Incest Little sis Anjali and her friends

[prasannas2001]

 
A small smile appeared on Mamta’s face.
 
“You are very confident.”
 
“I’m learning.”
 
“From whom?”
 
He looked at her.
 
The answer came easily.
 
“People who know how to make ordinary things beautiful.”
 
For a second, Mamta forgot what she was going to say.
 
Then she smiled softly.
 
“You really should be careful with your words.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because you make simple things sound complicated.”
 
Rohan smiled.
 
“Maybe those simple things deserve more attention.” He said looking at her breasts.
 
Mamta didn’t notice where he was looking.
 
The sentence was harmless.
 
But Mamta heard the second meaning.
 
She didn't know if he intended it.
 
Or perhaps she only noticed it because some part of her was beginning to listen differently.
 
She looked down at her cup.
 
That thought surprised her.
 
 
 
A few minutes passed.
 
The conversation moved naturally, from college stories to old movies, from food to memories.
 
Then Rohan became quiet.
 
Not uncomfortable.
 
Thoughtful.
 
“Can I ask you something, Aunty?”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
“Of course.”
 
He hesitated.
 
Not because he didn't know what he wanted to ask.
 
Because he wanted to ask it without making it sound like an accusation.
 
“Do you ever miss the person you used to be?”
 
The question caught her completely off guard.
 
“The person I used to be?”
 
He nodded.
 
“Before you became responsible for everyone else.”
 
Mamta remained silent.
 
She looked toward the window.
 
Outside, the city lights flickered quietly, each one carrying a story of its own.
 
For years, people had asked her if she was happy.
 
She had always answered yes.
 
Because she was.
 
She loved her family.
 
She loved Neetu.
 
She respected her husband.
 
She was grateful for the life they had built together.
 
But happiness was not always the same as being understood.
 
After a moment, Rohan spoke again, his voice softer.
 
“Do you ever miss him?”
 
Mamta turned back toward him.
 
“Who?”
 
“Your husband.”