12-08-2026, 11:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:09 PM by Authorsunny. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Chapter 8 Continued
29 October 2025 – Wednesday
Office ended early because of a power issue in the building. I reached home at six-ten. The flat was empty. There was no note this time. I called her. She picked up after five rings. There was traffic noise and the low sound of a man’s voice in the background.
“Sunny?”
“Where are you?”
“Just coming. Azad ji was near the station. He is dropping me.”
The call was cut from her side.
I stood near the window and watched the lane. Twelve minutes later the white sedan stopped near the gate. Azad Bhai got out first and walked around to open the passenger door. Ma stepped out wearing the black kurti and jeans. The kurti was one of the newer ones; the neck sat low enough that the soft upper swell of her breasts was clear even from three floors up. She said something to him. He laughed. Then he walked with her to the entrance of the building. They stood talking for almost two minutes while the watchman and a couple of neighbours looked on. Only then did she start climbing the stairs alone.
When she opened the door she looked slightly flushed and pleased.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Power cut at office.”
She dropped her handbag on the bed and stretched both arms above her head. The kurti lifted high. I saw the soft curve of her waist, the smooth skin above the jeans, and the way the cloth of the jeans held the full heavy shape of her hips and seat. She lowered her arms and caught me staring. This time she did not pretend not to notice.
“You’re looking again,” she said, almost amused. “I know the kurti is a little tight.” She touched the side of her breast lightly with the back of her hand. “But it is still better than those old loose things I used to wear.”
She said it openly. The acknowledgment that her own son was staring at her body, and that she was fine with it, left a heat in my face that had nothing to do with the weather.
She went into the kitchen corner and started heating milk. While the milk boiled she spoke without turning.
“He was asking about celebration. I told him we don’t do too much these days. He said he will send some more sweets next week.”
She then spoke of his mother and their different festivals, as if it was already part of the everyday conversation between them.
After dinner she sat on the chair near the window with her phone. I was on the bed with the laptop. The room was so small that every word was audible if the volume was not kept very low. At one point she received a call. She stood up and walked toward the bathroom corner, but the space was too limited for real privacy. I heard her voice clearly.
“No… he is at home… yes, the jeans one… I know… don’t say such things when I am here…”
She laughed softly, the kind of laugh that sat low in the throat. Then she lowered her voice further but the words still carried.
“Later… when he is not around… yes… I remember what you said…”
She cut the call after another minute and came back to the chair. Her cheeks had a faint colour. She looked at me and saw that I had heard at least the tone.
“Office colleague,” she said. “Old friend from the parlour days. She talks nonsense sometimes.”
I did not correct her. We both knew the voice on the other end had not belonged to any woman from the parlour.
---
29 October 2025 – Wednesday
Office ended early because of a power issue in the building. I reached home at six-ten. The flat was empty. There was no note this time. I called her. She picked up after five rings. There was traffic noise and the low sound of a man’s voice in the background.
“Sunny?”
“Where are you?”
“Just coming. Azad ji was near the station. He is dropping me.”
The call was cut from her side.
I stood near the window and watched the lane. Twelve minutes later the white sedan stopped near the gate. Azad Bhai got out first and walked around to open the passenger door. Ma stepped out wearing the black kurti and jeans. The kurti was one of the newer ones; the neck sat low enough that the soft upper swell of her breasts was clear even from three floors up. She said something to him. He laughed. Then he walked with her to the entrance of the building. They stood talking for almost two minutes while the watchman and a couple of neighbours looked on. Only then did she start climbing the stairs alone.
When she opened the door she looked slightly flushed and pleased.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Power cut at office.”
She dropped her handbag on the bed and stretched both arms above her head. The kurti lifted high. I saw the soft curve of her waist, the smooth skin above the jeans, and the way the cloth of the jeans held the full heavy shape of her hips and seat. She lowered her arms and caught me staring. This time she did not pretend not to notice.
“You’re looking again,” she said, almost amused. “I know the kurti is a little tight.” She touched the side of her breast lightly with the back of her hand. “But it is still better than those old loose things I used to wear.”
She said it openly. The acknowledgment that her own son was staring at her body, and that she was fine with it, left a heat in my face that had nothing to do with the weather.
She went into the kitchen corner and started heating milk. While the milk boiled she spoke without turning.
“He was asking about celebration. I told him we don’t do too much these days. He said he will send some more sweets next week.”
She then spoke of his mother and their different festivals, as if it was already part of the everyday conversation between them.
After dinner she sat on the chair near the window with her phone. I was on the bed with the laptop. The room was so small that every word was audible if the volume was not kept very low. At one point she received a call. She stood up and walked toward the bathroom corner, but the space was too limited for real privacy. I heard her voice clearly.
“No… he is at home… yes, the jeans one… I know… don’t say such things when I am here…”
She laughed softly, the kind of laugh that sat low in the throat. Then she lowered her voice further but the words still carried.
“Later… when he is not around… yes… I remember what you said…”
She cut the call after another minute and came back to the chair. Her cheeks had a faint colour. She looked at me and saw that I had heard at least the tone.
“Office colleague,” she said. “Old friend from the parlour days. She talks nonsense sometimes.”
I did not correct her. We both knew the voice on the other end had not belonged to any woman from the parlour.
---
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