off, her chest heaving.
"I need you inside me. Now"
The look that crossed his face was pure, undiluted male satisfaction. He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, the valley between her breasts, then her lips, letting her taste herself on him. It was salty, musky, hers. He knelt between her legs, shoving his own underwear down just enough to free his cock. He was already so hard, the tip flushed and leaking. He kept his simple white tank top on.
He rubbed the broad head through her slick folds, gathering moisture, teasing her entrance. Sonarika bit her lip, her hips lifting, seeking. “Please.”
With one smooth, deep push, he filled her. A shared, guttural groan filled the space between them. He didn’t move immediately, just stayed buried to the hilt, letting her adjust, letting them both feel the perfect, stretching fullness. Then he began to move.
It wasn’t a hard, frantic pounding. It was a slow, deep, deliberate rhythm. In… and out… and in. Each stroke dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. His eyes never left hers. That was what undid her more than anything. The unbroken eye contact. In the dim morning light, she could see every fleck in his brown irises, see the dilation of his pupils, see the raw affection and heat there. Their breaths synced, puffing against each other’s faces. This wasn’t just sex; it was a conversation, a reconnection, a silent apology and acceptance spoken with hips and heartbeats.
A distant, thrill-seeking part of her usually craved the mindless, rough fucking that wiped her thoughts clean. But this… this was better. This built a different kind of fire, a deep, glowing ember that heated her from the inside out.
She realized he hadn’t tried to remove her shirt—a simple, faded cotton sleep tee. He loved watching her body, loved seeing her breasts bounce, loved tracing her abs. But his hands stayed on her hips, his focus entirely on her face, on the joining of their bodies.
"Ahh....ahhh....Why?" she whispered, her voice thick.
"Ahh....You didn’t ask for the shirt....ahhhh"
He thrust deep and held it, grinding his pelvis against her clit.
"This morning...uhh...uhhh" he panted.
"uhh....uhhh....is for you. Not for me....mhmmm"
That was her Hemant. Her perfect, infuriating, thoughtful husband. She shook her head, emotion welling in her throat. She clenched around him, making him gasp.
"Wrong....It’s for us"
Before he could argue, she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them. He followed her lead, a masterful dancer in this intimate waltz, until she was straddling him, his cock still seated deeply within her. The new angle made her see stars. Now she was in control.
She sat up, her hands going to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, letting the cool morning air kiss her skin. Her breasts, full and heavy, swayed with the motion. Hemant’s gaze dropped, his hands coming up to cradle their weight, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. A low, appreciative groan rumbled from his chest.
"My god, Sona" he breathed, mesmerized.
"You are… a vision"
She began to move, riding him with slow, rising intensity. She watched his face, watched his eyes darken as he watched her body—the jiggle of her breasts, the taut shift of her stomach muscles, the glide of her body on his. She felt powerful, desired, loved.
His rhythm began to falter, his thrusts becoming more urgent from beneath her.
"Sona… I’m getting close" he warned, his hands tightening on her hips.
"So am I" she moaned, the tension coiling impossibly tight.
"Together. We cum together"
He nodded, his control snapping. He drove up into her, hard and deep, once, twice, three times.
"Now Sona now!!!!"
It was all the permission she needed. The world shattered into blinding white light. Her climax ripped through her, a seismic wave of pleasure that clenched her entire body. Her inner muscles spasmed around his cock in rapid, pulsing waves, milking him. With a choked shout, he followed her over, his own release surging hot and deep inside her as he bucked beneath her. She collapsed forward, sealing her mouth over his, kissing him fiercely, swallowing his groans and muffling her own keening cries, a desperate, silent pact to keep their ecstasy from waking their son in the far room.
They floated down together, spent and tangled, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against each other’s chests. As the last aftershocks trembled through her, Sonarika let out a breathless giggle against his sweat-damp neck.
"You always know how to end an argument" she whispered,
"I just know what makes my wife happy"
He turned his head, kissing her temple, his arms tightening around her. She nestled into him, breathing in his scent—sleep, sex, and him—a perfect, contented stillness settling in her soul. This was her life. This was her love.
The stillness shattered.
The scent changed. It was no longer Hemant and sex and their bedroom. It was stale air, and a faint hint of her mother’s rose talcum powder.
Sonarika’s eyes flew open.
Not to her bedroom ceiling, but to the familiar, endured , pale painted bedroom in her maternal home in Janakpuri. The gray light was the same, but it was cold, empty. The weight on her body was just a heavy, solitary duvet. The warmth between her legs was a phantom echo, already fading into a dull, aching emptiness.
Her hand flew to her mouth, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, the taste of him—of them—still on her tongue. A full-body tremor wracked her. A dream. It was all a dream.
The vividness of it—the feel of his stubble against her inner thighs, the exact pressure of his hands, the depth of his gaze—flooded back with cruel, exquisite clarity. A moment shared between husband and wife. A moment that no longer existed.
Now, the only thing missing was him. Hemant was a memory. A ghost in her sheets. The perfect, intimate love he'd just shown her in the dream was a haunting of what she had destroyed.
She lay perfectly still in the vast, empty bed, the silence of the lonely room pressing in on her, a tangible, suffocating thing. The pleasure of the dream curdled into a profound, hollow loss that settled deep in her bones. She had traded this… this everything… for nothing.
The memory faded as Sonarika opened her eyes. The ceiling of her childhood bedroom replaced the past. Reality settled over her slowly. Those moments with Hemant were no longer part of her present. They had become echoes—beautiful, painful echoes that now returned mostly in dreams. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the sadness pass through her rather than fighting it. After a while she got up and walked to the backyard.
The small garden she had been building was beginning to take shape. The saplings stood in neat rows, their leaves catching the morning sun. Kneeling beside them, Sonarika began loosening the soil around a jasmine plant.
Gardening had become her quiet therapy.
The rhythm of tending plants allowed her mind to settle. But even today, the lingering emotion from the dream tugged gently at her thoughts. She pressed the soil firmly around the roots, exhaling slowly.Just then, her phone rang.
The name on the screen made her freeze.
Vikram.
For a few seconds she stared at it before answering.
"Hello?"
"Sonarika"
His voice sounded different from what she remembered. Softer. Tired.
"What do you want, Vikram?" she said calmly.
"You know there’s no point chasing me after everything"
"I’m not chasing you" he replied quietly.
"I need your help"
That made her pause. He explained that he was in Delhi for official work and asked if they could meet briefly. Reluctantly, Sonarika agreed. They met at a quiet restaurant later that afternoon. When Vikram walked in, he looked much the same as before—wearing a simple cream-colored shirt and black slacks, his posture confident, his presence naturally commanding attention. Once, that presence had drawn Sonarika toward him like gravity.
Even now, there were brief moments when she felt that familiar pull. But the thought of Hemant rose immediately afterward, like a silent reminder of the consequences of that attraction. Today, however, something about Vikram felt different. He looked… worn down. The usual spark in his eyes seemed dim. After they ordered coffee, he spoke slowly.
"Maybe I’m also getting punished" he said.
Sonarika frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed his forehead before answering.
"My sister… Anjana"
The name immediately brought back a memory. Sonarika had met her once years ago in Jabalpur. Anjana had been cheerful, warm, welcoming.
"What about her?" Sonarika asked quietly.
Vikram looked down at the table.
"Her husband Ritesh… died last week"
Sonarika felt the shock ripple through her.
"A car crash" he added.
For a moment she couldn’t speak.
She remembered Anjana’s smiling face, the way she had spoken about her family with pride.
"She must be devastated" Sonarika whispered.
Vikram nodded slowly.
"The funeral happened last week. I couldn’t go"
"Why?"
He sighed deeply.
"Because Ritesh wasn’t just my brother-in-law. He was like a real brother to me"
His voice wavered slightly.
"And now I don’t know how to face them. I don’t know how to face the house without him there"
Sonarika studied him carefully.
This wasn’t the confident Vikram she had known.
This was a man struggling with grief.
"I want to go" he said quietly.
"But I don’t have the strength to do it alone"
He looked directly at her.
"I need you to come with me"
Sonarika blinked.
"What?"
"It’s not what you think" he added quickly.
"This isn’t about us. There’s nothing romantic about it"
He leaned forward slightly.
"You’re the only person I trust enough to ask. I just need someone beside me so I don’t fall apart in front of them"
The sincerity in his voice surprised her. For several seconds she remained silent, weighing the situation. Her first instinct had been to refuse. After everything that had happened between them, reopening any connection felt dangerous. But the thought of Anjana changed something. She remembered the kindness that woman had shown her years ago. If Anjana had lost her husband so suddenly, the pain she must be facing would be unimaginable.
"When?" Sonarika finally asked.
"Tomorrow" Vikram said.
"I’ll drive. We’ll go early and return before sunset. I promise I’ll drop you home the same day"
She studied his face one more time. This wasn’t manipulation. It was grief. Finally she nodded.
"Alright"
The relief on Vikram’s face was immediate.
"Thank you" he said quietly.
As they left the restaurant later, Sonarika walked toward her car with a thoughtful expression. Her life had become complicated in ways she had never imagined. Yet in that moment she realized something simple. People were still turning to her in moments of need. Despite her mistakes, despite the broken pieces of her past, someone still believed she could be a source of strength. And perhaps helping someone through their grief was also part of her own healing. Tomorrow would be difficult. But she felt certain about one thing. Sometimes the right path forward wasn’t about escaping the past. It was about showing up for others when they needed you most.
(TO BE CONTD)
The mornings in the Janakpuri bungalow began with sunlight pouring across the backyard lawn where she had started building her small garden. The soil there had begun to soften under her constant care, and neat rows of saplings now stood where there had once been plain grass. Basil, jasmine, hibiscus, and a handful of medicinal herbs were already taking root.
Working with the plants brought her a quiet satisfaction she hadn’t felt in years.
Sometimes she would kneel there with her hands in the soil for hours, gently loosening the earth around a root or adjusting the spacing between saplings. The scent of damp mud and leaves filled the air, grounding her thoughts. Not far away, chaos usually unfolded on the lawn. Anjali had taken it upon herself to teach Karan how to play volleyball. The idea had sounded simple at first. In reality it became a daily comedy of missed serves, exaggerated dives, and loud arguments about rules that neither of them fully understood.
"Anju didi, you cheated!"
"I didn’t cheat! That was a perfect serve!"
"That ball went outside!"
"You don’t even know where the line is!"
Sonarika often paused her gardening just to watch them. Karan would run wildly across the grass trying to hit the ball, while Anjali attempted to demonstrate techniques she herself had barely mastered. Every now and then the ball would fly straight into one of Sonarika’s plant pots.
"Careful!" she would shout.
"Sorry!" they would yell together before bursting into laughter.
Watching them filled her with warmth. Two innocent souls playing freely in the sunlight, completely unaware of the fragile cracks hidden beneath the surface of their family. They didn’t know that the world around them was quietly shifting. They didn’t know that her marriage was slowly dissolving. And part of her was grateful for that innocence. In the evenings she sometimes took Karan and Anjali to the nearby park. It had a walking path lined with tall trees and a small play area where children gathered every evening. Karan loved the place. He would run straight to the swings or chase other kids across the grass, his laughter echoing through the park.
Sonarika often sat on a bench nearby watching him. The joy on his face made everything else fade for a while. For those moments she was simply a mother watching her child grow. Nothing more complicated than that. One evening, as the sun dipped below the trees, her phone buzzed. It was Neha.
"I wanna go out....shall we get together for some night cap?" Neha asked over the call.
Sonarika hesitated for a second before smiling.
"Why not?"
Since the place Neha suggested was close to the neighborhood, Sonarika left Karan at home with Anjali.
"Make sure he calls his Papa before sleeping" she told her sister while handing over her phone.
Anjali nodded.
"Okay Didi"
With that reassurance, Sonarika left the house and met Neha outside a lively pub not far from the main market road. Inside, music pulsed through the dimly lit hall while colored lights swept across the dance floor. The atmosphere was vibrant, full of laughter and movement. It had been a long time since Sonarika had stepped into a place like this. At first she felt slightly out of place. But Neha pulled her onto the dance floor.
"Just to be clear....there won't be any therapy....only friend things!" Neha laughed.
They danced for a while, letting the music carry them. Later they sat at a high table with a couple of drinks, the conversation slowly drifting into more personal territory. At some point Sonarika mentioned her reunion with Reshma. Neha listened carefully. Then Sonarika revealed something she hadn’t told many people before.
"We were… intimate" she said calmly.
Neha’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"With another woman?"
Sonarika nodded.
"It was during our teenage years. Exploration more than anything"
Neha leaned back slightly, thinking.
"Then why didn’t you ever have those feelings toward Meghna?" she asked.
"She was openly bisexual even back then"
Sonarika smiled faintly.
"I didn’t know that at the time. I only learned about Meghna’s bisexuality later… after I had started dating Rocky"
She took a small sip of her drink.
"And honestly, my thing with Reshma wasn’t about orientation. It was curiosity. We were teenagers discovering things about ourselves"
Neha nodded slowly.
"That makes sense"
They sat in silence for a moment before Neha spoke again.
"You really are healing" she said.
Sonarika gave a small smile.
"I feel that way too"
But Neha’s expression turned thoughtful.
"Still… you should also prepare yourself for something"
Sonarika frowned slightly.
"What?"
Neha looked at her carefully before answering.
"A future without Hemant"
The words felt unexpectedly heavy. Sonarika blinked.
"Why would you say that?"
Neha sighed quietly.
"Ragini mentioned something to me. There are rumors circulating in certain business circles"
"What rumors?"
Neha hesitated before saying the name.
"That Hemant has changed.....he has been getting very close with Pranitha Mehta"
Sonarika’s mind immediately recognized it.
Pranitha Mehta.
A powerful member of the Mehta family—the owners of RegalCorp, one of the largest corporate empires in the country. Years ago, when Hemant had worked at Quadron, he had been involved in managing the setup of Pranitha’s multi-speciality hospital project in Mumbai. She remembered that project well.
Now Neha continued.
"People are talking about how close Hemant has become with her recently. And that closeness has paved the way for him to welcome a different lifestyle"
"What kind of lifestyle?"
"You know....the lifestyle of hookups and flings....some close rumors is that Pranitha follows a very open lifestyle as she has hooked up with film stars....and she is apparently giving Hemant a taste of that pleasure!"
Sonarika stared quietly at the table.
"If that’s true....then Hemant will be a way different person than you knews in your time with him"
Neha added carefully. The thought settled uncomfortably in Sonarika’s mind. It would make sense. Hemant is more than broken , he has been a betrayed man in their relationship. In a way her actions might've caused doubts in his character and manhood to the point he would stray to these kinds of flings.
Later that night, Sonarika walked home alone through the quiet neighborhood streets. Neha’s words echoed repeatedly in her thoughts. A future without Hemant. He may already be moving on. When she reached the bungalow, the house was silent. Anjali had fallen asleep on the couch with a blanket over her shoulders. Karan was curled up beside her, one arm around a pillow. Her parents’ bedroom lights were off. Sonarika quietly covered them with another blanket before heading to her room. A message notification blinked on her laptop screen. It was from Neha.
A news link.
Sonarika opened it slowly. The article headline flashed across the screen:
'YOD Industries in Strategic Partnership Talks with RegalCorp'
The article mentioned discussions between Hemant’s company and the Mehta corporate group regarding future expansion projects. Sonarika read the lines again and again. Her chest tightened. Because she understood something the article didn’t explicitly say. If YOD Industries and RegalCorp were aligning this closely…Hemant’s world was evolving into something far bigger than the life they had once shared. A world she might no longer belong to. The realization hit her quietly but deeply. Sitting alone in the dim light of her room, Sonarika closed the laptop and pressed her palms over her eyes.
For days she had felt hopeful, optimistic about rebuilding herself. But this news reopened a wound she thought she had begun to heal. The man she still loved might already be walking toward a completely different future. One that didn’t include her. Tears slowly slipped down her cheeks as she sat there in silence. She didn’t wake anyone. She didn’t make a sound. She simply allowed herself to cry quietly into the night, releasing the pain she could no longer hold back.
Because sometimes healing meant facing the hardest truth of all—that the person you love most might already be drifting beyond your reach.
Sonarika's consciousness swam upward through layers of warm, clinging sleep, not toward light, but toward a feeling. It was a low, throbbing pulse that seemed to originate from her core and radiate outwards, making every nerve ending hum. Her breaths were shallow, rapid puffs against her pillow. A soft, needy sound escaped her lips—her own moan, she realized distantly. What…?
Her hips gave a small, involuntary roll, pushing into a delicious, wet warmth. Oh. Sensation crystallized into understanding. That was a mouth. That was a tongue. There.
She forced her heavy eyelids open, the world a bleary, morning-gray blur. The duvet was pushed down to her waist. She was naked from the waist down. And there, between her splayed thighs, was the familiar, beloved shape of her husband’s head, his dark hair tousled from sleep. Hemant.
His face was buried in her, his broad shoulders shifting as he worked. A long, slow, luxurious lick from her entrance all the way up to her clit made her back arch off the mattress with a sharp gasp. The motion woke her fully, the grogginess burned away by pure, electric pleasure.
He felt her tense, her awakening. He pulled back just enough to glance up, his lips glistening with her arousal. His eyes, dark and intense, held a mix of hunger and a soft apology.
"I am sorry" he murmured, his voice a husky rasp against her inner thigh.
"And good morning"
The fight. Right. The vague memory of raised voices, a slamming door, the cold silence in bed last night surfaced and then dissolved, meaningless against the heat of his mouth. She couldn’t even remember what it was about. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the aching emptiness he was so expertly filling.
She felt the lace of her panties—she’d fallen asleep in them—stretched and pushed aside, a frustrating barrier. With a urgency that surprised her, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband. She breathed, lifting her hips. He helped, pulling the flimsy garment down her legs and tossing it aside without breaking contact, his mouth finding her again immediately. This time, skin to skin.
Oh God. His tongue was flat and firm, painting slow, maddening circles around her clit before zeroing in with pinpoint precision. One of his hands came up to cradle her hip, his thumb digging into the soft flesh, holding her in place for his feast. The other hand slid beneath her, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass, pulling her more firmly onto his mouth.
"Aahhh, Hemant…"
She moaned, her head falling back, fingers tangling in his hair. Not to guide, but to anchor herself.
"You… you always find my spot so easily"
He groaned against her, the vibration shooting straight to her womb. He lifted his head for just a second, his breath hot on her soaked skin.
"You are my woman" he stated, as if it were the simplest, most fundamental truth.
"It is my only ambition"
Then he dove back in, his tongue spearing into her this time, fucking her with it shallowly, mimicking the act she already craved. It was relentless, worshipful, needy. He was reading her body like a favorite book, each twitch, each gasp, each clench of her inner muscles guiding him. The coil in her lower belly wound tighter and tighter, a spring of pure pleasure threatening to snap. But she didn’t want it like this. Not this time.
With a force of will that shuddered through her, she pushed at his shoulders.
"Stop. Hemant, stop"
He pulled away instantly, his face flushed, eyes questioning and dark with concern.
"Did I hurt—?"
"No" she cut him off, her chest heaving.
"I need you inside me. Now"
The look that crossed his face was pure, undiluted male satisfaction. He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, the valley between her breasts, then her lips, letting her taste herself on him. It was salty, musky, hers. He knelt between her legs, shoving his own underwear down just enough to free his cock. He was already so hard, the tip flushed and leaking. He kept his simple white tank top on.
He rubbed the broad head through her slick folds, gathering moisture, teasing her entrance. Sonarika bit her lip, her hips lifting, seeking. “Please.”
With one smooth, deep push, he filled her. A shared, guttural groan filled the space between them. He didn’t move immediately, just stayed buried to the hilt, letting her adjust, letting them both feel the perfect, stretching fullness. Then he began to move.
It wasn’t a hard, frantic pounding. It was a slow, deep, deliberate rhythm. In… and out… and in. Each stroke dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. His eyes never left hers. That was what undid her more than anything. The unbroken eye contact. In the dim morning light, she could see every fleck in his brown irises, see the dilation of his pupils, see the raw affection and heat there. Their breaths synced, puffing against each other’s faces. This wasn’t just sex; it was a conversation, a reconnection, a silent apology and acceptance spoken with hips and heartbeats.
A distant, thrill-seeking part of her usually craved the mindless, rough fucking that wiped her thoughts clean. But this… this was better. This built a different kind of fire, a deep, glowing ember that heated her from the inside out.
She realized he hadn’t tried to remove her shirt—a simple, faded cotton sleep tee. He loved watching her body, loved seeing her breasts bounce, loved tracing her abs. But his hands stayed on her hips, his focus entirely on her face, on the joining of their bodies.
"Ahh....ahhh....Why?" she whispered, her voice thick.
"Ahh....You didn’t ask for the shirt....ahhhh"
He thrust deep and held it, grinding his pelvis against her clit.
"This morning...uhh...uhhh" he panted.
"uhh....uhhh....is for you. Not for me....mhmmm"
That was her Hemant. Her perfect, infuriating, thoughtful husband. She shook her head, emotion welling in her throat. She clenched around him, making him gasp.
"Wrong....It’s for us"
Before he could argue, she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them. He followed her lead, a masterful dancer in this intimate waltz, until she was straddling him, his cock still seated deeply within her. The new angle made her see stars. Now she was in control.
She sat up, her hands going to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, letting the cool morning air kiss her skin. Her breasts, full and heavy, swayed with the motion. Hemant’s gaze dropped, his hands coming up to cradle their weight, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. A low, appreciative groan rumbled from his chest.
"My god, Sona" he breathed, mesmerized.
"You are… a vision"
She began to move, riding him with slow, rising intensity. She watched his face, watched his eyes darken as he watched her body—the jiggle of her breasts, the taut shift of her stomach muscles, the glide of her body on his. She felt powerful, desired, loved.
His rhythm began to falter, his thrusts becoming more urgent from beneath her.
"Sona… I’m getting close" he warned, his hands tightening on her hips.
"So am I" she moaned, the tension coiling impossibly tight.
"Together. We cum together"
He nodded, his control snapping. He drove up into her, hard and deep, once, twice, three times.
"Now Sona now!!!!"
It was all the permission she needed. The world shattered into blinding white light. Her climax ripped through her, a seismic wave of pleasure that clenched her entire body. Her inner muscles spasmed around his cock in rapid, pulsing waves, milking him. With a choked shout, he followed her over, his own release surging hot and deep inside her as he bucked beneath her. She collapsed forward, sealing her mouth over his, kissing him fiercely, swallowing his groans and muffling her own keening cries, a desperate, silent pact to keep their ecstasy from waking their son in the far room.
They floated down together, spent and tangled, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against each other’s chests. As the last aftershocks trembled through her, Sonarika let out a breathless giggle against his sweat-damp neck.
"You always know how to end an argument" she whispered,
"I just know what makes my wife happy"
He turned his head, kissing her temple, his arms tightening around her. She nestled into him, breathing in his scent—sleep, sex, and him—a perfect, contented stillness settling in her soul. This was her life. This was her love.
The stillness shattered.
The scent changed. It was no longer Hemant and sex and their bedroom. It was stale air, and a faint hint of her mother’s rose talcum powder.
Sonarika’s eyes flew open.
Not to her bedroom ceiling, but to the familiar, endured , pale painted bedroom in her maternal home in Janakpuri. The gray light was the same, but it was cold, empty. The weight on her body was just a heavy, solitary duvet. The warmth between her legs was a phantom echo, already fading into a dull, aching emptiness.
Her hand flew to her mouth, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, the taste of him—of them—still on her tongue. A full-body tremor wracked her. A dream. It was all a dream.
The vividness of it—the feel of his stubble against her inner thighs, the exact pressure of his hands, the depth of his gaze—flooded back with cruel, exquisite clarity. A moment shared between husband and wife. A moment that no longer existed.
Now, the only thing missing was him. Hemant was a memory. A ghost in her sheets. The perfect, intimate love he'd just shown her in the dream was a haunting of what she had destroyed.
She lay perfectly still in the vast, empty bed, the silence of the lonely room pressing in on her, a tangible, suffocating thing. The pleasure of the dream curdled into a profound, hollow loss that settled deep in her bones. She had traded this… this everything… for nothing.
The memory faded as Sonarika opened her eyes. The ceiling of her childhood bedroom replaced the past. Reality settled over her slowly. Those moments with Hemant were no longer part of her present. They had become echoes—beautiful, painful echoes that now returned mostly in dreams. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the sadness pass through her rather than fighting it. After a while she got up and walked to the backyard.
The small garden she had been building was beginning to take shape. The saplings stood in neat rows, their leaves catching the morning sun. Kneeling beside them, Sonarika began loosening the soil around a jasmine plant.
Gardening had become her quiet therapy.
The rhythm of tending plants allowed her mind to settle. But even today, the lingering emotion from the dream tugged gently at her thoughts. She pressed the soil firmly around the roots, exhaling slowly.Just then, her phone rang.
The name on the screen made her freeze.
Vikram.
For a few seconds she stared at it before answering.
"Hello?"
"Sonarika"
His voice sounded different from what she remembered. Softer. Tired.
"What do you want, Vikram?" she said calmly.
"You know there’s no point chasing me after everything"
"I’m not chasing you" he replied quietly.
"I need your help"
That made her pause. He explained that he was in Delhi for official work and asked if they could meet briefly. Reluctantly, Sonarika agreed. They met at a quiet restaurant later that afternoon. When Vikram walked in, he looked much the same as before—wearing a simple cream-colored shirt and black slacks, his posture confident, his presence naturally commanding attention. Once, that presence had drawn Sonarika toward him like gravity.
Even now, there were brief moments when she felt that familiar pull. But the thought of Hemant rose immediately afterward, like a silent reminder of the consequences of that attraction. Today, however, something about Vikram felt different. He looked… worn down. The usual spark in his eyes seemed dim. After they ordered coffee, he spoke slowly.
"Maybe I’m also getting punished" he said.
Sonarika frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed his forehead before answering.
"My sister… Anjana"
The name immediately brought back a memory. Sonarika had met her once years ago in Jabalpur. Anjana had been cheerful, warm, welcoming.
"What about her?" Sonarika asked quietly.
Vikram looked down at the table.
"Her husband Ritesh… died last week"
Sonarika felt the shock ripple through her.
"A car crash" he added.
For a moment she couldn’t speak.
She remembered Anjana’s smiling face, the way she had spoken about her family with pride.
"She must be devastated" Sonarika whispered.
Vikram nodded slowly.
"The funeral happened last week. I couldn’t go"
"Why?"
He sighed deeply.
"Because Ritesh wasn’t just my brother-in-law. He was like a real brother to me"
His voice wavered slightly.
"And now I don’t know how to face them. I don’t know how to face the house without him there"
Sonarika studied him carefully.
This wasn’t the confident Vikram she had known.
This was a man struggling with grief.
"I want to go" he said quietly.
"But I don’t have the strength to do it alone"
He looked directly at her.
"I need you to come with me"
Sonarika blinked.
"What?"
"It’s not what you think" he added quickly.
"This isn’t about us. There’s nothing romantic about it"
He leaned forward slightly.
"You’re the only person I trust enough to ask. I just need someone beside me so I don’t fall apart in front of them"
The sincerity in his voice surprised her. For several seconds she remained silent, weighing the situation. Her first instinct had been to refuse. After everything that had happened between them, reopening any connection felt dangerous. But the thought of Anjana changed something. She remembered the kindness that woman had shown her years ago. If Anjana had lost her husband so suddenly, the pain she must be facing would be unimaginable.
"When?" Sonarika finally asked.
"Tomorrow" Vikram said.
"I’ll drive. We’ll go early and return before sunset. I promise I’ll drop you home the same day"
She studied his face one more time. This wasn’t manipulation. It was grief. Finally she nodded.
"Alright"
The relief on Vikram’s face was immediate.
"Thank you" he said quietly.
As they left the restaurant later, Sonarika walked toward her car with a thoughtful expression. Her life had become complicated in ways she had never imagined. Yet in that moment she realized something simple. People were still turning to her in moments of need. Despite her mistakes, despite the broken pieces of her past, someone still believed she could be a source of strength. And perhaps helping someone through their grief was also part of her own healing. Tomorrow would be difficult. But she felt certain about one thing. Sometimes the right path forward wasn’t about escaping the past. It was about showing up for others when they needed you most.
(TO BE CONTD)
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