Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[sakurasan]

Chapter 4 Hold Her Like Your Wife

Two days had passed since the kitchen dream.

Friday evening after college, Rohan turned early into the quieter lane toward his side of the city.

He parked. When Isha lifted her eyes to the glass front and the café name above it, surprise caught her.

“We’re having coffee?” she said.

“Yes,” Rohan said. “Come.”

The moment they stepped in, a waiter near the counter lifted a hand. “Rohan sir. The usual corner?”

A girl at the billing desk smiled without looking up from the screen. “Your table is free.”

Rohan nodded once, already steering Isha that way. They took the corner table. He sat facing her, the open café at his back.

Isha glanced from the waiter to him. “Everyone looks familiar to you here.”

“Just walking distance from home,” Rohan said. “They feed us anytime our kitchen fails.”

A waiter came for their order.

While they waited, Rohan kept his voice light. “Has your side started the wedding noise again?”

Isha turned the engagement ring on her finger and smiled a little. “Cousins have. One wants a dance practice before the function. Another keeps sending jewellery shop links as if I asked.”

“And Praveen?”

“He is planning to come to Pune one day,” she said. “He wants to buy my wedding gift jewellery himself. He said he will not leave that to anyone else.”

Rohan smiled. “Tell him I will pick him up from the station.”

“I already did. He said he will manage, then asked which shops are good near you. My aunt from Nashik called too. She wants to know the colour theme before anyone else decides it. I told her I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t have to know yet.”

“I know.” She looked at him. “With you it feels simpler. Everything else can wait.”

He almost answered. The coffees arrived. He wrapped both hands around his cup and used the heat as an excuse to look down.

Inside, his mind had already left the talk.

He could see the signs. The way she kissed him now. The way her body pressed into his in the car. The restless hunger that had started showing in her eyes. Kunal had been out of station for a full week. The house was empty. The rooms were free. He could take her there today.

While he stared into his coffee, Isha’s eyes moved past his shoulder.

A man stood near the middle of the café, looking straight at their table. He was taller than Rohan, broader in the shoulders, dark-skinned, with a sharp haircut that sat close on the sides. Tattoos ran over his large arms and both biceps. He looked like those DJs from music videos and pop album covers. For a second she thought he was staring at her. Then she was not sure if it was her or Rohan.

He smiled faintly and started walking toward them.

She opened her mouth to warn Rohan.

The man lifted one finger to his lips, still smiling, and gave her a small shake of the head. She understood at once. He knew Rohan, and he wanted her silent, so she watched him come.

He crossed the floor without hurry, bag on one shoulder, easy in his body, eyes moving from her face to the back of Rohan’s head. Up close the tattoos were darker, the smile warmer, the height clearer. Something in the way he carried himself made the café feel smaller. She kept her face still and looked longer than she needed to.

Across from her, Rohan kept his eyes on the coffee.

The old memory still pushed back against the idea. First year of their courtship. He had casually suggested showing her his place. The look she had given him then still lived under his skin, as if he had crossed something sacred. That look had kept him careful for a long time.

But the dream from two nights ago sat heavier than the old fear. He still saw her tears and heard her begging, and the need on her face stayed clear. He wanted that suffering to end. He decided. He would take her home on the pretext of picking something up from his room. Once they were inside, he would see what her body told him. If she wanted it, he would not stop this time.

He drew a quiet breath and leaned forward, the first words ready.

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and took the call. His father’s voice came through, steady as always.

“Yes, Baba.”

He listened. His eyes flicked once toward Isha.

“This Sunday?” He looked at her once more. “Alright. I’ll come. Yes… I’ll bring her.”

He ended the call and lowered the phone.

Behind him, the man had stopped a step away, waiting. The moment the phone left Rohan’s hand, two tattooed arms came around his shoulders from behind and pulled him into a rough, familiar hug.

Rohan stiffened for half a second, then the recognition landed.

“Welcome home, Kunal,” he said, voice shifting.

Kunal clapped him hard on the back, still leaning over him.

“I missed you this week, saala,” he said, and dropped into the chair beside Rohan, easy and open, as if he had never been away. “One week out and you already hide in my café with company.”

Rohan turned slightly in his chair, still half caught by the sudden hug, and looked between them.

“Isha, this is Kunal,” he said. “My brother from another mother.” Then he tipped his head toward her. “And this is Isha. Latest addition to our family.”

Isha smiled, a little shy, a little curious.

“Finally,” she said. “It’s good to put a face to all the stories I’ve heard.”

Kunal’s eyes moved over her face in one quick, open look. He grinned.

“Rohan told me you were beautiful,” he said. “He never said you were an angel who fell out of the sky, didi.”

Colour rose in Isha’s face at the compliment. Then her eyebrows lifted at the last word.

“Didi?” she repeated.

Rohan let out a short breath, half laugh, half protest.

“How can she be your didi? If I’m your brother, then she would be your bhabhi.”

Kunal raised both hands, still smiling.

“Okay, okay. Bhabhi then.”

“No,” Isha said at once, shaking her head. “I’m no aunty. I’m younger than you. No didi, no bhabhi. Please.”

Rohan glanced at Kunal, amused.

“You heard the lady. Just use her name.”

Kunal pressed a palm to his chest like he had been corrected in court.

“Isha,” he said, testing the name. “Done. See? I can learn.”

He leaned back in the chair, looking at her with open interest now that the titles were settled.

“So,” he said. “How do I sound? In his stories.”

Rohan opened his mouth.

Kunal lifted a hand without looking at him. “You don’t speak. Let me get the truth straight from her.”

Rohan shut his mouth, half smiling.

Isha glanced between them, then settled on Kunal. “All right. What I know so far. You are a highly blessed photographer.”

Kunal tipped his head, waiting.

“You specialise in couples work,” she went on. “Especially pre-wedding and post-wedding shoots.”

“True so far,” Kunal said.

“And the special thing about you is that you have no social media presence. You never display your work, so clients like the privacy you give them.” She tipped her head. “Did I say it right? I know Rohan can’t lie to me.”

Kunal grinned. “Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. He has censored well.”

“What did he leave out?” she asked.

Kunal drew a breath.

“Leave that,” Rohan said, cutting in before the answer could land. He looked at Kunal. “First tell her why you missed the engagement.”

Kunal’s smile thinned. He glanced at Rohan, then at Isha. “Fair. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I got stuck in Assam. Bad weather hit, flights kept getting cancelled, and it is not easy to transit from there.” He looked at both of them. “From now till the wedding, I won’t take any long outstation work. I’ll be here for whatever is left.”

“It’s alright,” Isha said.

“Let me compensate now.” Kunal reached down for the black camera bag beside his chair and unzipped it. He glanced at the long windows. “When new clients come, I bring them here, take a few trial shots in this light, and show them what I can do on the spot. That is how I demo.” He lifted the DSLR. “A few frames of you both. Right here. Same setup.”

Isha smiled. “So I am sitting in your office.”

“Something like that.”

Rohan looked at the camera.

“Here?”

“Why not? Quiet corner. Nothing heavy.”

Isha glanced at Rohan. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Rohan said. “Alright.”

They walked over to the long window. Kunal checked the settings, took a quick test shot, then pointed to the floor.

“Stand here. Rohan, slightly behind her. Isha, turn a little toward him. Yes. Now look at each other. Not at me.”

Rohan moved into place. He left a careful gap between them. His hand rested high on her waist, light as a courtesy. His shoulders stayed stiff.

Kunal looked through the viewfinder and lowered the camera.

“Too far. Come closer.”

Rohan shifted half a step.

“Lower your hand,” Kunal said. “Further. Hold her like your wife, not your sister.”

Heat moved through Isha’s chest. At least someone was scolding Rohan the way she had wanted to scold him herself. Her face stayed calm for the café, but inside she liked Kunal a little more for that alone.

Rohan moved his palm lower, still short of where Kunal meant. He glanced at him, then exhaled.

“You show me,” he said.

Kunal held the camera out.

“Take it.”

Rohan took the DSLR. Kunal turned to Isha.

“Isha, do you mind?”

“No problem,” she said.

Kunal stepped in behind her. From the window and the nearest tables, they read as a real couple mid-hug. Only the two of them could feel the truth of it. His chest stayed a breath off her back. One arm curved around her waist in the air. His other hand hovered over the round of her ass, near enough to claim the shape in the frame, with a thin gap of air still between his palm and her saree.

He looked like a typical thug bad boy, tattoos and all, and yet he was this close without touching her. The professionalism of it surprised her. She held still and let the pose hold.

“This,” he said quietly. “Click.”

Rohan took the shot. Kunal held the pose a second longer, then stepped away and took the camera back. He checked the screen and nodded.

“Now you,” he said. “Do it like this. And hold her tight before she flies off.”

Rohan returned to the spot. This time he brought her in fully. His chest met her back. One hand found her waist. The other settled on her ass through the saree, warm and sure. Soft flesh filled his palm. It was the first time he had ever held her there. A quiet shock went through him, then a hunger he kept off his face for the lens.

Isha’s breath caught once. In her head she thanked Kunal for this. Without him, Rohan would never have put his hand on her ass at all.

“Yes,” Kunal said, shooting. “That one is alive. Hold. Look at each other.”

They looked. He took the frame, then kept going. The next ones were his signature work, angles and holds that belonged to him alone, sharp enough that even a café corner looked like a set. Each time Rohan fumbled the pose, Kunal stopped him, handed over the camera, and stepped in with Isha to show the hold. At least half the set went that way. He guided her with light touches on her wrists and fingers only, turning a palm, setting a hand on a sleeve, nothing beyond that. Rohan clicked, learned, took his place again, and held her tighter each round. Isha moved where she was told, breath quick sometimes, liking how often the scolding turned into Rohan’s hands finally doing what she wanted.

By the time Kunal lowered the camera and checked the back screen, the card was full of them.

“That’s enough.”

He packed the DSLR into its bag. The plan Rohan had carried into the café was already gone. With Kunal back in the city, the house was no longer empty.

Rohan looked at Isha.

“Come. I’ll drop you home.”

She nodded. The whole café was still on her: Kunal’s voice correcting them, the lens, being turned and held in front of strangers, Rohan’s hands finally learning her waist and ass like a husband for the frame.

Rohan started the car. As they pulled away, she sat quietly in the passenger seat and had not fully come back from that zone.

After a stretch of road she tipped her head. “What was that phone call about?”

“Oh. That one.” Rohan kept his eyes ahead. “Dad wants us to visit this Sunday. Are you free?”

“What question is that?” she said. “Where you go, I go.”

“Cool. But you should still decide for yourself.”

“You started again,” she said. “Now drive fast.”

He almost laughed, and took the next turn. Near her building he slowed.

“Your friend is very good,” she said, softer now. “I forgot the clock.”

Rohan smiled without looking away from the gate. “Forgot the clock. One shoot. Already addicted to the camera.”

Colour rose hard in her face. “Nothing like that.”

“Nothing?” He parked. “You went quiet the whole way like someone who found a new habit. Say it. You liked being looked at.”

“Rohan.”

He leaned in. The kiss was short, only lips, warm and quick. She kissed him back once, then pulled away before the tease could push her into admitting anything, looked at him once more, and went up.

On Sunday Rohan reached her building at six. Isha came down in a simple saree, pallu neat, hair tied. She slid into the passenger seat and shut the door harder than she meant to.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ask me after we reach,” she said.

They left the city and joined the highway. For a while she watched the fields. Then she glanced at him.

“This is my first time going to my future home, I am nervous.”

“Don’t be.” His voice stayed easy. “They already like you. Grandfather only wants to see the girl who stole his grandson.”

She almost smiled. “Your grandfather was in service, right?”

“He served, yes, though he is ninety now and mostly in bed.” Rohan checked the mirror and changed lanes. “In his active days he was more liberal than most men around him. My father followed that. I followed my father. So the house you are walking into is different from yours.”

Isha looked at him for a long second. “Really? No one strict? That is interesting.”

“Interesting good, or interesting suspicious?”

“Interesting I will verify myself,” she said, and he laughed once.

His smile thinned a little. “He was in hospital this week. They brought him home again. He is stable now. That is why Dad called. He wanted us there while grandfather is awake enough to bless us.”

“He is all right now?”

“Yes. The doctor said he has at least six months if he rests,” Rohan said, hands steady on the wheel. “We go, take the blessing, and let him see you.”

Isha’s voice softened. “I will pray he is at our wedding.”

“So will I.”

Rohan’s phone lit on the dash before either of them could say more. Kunal’s name filled the screen. He tapped it onto the car speaker without thinking.

“Bro, you are not in your room,” Kunal said, voice easy, as if he were still in the hall.

“I’m running an errand,” Rohan said. “I’ll be back before night.”

“Okay.”

“You’re back early from the gym.”

“No. Skipped it today.”

Rohan smiled at the road. “You skipping gym. That is interesting.”

“I’m editing our café pics,” Kunal said. “That’s why.”

“Cool. I’d love to see those. Our engagement pics were amateur.”

“You’re in good hands now,” Kunal said. “Sending them. Can you forward to bhabhi?”

Isha’s face changed at once. She shot Rohan a naughty angry look and punched the dashboard lightly with the side of her fist, mouthing the word like a crime.

Rohan cleared his throat. “Isha. Not bhabhi.” His eyes flicked to her, pleading for patience on Kunal’s behalf.

“Okay, okay. Let me know if Isha likes them.”

“Her number is on our computer,” Rohan said. “You send it to her and ask yourself. I’m not a postman for you both.”

Kunal laughed. “Too much. You are one lucky bastard. That is why you speak like this.”

Rohan opened his mouth to say he was with her, and that she was hearing every word. Isha shook her head hard and pressed a finger to her lips. Stay quiet. He swallowed it.

“Hmm,” he said.

“Man,” Kunal went on, warming up now, “what a body Isha has. Camera just goes stupid for her. Those curves under the saree look sexier than bikini models. Waist, hips, that chest… she could feed milk to the whole village and still have some left. I barely touched the edit. Cloth like that on a body like hers does half my job.”

Rohan reached for the dash to cut the call. Isha’s one hand clamped over his mouth, the other covered the spot on the dash so he could not end it, eyes sharp with a silent threat. Cut it and I will kill you. He froze with one hand still on the wheel, breathing against her palm, cock already starting to thicken under the shame of listening.

Kunal kept talking, fully convinced he had only his brother on the line.

“Saala, look at you. Engaged to those grip-bar hips and still holding her like your sister. You were a fool to wait three years, you know that, right? Some god saved you. Otherwise a beauty like that would have been stolen long back.”

Rohan was fully hard now, trapped under her hand. Ever since the engagement she had become a sucker for flattery, and Kunal’s rough praise fed that. The sharper joy was hearing him scold Rohan for the sister-hold, the three soft years, for not being the bad boy her body wanted. She liked being seen. She liked Kunal angry at Rohan on her behalf. The vulgar edge only added spice to it.

That was what scared him most. He had been terrified she would hate Kunal for talking like this. If the two people he loved most could not stand each other, his life would split down the middle. Instead she was smiling against the window light, still holding his mouth shut.

He could not take any more of it.

He pulled her hands away, shouted into the speaker, “We’ll see tonight,” and cut the call.

For a second he was too afraid to look at her. When he did, she was still smiling.

“So,” Isha said, smiling, “this is how you boys speak when no one else is there.”