[doodhwale_bhaiya]

The sudden sound made him straighten up. The screen showed his younger brother’s name. Bhola answered, still standing naked in the middle of the living room.
 
“Haan, bol.”
“Yes, tell me.”
 
His brother’s voice was broken, thick with tears.
 
“Bhai… tu kahan hai?”
“Brother… where are you?”
 
“Flat mein hoon. Ghar pe.”
“I’m in the flat. At home.”
 
“Bahar aa. Main bahar khada hoon. Please.”
“Come outside. I’m standing outside. Please.”
 
There was a raw, desperate edge to the words. Bhola’s stomach tightened.
 
“Andar aa ja. Baat karte hain.”
“Come inside. We’ll talk.”
 
“Nahi. Bahar hi. Please, bhai. Abhi.”
“No. Outside only. Please, brother. Right now.”
 
Bhola looked toward the staircase. Simran was upstairs, freshly fucked, freshly bathed, sleeping naked in the master bedroom. The thought of his brother walking into the house while she was in that state made him deeply uneasy. He didn’t want anyone else in the flat right now.
 
“Theek hai. Do minute.”
“Okay. Two minutes.”
 
He ended the call and moved quickly. He pulled on a pair of loose cotton pants and a T-shirt, then forced his still-thick cock down into his underwear, tucking it as best he could against his thigh. The pressure was uncomfortable. He slipped on chappals and went to the main door.
 
Outside, under the dim light of the lane, his brother stood with his shoulders hunched. His eyes were red and swollen. The moment he saw Bhola he took a step back, refusing to come closer to the house.
 
“Andar nahi aayega,” he said, voice shaking. “Yahan nahi. Door chal.”
“I won’t come inside,” he said, voice shaking. “Not here. Let’s go far.”
 
Bhola felt a fresh wave of discomfort. Upstairs his Bhabhi was lying naked and used. The smell of sex and milk and cum still lingered faintly in the bedroom. He did not want his brother anywhere near that.
 
“Theek hai. Chal.”
“Okay. Come.”
 
They walked in silence for a short distance until they reached a streetlight near the end of the lane. Both of them sat down on the low boundary wall of a small park. The yellow light fell across their faces. Bhola’s brother immediately buried his face in his hands and began to cry — deep, quiet sobs that shook his shoulders.
 
Bhola’s mind went straight to the worst possibility.
 
Their father had been unwell for some time. The thought that something serious had happened made his chest tighten.
 
“Baba… theek hain na?” he asked carefully. “Kuch hua kya?”
“Father… is he okay?” he asked carefully. “Did something happen?”
 
His brother’s head snapped up. The grief on his face twisted into sudden, raw anger.
 
“Us haramzade ke baare mein mat pooch!” he spat. “Uske wajah se hi yeh sab ho raha hai. Uske wajah se main is waqt yahan aaya hoon. Uske baare mein ek lafz mat nikaal!”
“Don’t ask about that bastard!” he spat. “All this is happening because of him. That’s why I’ve come here at this time. Don’t utter a single word about him!”
 
Bhola was taken aback by the venom in his brother’s voice. He had never heard him speak about their father like that.
 
“Phir kya hua?” he asked quietly. “Bol. Kya baat hai?”
“Then what happened?” he asked quietly. “Speak. What’s the matter?”
 
His brother wiped his face with the back of his hand and let out a long, shaky breath.
 
“Lambi kahani hai, bhai.”
“It’s a long story, brother.”
 
A small tea stall was still open a short distance away, the dim bulb glowing under a stained tarp. Bhola stood up.
 
“Ek minute. Pehle chai pi le. Phir dheere-dheere bata.”
“One minute. First have some tea. Then tell me slowly.”
 
He walked to the stall, ordered two cups of strong tea and a small plate of biscuits, paid, and came back. He placed one cup in his brother’s hands and kept the other for himself. The biscuits sat between them on the wall.
 
Bhola sat down again, the discomfort of his still-semi-hard cock pressed against the fabric of his underwear a distant, private reminder of what he had left upstairs.
 
He looked at his brother, who was staring into the steaming tea, eyes still wet.
 
“Ab bol, bhai,” Bhola said quietly. “Kya hua?”
“Now speak, brother,” Bhola said quietly. “What happened?”
 
Bhola sat on the low boundary wall, the paper cup of tea warm between his palms. The biscuits remained untouched between them. The yellow streetlight cast long shadows across the empty lane. His brother’s eyes were still red, his shoulders tense.
 
“Ab bol, Jai,” Bhola said quietly. “Itni raat ko yahan aane ki kya baat hai? Kya problem hai?”
“Now speak, Jai,” Bhola said quietly. “What’s the matter that you came here so late at night? What’s the problem?”
 
Jai stared into his own cup for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and bitter.
 
“Teri Komal Bhabhi ke baare mein hai.”
“It’s about your Komal Bhabhi.”
 
Bhola’s brow furrowed. He blinked, not understanding.
 
“Komal Bhabhi? Meri…? Who toh—”
“Komal Bhabhi? Mine…? She—”
 
“Haan,” Jai cut him off. “Aur sirf who nahi. Kai aur auratein. Bahut si. Jinhe us haramzade baap ne jala kiya.”
“Yes,” Jai cut him off. “And not just her. Many other women. A lot of them. Whom that bastard father has burned.”
 
Bhola felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. He had never heard his younger brother speak with such pure hatred about their father. The word “haramzada” hung in the air between them.
 
“Main nahi samajh raha,” Bhola said slowly. “Kya matlab hai tera? Baap ne kya kiya?”
“I don’t understand,” Bhola said slowly. “What do you mean? What did Father do?”
 
Jai let out a long, shaky breath. He set the tea down beside him and wiped his face with both hands.
 
“Yeh sab tere paida hone se pehle ki baat hai. Bahut pehle ki. Jab main chhota tha aur tu soch mein bhi nahi tha.”
“All this is from before you were born. A long time ago. When I was small and you weren’t even a thought.”
 
He paused, collecting the story that clearly still burned inside him.