16-08-2026, 12:31 PM
The silence in the records room stretched for nearly forty minutes.
Ananya worked with her back mostly to him, pulling files from the mid-level shelves so she would not have to climb yet. The peach saree she had worn again today felt heavier than usual. She had refused the green gown when he offered it a second time, saying she would manage. Dust already streaked the soft fabric across her hips and the lower curve of her ass every time she stretched. She kept her movements economical, professional, and cold.
Kabir let the quiet continue until he had finished logging the first set of digital entries. Then he spoke, voice mild, almost conversational.
“You’re angry about this morning.”
Ananya’s hand stilled on a thick cardboard folder. She did not turn around.
“I’m here to work on the audit, Dr. Malhotra. Nothing else is relevant.”
“Kabir is fine. And it is relevant if it’s going to make the next two weeks uncomfortable.” He set his pen down. “She isn’t on my team. It was a private arrangement that should have finished before you arrived. I misjudged the time. That’s on me.”
Ananya finally turned. Her baby face was composed, but a faint flush had risen along her throat. The saree blouse pulled taut across the heavy swell of her breasts as she drew a slow breath.
“I don’t need explanations. I need the pharmacy dispense registers for Q2 matched against the ward consumption sheets. That’s all.”
He watched her for a moment longer, dark eyes steady. Then he nodded once, as if accepting the boundary, and slid a different stack of files across the table toward her.
“These are the ones with the highest variance. Start with the injectable cardiology drugs. I’ll take the oral stock.”
They worked. The tension did not disappear, but it changed shape. Kabir stopped looking at her body with the same open lingering. When he needed a file from a high shelf he climbed himself. When their hands accidentally brushed reaching for the same register he apologised quietly and moved back. He made tea at mid-morning from a small electric kettle he had brought and placed a cup near her without comment. The tea was exactly the way most people in the hospital drank it - strong, not too sweet. She drank it.
By early afternoon the pure ice in her manner had thawed by a few degrees. He was competent. He was organised. He did not waste her time with unnecessary talk. When she pointed out a minor discrepancy in a 2024 indent - twenty vials of a particular anticoagulant signed out but only eighteen recorded as administered - he listened carefully, cross-checked the digital log, and made a precise note without dismissing it.
“Good catch,” he said. “Most people would have written it off as counting error.”
The quiet praise landed harder than she expected. She had been prepared for arrogance or for him to treat her like a decorative assistant. Instead he treated her like a colleague whose thoroughness he respected. It was disarming in a way that pure charm would not have been.
Late in the day, when the light from the single high window had begun to fade, he spoke again while they were both bent over the same open ledger.
“I won’t let that happen again in this room. You have my word.”
Ananya kept her eyes on the page. The numbers swam slightly.
“It has nothing to do with me.”
“It does if you’re forced to work in the same space. I prefer clean lines.” He paused. “You’re very good at this, Ananya. Methodical. You notice what others skip. That’s rare here.”
She hated that the use of her first name, spoken in that low, even voice, sent a small, unwilling flicker through her. She hated even more the sudden, intrusive thought that rose unbidden while she stared at the neat columns of drug names:
*If it had been me on my knees instead of that nurse…*
The image arrived fully formed and filthy - her own soft mouth stretched around the thick cock she had glimpsed for only a few seconds, his hand resting on the back of her head the same way, the green gown from yesterday pushed up around her waist while she knelt on the dusty floor. The thought was so vivid she felt heat flood her face and a corresponding slickness gather between her thighs.
Shame followed instantly, hot and nauseating.
She was a married woman. Her husband was in Dubai. She wore his mangalsutra. She had spent the previous night still trying to scrub the memory of a construction worker’s dirty foot off her bare breast. And now she was wondering, for even one poisonous second, what it would have felt like to be the one sucking Kabir Malhotra’s cock in this basement room.
She closed the ledger with more force than necessary.
“I think we have enough for today.”
Kabir glanced at the time and nodded. “Agreed. Tomorrow we start on the patient billing cross-checks. Those are more sensitive.”
He did not push further. He did not smirk. He simply began packing the files they would need, giving her space to gather her things. The restraint itself felt like another small victory he had won without seeming to try.
Ananya changed nothing when she reached the small staff washroom upstairs. She only stood at the sink for a long minute, staring at her own reflection - the soft, almost girlish face, the flushed cheeks, the full breasts rising and falling under the peach blouse - and whispered a single furious word at herself.
Jealous.
The word tasted like guilt.
She went home, cooked a simple dinner she barely tasted, and waited for Rohan’s call. When his face appeared on the screen she smiled the same smile she always did. She told him the audit was progressing. She did not mention Kabir’s name more than once. She certainly did not mention the nurse on her knees or the shameful flicker of envy that had followed.
After the call she lay in bed with the lights off and one hand resting lightly over the soft, heavy curve of her breast - the same breast that had carried the imprint of a dirty foot two days earlier. Her body was still restless. Her mind kept circling the same three images: the nurse’s wet mouth, Kabir’s calm eyes meeting hers over the girl’s head, and her own unwelcome question.
Was I jealous it wasn’t me?
She fell asleep without answering it.
Somewhere in the deeper stacks of the records room, inside a folder they had not yet opened, a set of altered dispense numbers and matching inflated patient invoices waited. The pattern was still invisible. But Ananya’s thoroughness had already brought them one quiet step closer.
And the man she was beginning, against her will, to respect was the same man who had been receiving a blowjob in that room when she walked in.
Ananya worked with her back mostly to him, pulling files from the mid-level shelves so she would not have to climb yet. The peach saree she had worn again today felt heavier than usual. She had refused the green gown when he offered it a second time, saying she would manage. Dust already streaked the soft fabric across her hips and the lower curve of her ass every time she stretched. She kept her movements economical, professional, and cold.
Kabir let the quiet continue until he had finished logging the first set of digital entries. Then he spoke, voice mild, almost conversational.
“You’re angry about this morning.”
Ananya’s hand stilled on a thick cardboard folder. She did not turn around.
“I’m here to work on the audit, Dr. Malhotra. Nothing else is relevant.”
“Kabir is fine. And it is relevant if it’s going to make the next two weeks uncomfortable.” He set his pen down. “She isn’t on my team. It was a private arrangement that should have finished before you arrived. I misjudged the time. That’s on me.”
Ananya finally turned. Her baby face was composed, but a faint flush had risen along her throat. The saree blouse pulled taut across the heavy swell of her breasts as she drew a slow breath.
“I don’t need explanations. I need the pharmacy dispense registers for Q2 matched against the ward consumption sheets. That’s all.”
He watched her for a moment longer, dark eyes steady. Then he nodded once, as if accepting the boundary, and slid a different stack of files across the table toward her.
“These are the ones with the highest variance. Start with the injectable cardiology drugs. I’ll take the oral stock.”
They worked. The tension did not disappear, but it changed shape. Kabir stopped looking at her body with the same open lingering. When he needed a file from a high shelf he climbed himself. When their hands accidentally brushed reaching for the same register he apologised quietly and moved back. He made tea at mid-morning from a small electric kettle he had brought and placed a cup near her without comment. The tea was exactly the way most people in the hospital drank it - strong, not too sweet. She drank it.
By early afternoon the pure ice in her manner had thawed by a few degrees. He was competent. He was organised. He did not waste her time with unnecessary talk. When she pointed out a minor discrepancy in a 2024 indent - twenty vials of a particular anticoagulant signed out but only eighteen recorded as administered - he listened carefully, cross-checked the digital log, and made a precise note without dismissing it.
“Good catch,” he said. “Most people would have written it off as counting error.”
The quiet praise landed harder than she expected. She had been prepared for arrogance or for him to treat her like a decorative assistant. Instead he treated her like a colleague whose thoroughness he respected. It was disarming in a way that pure charm would not have been.
Late in the day, when the light from the single high window had begun to fade, he spoke again while they were both bent over the same open ledger.
“I won’t let that happen again in this room. You have my word.”
Ananya kept her eyes on the page. The numbers swam slightly.
“It has nothing to do with me.”
“It does if you’re forced to work in the same space. I prefer clean lines.” He paused. “You’re very good at this, Ananya. Methodical. You notice what others skip. That’s rare here.”
She hated that the use of her first name, spoken in that low, even voice, sent a small, unwilling flicker through her. She hated even more the sudden, intrusive thought that rose unbidden while she stared at the neat columns of drug names:
*If it had been me on my knees instead of that nurse…*
The image arrived fully formed and filthy - her own soft mouth stretched around the thick cock she had glimpsed for only a few seconds, his hand resting on the back of her head the same way, the green gown from yesterday pushed up around her waist while she knelt on the dusty floor. The thought was so vivid she felt heat flood her face and a corresponding slickness gather between her thighs.
Shame followed instantly, hot and nauseating.
She was a married woman. Her husband was in Dubai. She wore his mangalsutra. She had spent the previous night still trying to scrub the memory of a construction worker’s dirty foot off her bare breast. And now she was wondering, for even one poisonous second, what it would have felt like to be the one sucking Kabir Malhotra’s cock in this basement room.
She closed the ledger with more force than necessary.
“I think we have enough for today.”
Kabir glanced at the time and nodded. “Agreed. Tomorrow we start on the patient billing cross-checks. Those are more sensitive.”
He did not push further. He did not smirk. He simply began packing the files they would need, giving her space to gather her things. The restraint itself felt like another small victory he had won without seeming to try.
Ananya changed nothing when she reached the small staff washroom upstairs. She only stood at the sink for a long minute, staring at her own reflection - the soft, almost girlish face, the flushed cheeks, the full breasts rising and falling under the peach blouse - and whispered a single furious word at herself.
Jealous.
The word tasted like guilt.
She went home, cooked a simple dinner she barely tasted, and waited for Rohan’s call. When his face appeared on the screen she smiled the same smile she always did. She told him the audit was progressing. She did not mention Kabir’s name more than once. She certainly did not mention the nurse on her knees or the shameful flicker of envy that had followed.
After the call she lay in bed with the lights off and one hand resting lightly over the soft, heavy curve of her breast - the same breast that had carried the imprint of a dirty foot two days earlier. Her body was still restless. Her mind kept circling the same three images: the nurse’s wet mouth, Kabir’s calm eyes meeting hers over the girl’s head, and her own unwelcome question.
Was I jealous it wasn’t me?
She fell asleep without answering it.
Somewhere in the deeper stacks of the records room, inside a folder they had not yet opened, a set of altered dispense numbers and matching inflated patient invoices waited. The pattern was still invisible. But Ananya’s thoroughness had already brought them one quiet step closer.
And the man she was beginning, against her will, to respect was the same man who had been receiving a blowjob in that room when she walked in.
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