Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[sakurasan]

Chapter 6 Presque Vu

On the stairs, the weight in her hand brought Lata back, the cupboard, the years of collection, the smile that had sat on Ma’s face when the stack grew, as if Isha were already her own daughter. Lata had chosen modern pieces for a city daughter-in-law. Soft night cloth. Jean lengths. Those chiffons that would move if she walked. Isha saw herself for a second in the wine chiffon, thin enough that light would pass, and pictured Saroja’s face if she ever walked into the house like that. Ma would die of a heart attack on the spot. She almost smiled, climbing the last flight with Lata’s gift pulling at her arm.

Rohan drove home and went to sleep.

The dream returned in the wee hours.

This time it started happy.

He was back in his native house with Isha, rerunning the day. They walked the hall, laughed at the empty bedrooms, then went out into his fields with her hand in his, talking soft nonsense. For a stretch the day was still good.

Rain started hard across the fields.

He tried to grab Isha and run for the house. His hand closed on empty air. She was not there.

As the rain got heavier he moved toward the house for cover, shouting her name, searching the path for her. Halfway home he stopped dead.

Two figures sat on the thick stone rim where he and Isha had rested that afternoon. Rain sheeted off them. One body rose and dropped on the other in a hard riding rhythm.

Then the shape resolved. The woman was Isha. Completely naked.

She straddled a man on the rim, knees spread wide on either side of his hips, her full ass slamming down on his thighs as her cunt took him to the root. Rain ran off her bouncing breasts and over his stomach. Wet flesh slapped with every drop of her hips. Bangles crashed on her wrists where she clung to his shoulders.

He had watched her taken many times by now. This one felt wrong.

From this distance the rain blurred the man. Thick calves, skin darker than Rohan’s, but not the usual black pornstar. Hard thighs under her weight. Above that he stayed smeared, a body without a face.

Rohan stepped closer.

Her head tipped forward, mouth open. She had her arms locked around the man’s head and her heavy breasts crushed over his face, smothering him while she rode. He thrust up from the stone. She bounced faster. Rohan’s cock stood hard while his stomach twisted.

He moved around the rim for an angle.

Up close the man looked local, and still there was no face to steal. Her tits hid it. Rain wiped the rest of him soft whenever Rohan tried to lock a shoulder. Every time a line almost cleared, Isha leaned harder and buried him again.

The fucking on his childhood well was enough to wreck him. The man under her breasts sat worse. His mind raced through every thick-legged body he knew and landed nowhere.

Face down on the bed, his hips were already bouncing. His cock was trapped under him, grinding the mattress in the same hard rhythm as her ride. He came into the sheet, then the field went black, and sleep took him.

The next morning Isha sat alone in the lab and opened WhatsApp. One unread from Kunal.

A photo filled the chat. Black beach under a thin gold sky. Wet sand holding the first light. Water almost still. The caption read: Good morning sunshine.

She smiled before she meant to.

Isha: It looks unreal. Like a film still. Where are you?

Kunal: Daman. Pre-wedding shoot.

Isha: When did you go?

Kunal: Left yesterday after we chatted. Sunrise call time for them. Coffee call time for me.

Isha: Beautiful. You get to see the world so differently.

Kunal: Differently? Right now I am bending over backwards so this couple looks like they fell in love on purpose.

She laughed once under her breath.

Isha: So this is what our pre-wedding will feel like?

Kunal: If you want beach, yes. Hills, fort walls, old streets, temple steps, I will find the frame. Tell me what sits in your head when you say pre-wedding.

She stared at that line longer than the sunrise.

Isha: I don’t know the names. I only know the feeling. Soft and romantic, the kind you look at years later and still get shy.

Kunal: Soft I can do. Shy I can do. Send me three moods. I will show you how other couples wore them.

Three password-protected PDFs arrived one after another.

Kunal: Same password for all. Next message.

He sent the password. She typed it.

The first file already carried his eye. A sharp low angle. Hard clean light. A couple held in a hush that made the place look smaller than them.

Isha: I don’t even know how to explain it. I just like this.

Kunal: Good. Open the next.

The second set was beach work. Couples in bikinis. His eye still sharp on wet skin and bright sun, bodies caught mid-turn, mid-breath, never the usual stand-and-smile.

Isha: These are bold.

Kunal: Nothing bold in it. They are just in comfortable clothes. Now see the naughty one.

The third file opened on the same couple. One oversized t-shirt dress on both of them, arms out through the shared sleeves. The man held her bikini top in one hand and the bottom in the other. She held his speedo in both hands. Funny first. Then the heat of it.

Isha felt heat rise in her. She zoomed in. The woman’s nipples pressed clear through the thin t-shirt.

Isha: These are too risky. I am scared.

Kunal: Don’t be. We will take pics only you both are comfortable with. I only pitch ideas. The couple are always the ones who decide. This couple wanted more funny than romance.

Isha: I am definitely not doing these.

Kunal: That’s ok. Forget about you. Are my pics good? Do you like them?

Isha: They are very nice.

In Daman, Kunal stared at that message longer than a client compliment ever held him. Clients praised because the shoot was theirs. Rohan praised because he was family. Her praise was different. A third eye on the work, and from her it landed sweeter.

She bit her lip, then typed before she could dress the thought up.

Isha: Won’t you get into trouble for this. Sharing them with me.

The reply came fast.

Kunal: Relax. Rohan owns my firm. You own him. That makes you my boss’s boss. Purely internal.

Isha: Blessed to be part of your inner circle.

Kunal: Your pics will be ten times better. We have both the camera and you.

Isha looked at the blank whiteboard across the lab and tried to answer like a girl who was only joking.

Isha: I will be there. But also my fiancé, who does not even know how to hold a woman, will also be there.

She sent it and immediately wanted to unsend it.

Kunal: Don’t worry. I know how to get the job done from him. Trust Kunal.

She laughed at the screen before she could stop herself.

Isha: Good. Somebody has to teach him.

Kunal: Leave that to me. Best part of the job.

She locked the phone, still smiling, and only then noticed the student records waiting under her hand.

Over the next few days the chat barely cooled.

Kunal kept feeding the chat from his collection, picking borderline naughty work he trusted she could still take, beach cloth and playful holds that stopped short of the drive Rohan had named, and each time she praised a frame another file followed. Client compliments paid the rent. Her compliments made him send again.

On her side the curiosity sat quieter.

Ever since Rohan named the Explicit folder on the highway, her mind kept circling it. Late one night, while a bikini set from Kunal still sat open on her screen, the question rose again. What lived past this. She shut the chat and told herself not tonight. She rolled over and tried to leave it alone. It did not leave.

Rohan’s nights stayed fixed.

The same dream kept repeating, and his struggle to find the man continued. Her breasts stayed crushed over the man’s face. The harder he stared at a back, a hand, a shoulder, the more those edges blurred on their own, wiped clean before he could name them. Each night ended the same way on his cot, spent into the sheet.

Friday afternoon they sat in the canteen with plates between them.

“Your mom called,” Isha said. “She is making a gold necklace set for me.”

Rohan looked up from his rice. “That sounds like her. We have a goldsmith from years back. She trusts only him.”

“She wants me to send designs I like.”

“And?”

Isha broke a piece of roti and did not eat it. “And I have nothing. My mother never even let me buy a saree on my own. How am I supposed to know what jewellery I like?”

“Then we find out,” he said. “After college. Biggest jeweller in the city. You point, we take photos for Ma.”

She smiled. “I love shopping.”

“Window shopping,” Rohan said.

He checked his watch and stood. “I need to run to class. Call Kunal. Ask him to join us.”

“Go,” she said. “I will handle him.”

He left with his tray. Isha finished what was on her plate, then went back to the lab. The room was empty. She dialled.

Kunal picked up on the second ring.

“Kunal, are you free this evening?”

“You should not ask,” he said. “You should only say what I need to do this evening, Big boss.”

“Started again.” She almost laughed. “Anyway. We need to steal something from a jewellery shop.”

“How many grams are we talking?”

“Just digital images. No real gold. Can you take pics of the necklace I like?”

“Again. No questions. Only orders.” His voice stayed light. “They will not allow a photographer. But we will pose as a wedding party, and I will get the job done on the phone.”

“Five PM then.”

“Five PM,” Kunal said.

At five they walked into the jeweller together. A young, pretty salesgirl led them to a long glass case of necklace sets with a line of rotating stools along it. Rohan, Isha, and Kunal sat in three consecutive seats. Rohan stayed where he was.

She pointed first. A heavy set with a low-falling pendant. The salesgirl unlocked the tray. Kunal took the necklace before she could offer.

Isha turned and showed him her nape. She drew her hair forward over one shoulder.

He came in close.

Her smell rose warm and stopped him there, necklace still in his hands. He lifted the last of her hair off her nape and found the clasp. His knuckles brushed her neck while he fastened it.

She faced him again and he caught the pendant, settling it lower until the gold sat in the soft line of her cleavage.

“There,” he said. “Now it shows.”

He lifted his phone, close enough that his forearm almost touched her breast as he framed. “Chin up. No. Soft. Like you already own it.”

She laughed once and gave him the look he wanted. He clicked, adjusted the pendant again with two fingers against her skin, shot again, then undid the clasp and reached for the next set without asking her to move away.

Rohan watched.

They did not come back to him. Each new tray the salesgirl set farther along the table, and Isha and Kunal shifted with it. By the heavier sets they were four seats down from him. Isha kept picking, rejecting, asking for heavier, asking for lighter. Kunal moved with her. Every piece she liked, he put on her. His hands found the clasp at her nape. His thumb corrected a chain where it caught on her blouse. When a choker sat too high, she leaned in so he could hook a finger under the gold and draw it down until it rested where her breath lifted the cloth. Then he raised the phone and clicked before they moved on.

The salesgirl brought earrings. Kunal tipped Isha’s chin, slid the hooks in, and shot the side of her throat before they moved on.

“This one,” Isha said, touching the gold where it disappeared into her blouse.

“Good,” Kunal said. Phone low, shooting up so the necklace filled the frame against her skin. “Stay.”

Rohan’s hands stayed on his knees. He was the fiancé left behind. They were the ones working.

Another tray moved farther down the table. The salesgirl walked it past Rohan to Kunal and Isha, still talking purity and making time as she set it down. “Sir, this weight will sit well on madam for the wedding.” For that stretch her back cut the two of them out of his sight.

While he could not see them, Isha put the new necklace on wrong. The pendant hung too low. She stood between Kunal’s knees for him to fix it, and from the seat his face came level with her breasts. His hands went around to her back and dragged the chain up so the pendant rose into place, head buried in the soft wall of her blouse.

The salesgirl stepped aside.

Rohan saw it at once. Kunal’s face gone behind her breasts, mouth near enough that one breath would have warmed the skin above the cups, both hands still working the clasp at her back.

Rohan’s stomach dropped. Then what he saw changed.

Her clothes went. His went. She climbed onto him, naked thighs locking around his hips, and took him inside her in one drop. Her heavy breasts crushed over his face exactly as they had in the dream, hiding him while she rose and fell. The bounce started, wet and hard, the same ride in a different place.

Then her chest lifted on an upstroke and the face that had always stayed buried came clear. The blur that used to wipe the man’s back and arm in the dream was gone. Rohan saw the tattooed arm locked around her, and the face under her tits was Kunal’s, fucking her in the same hold the dream had shown night after night.

Then it snapped. Kunal was only working the clasp at her back. Both of them dressed. The salesgirl still somewhere behind the cases.

The AC was cold on his skin and he was still sweating. He sat frozen and cursed under his breath. Why the fuck was his brain painting this.

The salesgirl came back still smiling at the two of them. Isha had not stepped out from between Kunal’s knees. His hands had left her back, but the space between them had not opened.

“Lucky you, madam,” she said, eyes moving over how close they still stood. “Most men wait near the door. Your fiancé is doing our job also.”

Rohan heard her call Kunal the fiancé. The word sat in him wrong.

Isha laughed, bright and startled, and shook her head.

“He is not my fiancé.” She pointed back to Rohan. “He is.”

The salesgirl followed the point and found Rohan. Then her eyes came back to Kunal and ran down him, lingering on the shoulders, on the tattooed arms. She smiled at him. “And you are?”

A pinch of jealousy went through Isha. She put her hand on Kunal’s shoulder.

“This is my friend,” she said.

Kunal grinned. The salesgirl smiled at him and did not look away.

He could not stay in that seat. He stood and walked over.

“Have you decided what you want?”

“Have to think more,” Isha said. “But I have seen enough to decide.”

“Then let’s go,” Rohan said.

On the drive back Isha talked enough for both of them. Which set she liked. How the heavy pendant sat. How Kunal knew where every chain should fall before she even asked. How easy he made the whole thing. She turned in her seat and waited for him to agree, to tease, to match her mood.

His hands stayed on the wheel. Her words passed through without catching. Behind his eyes she was still naked on Kunal’s lap, bouncing, tits smothering his face while the shop lights burned around them.

At her gate he parked. She reached for her handbag.

Her phone vibrated.

She opened it at once. Kunal had sent the jewellery pics. She scrolled, caught on her own face in gold, and stepped out still looking at the screen. She walked straight to the building with the phone open in her hand.

Rohan sat in the running car and watched her go, still seeing the other version of her climbing onto his best friend.

Late that night he lay alone in his room and replayed it until the ceiling changed shape.

His dreams had shown Isha taken by many men. Black men from porn. Strangers with no names. Campus bodies that never fully formed. None of that had broken him. Lately he had even come harder for it, face down in the sheet, ashamed and hungry in the same breath. So why did Kunal send him into this. Why this panic in his chest like the floor had dropped.

The answer came clean.

Unknown men stayed fantasy. They lived inside a screen and a sleeping mind. Kunal was real. Kunal slept across the hall. Kunal had his hands on her clasp in a shop this evening. If the man under her tits had a name that close, the fantasy world and the waking world were colliding. That was the danger.

Then the next question. Why Kunal. Of all people. Of every body his brain could have borrowed.

That answer came faster.

First year. Hostel. Late night on Rohan’s laptop, porn flickering in the dark between their beds. Kunal stood to get water. Under his kurta his cock stood massive, thick enough that the cloth could not hide the shape. Rohan stared before he could stop himself. He would have sworn it was more than twice his own. The nickname left his mouth before thought could catch it.

Tripod.

Kunal went red, naive enough at that age to hate being seen. When Rohan used the name again among friends, Kunal covered it with a laugh. “He calls me that because I love photography.” Rohan never corrected him. After that night Kunal kept a pillow on his lap whenever anything hot played on a laptop or a phone. The name Tripod spread through their circle anyway. Outsiders heard cameras. As the years passed, even Rohan forgot what the name really stood for.

Now, staring at his dark room, Rohan was sure of it again. Kunal was blessed with a cock like those pornstars. No wonder his brain had handed him that body when it needed a face for the ride.

The last question sat heavier.

Would he be all right if Kunal was actually intimate with Isha. Not in a dream. In this life. Would he survive it.

Pornstar fantasy was one thing. A man he loved, in the girl he loved, was another. He turned on his side and found no answer that let him sleep.