03-08-2026, 07:18 PM
The silence stretched between them like a living thing.
Dara and Menaka stood like that for how long they didn’t even realize, the sheet still wrapped around her body, her face still streaked with the evidence of what she had done.
Minutes passed. Neither spoke.
Finally, Dara pulled her face towards him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face haggard. But there was something else in his expression now—something that hadn't been there before. A question. A confusion. A hunger.
"How long?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Menaka blinked. "How long what?"
"How long have you been planning this? How long have you been... doing this?"
"You know the answer to that." Her voice was steady, but her heart was pounding. "You've known everything from the beginning. You knew about Mumbai. You knew about Banke. You knew about Muthu and Senthil. You knew about—"
"I knew about the others." He stepped closer, his eyes boring into hers. "But these men—Sharma, Singh, Karthik—I didn't know about them. You kept this from me."
"You didn't want to know." She met his gaze, unflinching. "You said you wanted me to tell you everything, but every time I tried, you changed the subject. You preferred to pretend. You wanted the idea of me being a slut, but you didn't want the reality."
"That's not true."
"It is true, Dara. You've been lying to yourself for months. You wanted me to be your whore, but you also wanted me to be your wife. You can't have both."
"Then why did you do it?" He was close now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Why did you let them—"
"Because I wanted to." She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers tracing the stubble. "Because I needed to feel alive. Because I needed to feel wanted. Because you stopped making me feel that way."
His jaw tightened. "I never stopped wanting you."
"Yes, you did." Her voice was soft now, almost tender. "You stopped wanting me the way I needed to be wanted. You became soft. Respectful. Gentle. You started asking permission. You stopped taking. And that's not who I fell in love with."
Dara stared at her, his expression shifting from anger to confusion to something else entirely. "You fell in love with a man who treated you like a possession? Like a whore?"
"I fell in love with a man who knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it." She stepped closer, her body pressing against his. "A man who made me feel like I was his and his alone. A man who didn't ask—he just took."
"But you let them take you."
"Because you weren't taking me anymore." She reached down and placed her hand over his crotch, feeling the hardness beneath the khaki fabric. "You're hard now, Dara. You've been hard since you walked in here. You're hard because of what they did to me. You're hard because of what you saw."
His breath caught. "Menaka—"
"Don't deny it." She squeezed gently, and he gasped. "You want this. You want to watch. You've always wanted to watch. You just didn't have the courage to admit it."
Dara and Menaka stood like that for how long they didn’t even realize, the sheet still wrapped around her body, her face still streaked with the evidence of what she had done.
Minutes passed. Neither spoke.
Finally, Dara pulled her face towards him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face haggard. But there was something else in his expression now—something that hadn't been there before. A question. A confusion. A hunger.
"How long?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Menaka blinked. "How long what?"
"How long have you been planning this? How long have you been... doing this?"
"You know the answer to that." Her voice was steady, but her heart was pounding. "You've known everything from the beginning. You knew about Mumbai. You knew about Banke. You knew about Muthu and Senthil. You knew about—"
"I knew about the others." He stepped closer, his eyes boring into hers. "But these men—Sharma, Singh, Karthik—I didn't know about them. You kept this from me."
"You didn't want to know." She met his gaze, unflinching. "You said you wanted me to tell you everything, but every time I tried, you changed the subject. You preferred to pretend. You wanted the idea of me being a slut, but you didn't want the reality."
"That's not true."
"It is true, Dara. You've been lying to yourself for months. You wanted me to be your whore, but you also wanted me to be your wife. You can't have both."
"Then why did you do it?" He was close now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Why did you let them—"
"Because I wanted to." She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers tracing the stubble. "Because I needed to feel alive. Because I needed to feel wanted. Because you stopped making me feel that way."
His jaw tightened. "I never stopped wanting you."
"Yes, you did." Her voice was soft now, almost tender. "You stopped wanting me the way I needed to be wanted. You became soft. Respectful. Gentle. You started asking permission. You stopped taking. And that's not who I fell in love with."
Dara stared at her, his expression shifting from anger to confusion to something else entirely. "You fell in love with a man who treated you like a possession? Like a whore?"
"I fell in love with a man who knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it." She stepped closer, her body pressing against his. "A man who made me feel like I was his and his alone. A man who didn't ask—he just took."
"But you let them take you."
"Because you weren't taking me anymore." She reached down and placed her hand over his crotch, feeling the hardness beneath the khaki fabric. "You're hard now, Dara. You've been hard since you walked in here. You're hard because of what they did to me. You're hard because of what you saw."
His breath caught. "Menaka—"
"Don't deny it." She squeezed gently, and he gasped. "You want this. You want to watch. You've always wanted to watch. You just didn't have the courage to admit it."
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