Adultery Conservative traditional wife transform to slut..

[kirak9484]

Pratap was twenty-nine when he first saw Meghana. He was working as a junior software engineer in a mid-sized IT firm in Hyderabad, still living in a shared PG, still trying to prove to his parents that he had chosen the right path. By his salary so less.. Meghana was twenty-six. She had completed her MCA with good marks, but her conservative Telugu parents did not want her working outside the house. “A girl’s place is at home until marriage,” they said. So Meghana stayed at home and started taking tuition classes for college children in the evenings, using the small hall of their house.
They met at a cousin’s wedding. Pratap’s cousin was marrying Meghana’s distant relative, so both families were present. Meghana was helping serve food, moving quietly between the tables in a simple peach silk saree, her hair in a neat braid, eyes lowered whenever anyone spoke to her. Pratap noticed her because she was the only person in the noisy hall who seemed completely calm.
When the serving line slowed, he managed a small conversation.
“You’re very quiet for a wedding,” he said with a half-smile.
She looked up, startled, then gave the tiniest smile. “I don’t like too much noise.”
That was all. But something about her soft voice and the way she didn’t try to impress him stayed with Pratap. The next day he found an excuse to visit the same relative’s house. Meghana was there again, helping pack leftover sweets. They spoke for ten minutes. He told her he worked in software. She told him she had done MCA but was only taking tuition classes at home for college kids in the evenings because her parents did not want her to take a job outside. It was ordinary talk, but neither of them wanted it to end.
Over the next few months they began meeting in careful, careful ways. Coffee at a small café far from both their homes. A short walk in a park after her evening tuition classes finished. Always public places, always short meetings. Meghana was terrified of being seen. Pratap was patient. He never pushed her for more than she was ready to give. Slowly she began to trust him. She told him how her parents already had a list of suitable boys ready. He told her how his own parents kept asking when he would “settle down with a proper girl from a proper family.”
They fell in love the quiet way: through shared silences, through small acts of care, through the growing certainty that the other person felt like home.
When Pratap finally spoke to his parents, the reaction was cold.
“She is only a tuition teacher. Her family is not equal to ours. Find someone from our community.”
Meghana’s parents were even stricter.
“Love marriage? In our family? Impossible. We will arrange a proper match. And she will not work outside after marriage either.”
For almost a year the two of them lived in a painful in-between. They continued to meet in secret. Pratap worked longer hours, took extra projects, and finally secured a better position with a good salary and the promise of stability. Only then did both sets of parents reluctantly agree. The condition was clear: a simple registered marriage followed by a traditional wedding for the families’ sake.
The night before the registration, they sat on a quiet bench near the colony park. The streetlights were soft. Their future child was still years away from existing.
Meghana’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you sure, Pratap? Once we do this, there is no going back. My parents still think I should only stay at home.”
He took her hand carefully, the way he always did, as if she might break.
“I have never been more sure of anything. You can keep taking tuition if you want, or not. Whatever makes you happy. I just want you.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. The shy, conservative girl who never raised her voice in her own house had chosen him. And he had chosen her.
A week later they signed the papers. Two weeks after that they stood in front of the fire, dressed in traditional clothes, while both families watched with polite, complicated smiles. The wedding was not grand. But when the priest tied the knot, Meghana’s fingers trembled inside Pratap’s, and for the first time in months both of them felt something close to peace.
That was how it began: two people who were not supposed to choose each other, choosing each other anyway.