Misc. Erotica Friends mom Stuck in Hostel dormitory

[Kabib]

Character Intro: Rahul
Rahul sat on the lower bunk of his assigned bed in the six-man dormitory, the thin mattress dipping under his weight as he scrolled through nothing in particular on his phone. The room smelled of cheap detergent, leftover instant noodles, and the faint dampness that never left the concrete walls of the college hostel. Five other beds filled the space, some unmade, some with laundry dbangd over the metal frames. He kept to his corner, headphones in even when no music played, eyes fixed on the small screen that never once showed his mother’s name.Eighteen years old and already practiced at disappearing inside a shared space. The other students came and went in shifts lectures, mess hall, late-night study groups but Rahul timed his movements so the room stayed mostly empty when he was awake. He ate the standard mess food without complaint, walked the campus paths with his hood up, and answered only when attendance was called. No one in the dormitory asked why he never mentioned family. He never offered.The disconnection had started long before the hostel. His father had been a distant figure for as long as memory stretched an occasional presence at formal gatherings, a signature on college forms, a man who existed more as a name than a voice. Rahul had grown used to the absence the way other children grew used to noise. It simply was. What he had not grown used to was the other half of the equation.Until thirteen the cameras had been constant. His mother’s content required a child in frame often enough that the early years blurred into a sequence of staged smiles, coordinated outfits, and captions that turned ordinary afternoons into “family moments.” He had not chosen the angles or the hashtags. The involvement simply happened around him hands on his shoulders for photos, instructions to look at the lens, soft reminders that this was how the bills stayed paid. At the time it felt ordinary. Then the ordinary shifted.Somewhere between thirteen and fourteen the posts changed. The framing tightened. The clothing shortened. The captions grew warmer, more suggestive, the comments under them louder. Rahul watched the transformation without being asked to participate any longer, and the watching was enough. He understood, without needing anyone to explain, that the sexualization was deliberate. That it was the point. After that the avoidance became absolute. Calls went unanswered. Messages stayed on read. Visits were declined with short, polite excuses that never invited follow-up. The distance settled into something permanent.Yet the recognition followed him anyway. On campus a certain look still appeared in strangers’ eyes when someone connected the surname. A whispered “that’s her son” in the canteen line. A roommate once left a muted reel playing on a shared laptop his mother’s face, the familiar low-cut outfit, the practiced smile before the tab was closed without comment. Rahul said nothing. He simply left the room until the screen went dark again. Being known as the son of the hot celebrity was a label he carried the way other people carried heavy bags: silently, and with the constant wish to set it down.Tonight the hostel corridor outside the door stayed quiet. One of the other beds creaked as its occupant turned over. Rahuls phone buzzed once and fell silent. Rahul locked his own screen, set the device face-down, silent on the thin pillow, and stared at the underside of the upper bunk. The phone buzzed for several times till rahul fell asleep