13-08-2026, 11:21 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:11 PM by Authorsunny.)
Chapter 10 – First Shameless Act
12 November 2025 – Wednesday
I had a half-day at office. The client presentation finished by one-thirty and my manager told the team we could leave. I reached the building a little after two. The afternoon heat was still sitting on the lane. When I climbed the stairs and opened the door of our house, the first thing I heard was Ma’s voice from inside, low and almost playful.
She was on the phone.
The folding table was pushed closer to the wall. She sat on the edge of the bed in a black kurti and jeans, one leg folded under her. The kurti was one of the newer ones; the neckline sat low enough that the soft upper curve of her breasts was visible even from the door. Her hair was open and slightly messy, as if she had been lying down earlier. The silver bracelet moved on her wrist every time she shifted the phone.
She looked up when I entered, but she did not end the call. She only raised one finger slightly, telling me to wait, and continued speaking.
“No, he just came… yes, early today… hmm… I don’t know, maybe office work finished…”
There was a short pause. Then she laughed, the sound soft and private.
“Don’t say that when I am at home… later… yes, I remember…”
Her eyes stayed on me while she listened to whatever was being said on the other end. A faint colour rose on her cheeks. She bit the inside of her lower lip once, then spoke again, quieter.
“I wore the black one… the jeans… you said you liked it… yes… I know what you want to do when you see it…”
She stopped herself, glanced at me again, and then said, “I will call you after some time. He is here.”
She cut the call and placed the phone on the bed beside her.
“You’re early,” she said, as if the last thirty seconds had been completely ordinary.
I closed the door and put my bag down near the almirah. The compact room suddenly felt even smaller. The single bed, the thin curtain over the bathroom, the tiny kitchen corner — everything sat too close to the conversation I had just heard.
“That was Azad bhai?,” I said. It was not a question.
She did not deny it.
“Yes. He called to ask if I would come down in the evening. He is going toward Jogeshwari and said he can drop me at the market if I needed anything.”
“You were talking about the kurti.”
She looked at me for a moment, then reached for the glass of water on the floor near the bed and drank slowly.
“He notices what I wear. He says it. Is that a crime now?”
“You told him you know what he wants to do when he sees it.”
The words came out flatter than I expected. Ma kept the glass down and smoothed the kurti over her thighs. The cloth pulled tight across the full shape of her hips. When she leaned forward a little the neckline shifted and the heavy soft swell of her breasts moved against the fabric. She was not wearing a very supportive bra; the outline was clear.
“Sunny,” she said, her voice calm, “I am forty-seven years old. If a man tells me I look good in something and I answer him in the same tone, it does not mean the sky is falling. You are standing there as if you caught me doing something unforgivable.”
“You were talking like that while I was in the room.”
“You came in the middle. I did not know you would walk in at two in the afternoon.”
She stood up and went to the kitchen corner. The jeans sat low on her waist. She knew the clothes showed her. She no longer tried to hide it.
I sat on the chair near the folding table.
“This is becoming open,” I said.
She kept the container down and turned.
“What is becoming open?”
“The way you talk to him. The way you prioritise his calls. The way you let him speak to you like that.”
Ma wiped her hands on a cloth even though they were dry and came back toward the bed. She did not sit. She stood in front of me, close enough that I had to look up.
“I talk to him the way I want to talk to him. He is not a small man who needs to invent reasons to come upstairs. When he calls, he calls because he wants to speak to me. When he offers the car, he offers it because he wants to. I accept because I want to. That is the arrangement now.”
The word “arrangement” sat between us with more weight than it had carried even a week ago.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Live with it,” she said simply. “The way I lived with everything for five years after your father died. Quietly. Without making every day a courtroom.”
She went into the bathroom. The door remained slightly open, as it always did. I heard water running. When she came out she had changed into an older loose nighty. The afternoon light from the grill fell across her shoulders. She had removed her bra. The soft heavy shape of her breasts moved freely under the thin cloth as she walked to the bed and sat down again.
12 November 2025 – Wednesday
I had a half-day at office. The client presentation finished by one-thirty and my manager told the team we could leave. I reached the building a little after two. The afternoon heat was still sitting on the lane. When I climbed the stairs and opened the door of our house, the first thing I heard was Ma’s voice from inside, low and almost playful.
She was on the phone.
The folding table was pushed closer to the wall. She sat on the edge of the bed in a black kurti and jeans, one leg folded under her. The kurti was one of the newer ones; the neckline sat low enough that the soft upper curve of her breasts was visible even from the door. Her hair was open and slightly messy, as if she had been lying down earlier. The silver bracelet moved on her wrist every time she shifted the phone.
She looked up when I entered, but she did not end the call. She only raised one finger slightly, telling me to wait, and continued speaking.
“No, he just came… yes, early today… hmm… I don’t know, maybe office work finished…”
There was a short pause. Then she laughed, the sound soft and private.
“Don’t say that when I am at home… later… yes, I remember…”
Her eyes stayed on me while she listened to whatever was being said on the other end. A faint colour rose on her cheeks. She bit the inside of her lower lip once, then spoke again, quieter.
“I wore the black one… the jeans… you said you liked it… yes… I know what you want to do when you see it…”
She stopped herself, glanced at me again, and then said, “I will call you after some time. He is here.”
She cut the call and placed the phone on the bed beside her.
“You’re early,” she said, as if the last thirty seconds had been completely ordinary.
I closed the door and put my bag down near the almirah. The compact room suddenly felt even smaller. The single bed, the thin curtain over the bathroom, the tiny kitchen corner — everything sat too close to the conversation I had just heard.
“That was Azad bhai?,” I said. It was not a question.
She did not deny it.
“Yes. He called to ask if I would come down in the evening. He is going toward Jogeshwari and said he can drop me at the market if I needed anything.”
“You were talking about the kurti.”
She looked at me for a moment, then reached for the glass of water on the floor near the bed and drank slowly.
“He notices what I wear. He says it. Is that a crime now?”
“You told him you know what he wants to do when he sees it.”
The words came out flatter than I expected. Ma kept the glass down and smoothed the kurti over her thighs. The cloth pulled tight across the full shape of her hips. When she leaned forward a little the neckline shifted and the heavy soft swell of her breasts moved against the fabric. She was not wearing a very supportive bra; the outline was clear.
“Sunny,” she said, her voice calm, “I am forty-seven years old. If a man tells me I look good in something and I answer him in the same tone, it does not mean the sky is falling. You are standing there as if you caught me doing something unforgivable.”
“You were talking like that while I was in the room.”
“You came in the middle. I did not know you would walk in at two in the afternoon.”
She stood up and went to the kitchen corner. The jeans sat low on her waist. She knew the clothes showed her. She no longer tried to hide it.
I sat on the chair near the folding table.
“This is becoming open,” I said.
She kept the container down and turned.
“What is becoming open?”
“The way you talk to him. The way you prioritise his calls. The way you let him speak to you like that.”
Ma wiped her hands on a cloth even though they were dry and came back toward the bed. She did not sit. She stood in front of me, close enough that I had to look up.
“I talk to him the way I want to talk to him. He is not a small man who needs to invent reasons to come upstairs. When he calls, he calls because he wants to speak to me. When he offers the car, he offers it because he wants to. I accept because I want to. That is the arrangement now.”
The word “arrangement” sat between us with more weight than it had carried even a week ago.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Live with it,” she said simply. “The way I lived with everything for five years after your father died. Quietly. Without making every day a courtroom.”
She went into the bathroom. The door remained slightly open, as it always did. I heard water running. When she came out she had changed into an older loose nighty. The afternoon light from the grill fell across her shoulders. She had removed her bra. The soft heavy shape of her breasts moved freely under the thin cloth as she walked to the bed and sat down again.
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