12-08-2026, 08:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:08 PM by Authorsunny. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 7 continued
19 October 2025 – Sunday
Morning. The small house felt even smaller because Ma was moving around in a different mood. She had worn the cream saree again, this time with a maroon blouse that fitted closer. The neckline was round and low enough that when she bent to wipe the floor near the kitchen the soft heavy shape of her breasts shifted clearly inside the blouse. The beige bra she wore pushed them up and together; the upper curve was visible every time she leaned forward.
I was sitting on the bed with my laptop, pretending to finish a training module. In reality I was watching her.
She noticed.
“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up from the floor.
“The blouse is different.”
“It is new. I bought the cloth last week. Got it stitched.” She sat back on her heels and adjusted the pallu. “At least this one fits properly. The old ones were all loose and ugly.”
She stood up and stretched both arms above her head to ease her back. The saree tightened across her stomach and hips. The full heavy flare of her hips and the soft roundness of her seat were impossible to ignore. Her waist, still surprisingly defined for forty-seven, dipped in before the hips took over. The blouse lifted just enough to show a thin strip of skin.
She caught me looking and did not cover herself.
“I know I have put on a little weight here and there,” she said, almost amused. “But the saree hides some of it.”
She said it openly, as if discussing the weather. The acknowledgment that I was looking, and that she knew exactly what I was looking at, made the air in the small room feel thicker.
After breakfast she received a call. I heard her voice change — softer, quicker, a small laugh at the beginning.
“Yes… no, he is at home… okay… I will see…”
She cut the call and looked at me.
“Azad ji is coming with a plumber to check some repairs. Sunny, go out and bring milk and paneer from the dairy shop please?”
She was already moving to the door, checking her reflection in the small mirror near the washbasin, adjusting the pallu so it sat neatly over her chest.
I left at eleven-thirty. I walked to the juice centre near the station and sat with a glass of sugarcane. Bought milk and sugar, and reached back home by eleven-fourty five. When I came back, I saw Azad bhai on the stairs, I just smiled at him and came to the house. Ma was sitting on the bed with a small paper bag beside her.
“He gave this,” she said, pushing the bag toward me. Inside were two boxes of premium sweets, and a small packet of dry fruits.
“For Anniversary celebration,” she added.
celebration was still three weeks away. The gesture was unnecessary and deliberate.
I kept the bag on the table and sat down.
“We have to praise him, you know! That is the kind of man he is. He does not make everything about faith. He is practical.”
She opened one of the boxes and took a small piece of barfi. The way she ate it — slow, pleased — made it clear the gift had landed exactly as intended.
In the afternoon she received another message. She smiled at the phone, typed a reply, and then put it face down.
“He asked if the sweets were okay. I told him yes.”
---
19 October 2025 – Sunday
Morning. The small house felt even smaller because Ma was moving around in a different mood. She had worn the cream saree again, this time with a maroon blouse that fitted closer. The neckline was round and low enough that when she bent to wipe the floor near the kitchen the soft heavy shape of her breasts shifted clearly inside the blouse. The beige bra she wore pushed them up and together; the upper curve was visible every time she leaned forward.
I was sitting on the bed with my laptop, pretending to finish a training module. In reality I was watching her.
She noticed.
“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up from the floor.
“The blouse is different.”
“It is new. I bought the cloth last week. Got it stitched.” She sat back on her heels and adjusted the pallu. “At least this one fits properly. The old ones were all loose and ugly.”
She stood up and stretched both arms above her head to ease her back. The saree tightened across her stomach and hips. The full heavy flare of her hips and the soft roundness of her seat were impossible to ignore. Her waist, still surprisingly defined for forty-seven, dipped in before the hips took over. The blouse lifted just enough to show a thin strip of skin.
She caught me looking and did not cover herself.
“I know I have put on a little weight here and there,” she said, almost amused. “But the saree hides some of it.”
She said it openly, as if discussing the weather. The acknowledgment that I was looking, and that she knew exactly what I was looking at, made the air in the small room feel thicker.
After breakfast she received a call. I heard her voice change — softer, quicker, a small laugh at the beginning.
“Yes… no, he is at home… okay… I will see…”
She cut the call and looked at me.
“Azad ji is coming with a plumber to check some repairs. Sunny, go out and bring milk and paneer from the dairy shop please?”
She was already moving to the door, checking her reflection in the small mirror near the washbasin, adjusting the pallu so it sat neatly over her chest.
I left at eleven-thirty. I walked to the juice centre near the station and sat with a glass of sugarcane. Bought milk and sugar, and reached back home by eleven-fourty five. When I came back, I saw Azad bhai on the stairs, I just smiled at him and came to the house. Ma was sitting on the bed with a small paper bag beside her.
“He gave this,” she said, pushing the bag toward me. Inside were two boxes of premium sweets, and a small packet of dry fruits.
“For Anniversary celebration,” she added.
celebration was still three weeks away. The gesture was unnecessary and deliberate.
I kept the bag on the table and sat down.
“We have to praise him, you know! That is the kind of man he is. He does not make everything about faith. He is practical.”
She opened one of the boxes and took a small piece of barfi. The way she ate it — slow, pleased — made it clear the gift had landed exactly as intended.
In the afternoon she received another message. She smiled at the phone, typed a reply, and then put it face down.
“He asked if the sweets were okay. I told him yes.”
---
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)