4 hours ago
Chapter 13 - Jeeva turned Spy
Jeeva took leave the next morning without telling Tara the real reason.
He simply said he had a slight fever and wanted to rest. She touched his forehead, frowned, and told him to sleep properly. The moment her cab turned the corner, he got into his own car and followed.
He kept three vehicles between them the entire way. Tara’s cab took the usual route, stopped at the same signal, and dropped her at the office gate at 9:07 a.m. She walked in alone, phone in one hand, bag on her shoulder. No one was waiting for her. No Sam Arya. No familiar car.
Jeeva parked two streets away and waited until 10:30. Then he walked to the rear service entrance where the cleaning staff usually took their tea break. He already knew one of them — a middle-aged man who had smiled at him once or twice when he visited Tara’s office. A short conversation, a folded note with cash, and clear instructions were enough. The man looked nervous but nodded.
By 11:15 a tiny Wi-Fi camera was live, fixed at an angle that covered Tara’s desk and the two seats beside her. The picture was slightly grainy but clear enough. Jeeva sat in his car with earphones on and watched.
Most of the morning was painfully ordinary.
Tara worked. She typed, took two short calls, spoke to a female colleague about a file, and once laughed at something on her monitor. At 11:40 she stood up, picked up her bottle, and went to the cafeteria. The cleaning staff quietly moved the camera. Jeeva watched her sit alone at a corner table, scroll through her phone, and eat a sandwich without once looking around for someone.
At 12:25 she went up to the rooftop calm zone — a small open area with two benches and potted plants where people went for quick breaks. The camera followed again. For eight minutes she sat alone, eyes closed, face tilted toward the weak sunlight.
Then Sam Arya appeared.
He walked in with a coffee in one hand and sat on the opposite bench, not too close. Their conversation lasted exactly twelve minutes. Jeeva increased the volume.
Sam asked about a client presentation.
Tara answered with normal work details.
They spoke about a new film that had released the previous week — the kind of casual talk any two colleagues might have. Sam said the movie was overrated. Tara said the music was good. Nothing more.
When Sam stood up to leave, he simply said, “See you,” and walked away. Tara stayed on the bench for another three minutes before going back inside.
At lunch hour Jeeva watched the main gate from his car. Sam Arya came out alone, got into his vehicle, and drove off. Tara never appeared. She remained inside the building.
The afternoon crawled.
Tara returned to her desk. She worked. She went to the printer once. She spoke to two different colleagues about deadlines. No private meetings. No long calls. No Sam.
Only when the evening lights of the office began to glow against the darkening sky did the pattern finally change.
Jeeva watched them walk out of the office building together.
Sam opened the passenger door for her. Tara didn't hesitate even for half a second, it gave him a clear picture to Jeeva that this car ride is regular for sometime now. The car pulled into the evening traffic. Jeeva waited until three vehicles had passed before he followed.
Twenty minutes later the car slowed and stopped in front of a small, warmly lit café on a quieter street. Jeeva parked further down, pulled a black mask over his nose and mouth, and walked in a minute after them.
Luck stayed with him. Tara sat with her back to the entrance. Sam faced her, the soft café light falling across his shoulders. Jeeva slid into the empty table directly behind them. A high wooden partition hid their faces from him, but their voices carried clearly.
For the first few minutes the talk stayed safe.
Sam: “That client would have kept changing the design forever if you hadn’t stepped in. You explained it better than I could.”
Tara: “I just repeated what you already told him in the morning. He only listens when a woman says it in a softer voice, I think.”
Sam gave a low laugh.
Then, after a short pause, his tone changed slightly — still casual, but more careful.
Sam: “Your husband… he doesn’t mind you staying back so often these days?”
Tara did not answer immediately. When she spoke, her voice remained light, almost fond.
Tara: “Jeeva? He never creates issues about work. He’s the kind of man who actually feels happy when I’m doing well at office. Most husbands would ask a hundred questions. He just says, ‘Take care, call me when you leave.’”
Sam: “He trusts you a lot.”
Tara: “He does. Completely. Sometimes I think he trusts me more than I trust myself.” She gave a small soft laugh. “He’s… steady. The kind of steady that doesn’t shake even when things around him get messy. I’m lucky.”
There was a brief silence.
Sam’s voice came quieter.
Sam: “He’s lucky to have you as a wife.”
Another short silence stretched between them. Jeeva sat completely still, listening to his own heartbeat.
Then Tara spoke again, almost playfully, but with a strange edge underneath.
Tara: “Why aren’t you lucky to have me as a friend?”
Sam did not laugh this time. His answer came low and certain.
Sam: “Absolutely. I am lucky. And I do have you.”
The words hung in the air longer than they should have.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Tara broke the quiet first, her tone returning to normal as if the previous moment had not happened.
Tara: “I’ll pay the bill this time. You keep paying whenever we come here. It’s not fair.”
Sam: “Let me—”
Tara: “No. My turn.”
Jeeva heard the soft sound of a card being placed on the table.
He waited ten more seconds, then stood up and walked out of the café without looking back, the mask still covering half his face, Tara’s words about him still echoing in his ears — steady, trusting, lucky — mixed with the way Sam had said I do have you.
Jeeva had heard enough.
Ten minutes later Sam and Tara came out.
Sam opened the passenger door for her again. The car merged into the traffic. Jeeva followed, keeping a careful distance.
At first the route was normal — the same roads Tara’s cab usually took. Then Sam took a left turn that led toward their residential area. Jeeva’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
He’s going toward the house.
The rule flashed in his mind instantly.
They had both agreed: if either of them ever wanted to bring the chosen partner home, they had to inform the other in advance.
Tara had not said a single word about taking Sam home.
he even though if their drive in evening is regular means, is she already taking same every time to home before he arrives?
A cold wave of panic mixed with anger rose in Jeeva’s chest.
Was she already breaking the rules?
Had the café conversation been only an act? Was she taking him home right now while Jeeva was supposed to believe everything was still under control?
The car ahead slowed near their street.
Jeeva’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. He prepared to follow them all the way to the gate if necessary.
Then the passenger door opened.
Tara stepped out onto the pavement — one full street before their apartment building. She said something through the window, gave a small wave, and started walking the remaining distance alone. Sam’s car stayed there for a few seconds, then slowly drove away in the opposite direction.
Jeeva did not follow.
He turned into a side road, switched off the headlights, and sat in the dark, breathing hard. The panic drained out of him almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a strange, shaky relief.
She had stayed true to the rule.
She had not brought him home.
When he finally returned and lay down beside her that night, one clear thought settled in his mind:
So far there was nothing wrong. She had not taken Sam home. At the café she had steered the conversation away from danger and spoken well of her husband. A quiet pride rose in him. She was resisting. She is just playing her part in experiment honestly and sincerly.
He was still smiling to himself when Tara turned her head on the pillow.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Just… felt happy today for some unknown reason.”
She looked puzzled but didn’t press. Instead she asked,
“What’s the progress with Ramya?”
Jeeva had almost nothing to report. He had barely spoken to her beyond normal work calls.
“Going good,” he said. “She’ll get closer soon. The real test will start.”
Relief and sudden desire mixed in his chest.
He reached out, grabbed her breast over the thin maxi, and pressed gently.
Tara caught his wrist.
“No. Control yourself. We are still in the experiment.”
For the first time in days Jeeva didn’t feel the usual knot of doubt. She had not crossed any line. She was treating this as a real experiment, not a hidden excuse. He decided, in that moment, to stay true to the game and stop fighting shadows.
He was just beginning to relax when Tara’s phone rang on the bedside table.
12:00 a.m. exactly.
She picked it up at once, voice bright and warm.
“Happy Birthday, Sam.
See this birthday, You’re soon going to get what you’ve wished for a long time.”
Jeeva’s body went completely still.
What is he going to get?
The small freedom he had felt only seconds earlier vanished like smoke.
The experiment pulled him back under, tighter and darker than before.
Jeeva took leave the next morning without telling Tara the real reason.
He simply said he had a slight fever and wanted to rest. She touched his forehead, frowned, and told him to sleep properly. The moment her cab turned the corner, he got into his own car and followed.
He kept three vehicles between them the entire way. Tara’s cab took the usual route, stopped at the same signal, and dropped her at the office gate at 9:07 a.m. She walked in alone, phone in one hand, bag on her shoulder. No one was waiting for her. No Sam Arya. No familiar car.
Jeeva parked two streets away and waited until 10:30. Then he walked to the rear service entrance where the cleaning staff usually took their tea break. He already knew one of them — a middle-aged man who had smiled at him once or twice when he visited Tara’s office. A short conversation, a folded note with cash, and clear instructions were enough. The man looked nervous but nodded.
By 11:15 a tiny Wi-Fi camera was live, fixed at an angle that covered Tara’s desk and the two seats beside her. The picture was slightly grainy but clear enough. Jeeva sat in his car with earphones on and watched.
Most of the morning was painfully ordinary.
Tara worked. She typed, took two short calls, spoke to a female colleague about a file, and once laughed at something on her monitor. At 11:40 she stood up, picked up her bottle, and went to the cafeteria. The cleaning staff quietly moved the camera. Jeeva watched her sit alone at a corner table, scroll through her phone, and eat a sandwich without once looking around for someone.
At 12:25 she went up to the rooftop calm zone — a small open area with two benches and potted plants where people went for quick breaks. The camera followed again. For eight minutes she sat alone, eyes closed, face tilted toward the weak sunlight.
Then Sam Arya appeared.
He walked in with a coffee in one hand and sat on the opposite bench, not too close. Their conversation lasted exactly twelve minutes. Jeeva increased the volume.
Sam asked about a client presentation.
Tara answered with normal work details.
They spoke about a new film that had released the previous week — the kind of casual talk any two colleagues might have. Sam said the movie was overrated. Tara said the music was good. Nothing more.
When Sam stood up to leave, he simply said, “See you,” and walked away. Tara stayed on the bench for another three minutes before going back inside.
At lunch hour Jeeva watched the main gate from his car. Sam Arya came out alone, got into his vehicle, and drove off. Tara never appeared. She remained inside the building.
The afternoon crawled.
Tara returned to her desk. She worked. She went to the printer once. She spoke to two different colleagues about deadlines. No private meetings. No long calls. No Sam.
Only when the evening lights of the office began to glow against the darkening sky did the pattern finally change.
Jeeva watched them walk out of the office building together.
Sam opened the passenger door for her. Tara didn't hesitate even for half a second, it gave him a clear picture to Jeeva that this car ride is regular for sometime now. The car pulled into the evening traffic. Jeeva waited until three vehicles had passed before he followed.
Twenty minutes later the car slowed and stopped in front of a small, warmly lit café on a quieter street. Jeeva parked further down, pulled a black mask over his nose and mouth, and walked in a minute after them.
Luck stayed with him. Tara sat with her back to the entrance. Sam faced her, the soft café light falling across his shoulders. Jeeva slid into the empty table directly behind them. A high wooden partition hid their faces from him, but their voices carried clearly.
For the first few minutes the talk stayed safe.
Sam: “That client would have kept changing the design forever if you hadn’t stepped in. You explained it better than I could.”
Tara: “I just repeated what you already told him in the morning. He only listens when a woman says it in a softer voice, I think.”
Sam gave a low laugh.
Then, after a short pause, his tone changed slightly — still casual, but more careful.
Sam: “Your husband… he doesn’t mind you staying back so often these days?”
Tara did not answer immediately. When she spoke, her voice remained light, almost fond.
Tara: “Jeeva? He never creates issues about work. He’s the kind of man who actually feels happy when I’m doing well at office. Most husbands would ask a hundred questions. He just says, ‘Take care, call me when you leave.’”
Sam: “He trusts you a lot.”
Tara: “He does. Completely. Sometimes I think he trusts me more than I trust myself.” She gave a small soft laugh. “He’s… steady. The kind of steady that doesn’t shake even when things around him get messy. I’m lucky.”
There was a brief silence.
Sam’s voice came quieter.
Sam: “He’s lucky to have you as a wife.”
Another short silence stretched between them. Jeeva sat completely still, listening to his own heartbeat.
Then Tara spoke again, almost playfully, but with a strange edge underneath.
Tara: “Why aren’t you lucky to have me as a friend?”
Sam did not laugh this time. His answer came low and certain.
Sam: “Absolutely. I am lucky. And I do have you.”
The words hung in the air longer than they should have.
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Tara broke the quiet first, her tone returning to normal as if the previous moment had not happened.
Tara: “I’ll pay the bill this time. You keep paying whenever we come here. It’s not fair.”
Sam: “Let me—”
Tara: “No. My turn.”
Jeeva heard the soft sound of a card being placed on the table.
He waited ten more seconds, then stood up and walked out of the café without looking back, the mask still covering half his face, Tara’s words about him still echoing in his ears — steady, trusting, lucky — mixed with the way Sam had said I do have you.
Jeeva had heard enough.
Ten minutes later Sam and Tara came out.
Sam opened the passenger door for her again. The car merged into the traffic. Jeeva followed, keeping a careful distance.
At first the route was normal — the same roads Tara’s cab usually took. Then Sam took a left turn that led toward their residential area. Jeeva’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
He’s going toward the house.
The rule flashed in his mind instantly.
They had both agreed: if either of them ever wanted to bring the chosen partner home, they had to inform the other in advance.
Tara had not said a single word about taking Sam home.
he even though if their drive in evening is regular means, is she already taking same every time to home before he arrives?
A cold wave of panic mixed with anger rose in Jeeva’s chest.
Was she already breaking the rules?
Had the café conversation been only an act? Was she taking him home right now while Jeeva was supposed to believe everything was still under control?
The car ahead slowed near their street.
Jeeva’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. He prepared to follow them all the way to the gate if necessary.
Then the passenger door opened.
Tara stepped out onto the pavement — one full street before their apartment building. She said something through the window, gave a small wave, and started walking the remaining distance alone. Sam’s car stayed there for a few seconds, then slowly drove away in the opposite direction.
Jeeva did not follow.
He turned into a side road, switched off the headlights, and sat in the dark, breathing hard. The panic drained out of him almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a strange, shaky relief.
She had stayed true to the rule.
She had not brought him home.
When he finally returned and lay down beside her that night, one clear thought settled in his mind:
So far there was nothing wrong. She had not taken Sam home. At the café she had steered the conversation away from danger and spoken well of her husband. A quiet pride rose in him. She was resisting. She is just playing her part in experiment honestly and sincerly.
He was still smiling to himself when Tara turned her head on the pillow.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Just… felt happy today for some unknown reason.”
She looked puzzled but didn’t press. Instead she asked,
“What’s the progress with Ramya?”
Jeeva had almost nothing to report. He had barely spoken to her beyond normal work calls.
“Going good,” he said. “She’ll get closer soon. The real test will start.”
Relief and sudden desire mixed in his chest.
He reached out, grabbed her breast over the thin maxi, and pressed gently.
Tara caught his wrist.
“No. Control yourself. We are still in the experiment.”
For the first time in days Jeeva didn’t feel the usual knot of doubt. She had not crossed any line. She was treating this as a real experiment, not a hidden excuse. He decided, in that moment, to stay true to the game and stop fighting shadows.
He was just beginning to relax when Tara’s phone rang on the bedside table.
12:00 a.m. exactly.
She picked it up at once, voice bright and warm.
“Happy Birthday, Sam.
See this birthday, You’re soon going to get what you’ve wished for a long time.”
Jeeva’s body went completely still.
What is he going to get?
The small freedom he had felt only seconds earlier vanished like smoke.
The experiment pulled him back under, tighter and darker than before.
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