Forbidden Desire of Shalini - The Awakening

[shellyshalini]

Episode 15 : A Close Call

Next day was electric. The day I’d been waiting for had finally arrived and I was trembling with a giddy, stupid excitement. Bikram had told me to get a haircut and a facial at the parlour nearby and be ready before he came in the evening. My only worry was Aruna aunty showing up and ruining everything.

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent. My heart did a small, traitorous leap. Could it be Aruna aunty? I glanced at the clock—1:15 PM—and my stomach flipped.

I breathed, moved to the door, and my hand trembled on the handle. When I opened it, relief washed over me: a young courier boy stood on the mat, cap low, a practiced smile on his face and a small brown parcel in his hands.

“Parcel for Shalini madam?” he chirped.

“Yes,” I said, the word coming out thin. He handed me a clipboard. “Sign here. Cash on delivery—six hundred rupees.”

I fumbled in my purse, counted the notes, and handed them over. He nodded, took the money, and set the parcel on my dining table. The paper smelled faintly of dust and glue; my fingers lingered on it as if by touch I could learn whatever secret it held.

My phone buzzed. Bikram.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Shelly, listen carefully,” he said, voice low and steady. “Rupam has left the office. He’s coming home to pick up Rohan; they’ll be gone in an hour. I’ve arranged everything. You’ll be alone with me after four-thirty. Before that you have to be ready.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “And the parcel?”

“Keep it safe. Don’t open it yet. Tonight we’ll see what’s inside. Keep it near the packet from Jamal.”

His words made my pulse stutter—secret plans folded into the evening like a promise. The line clicked dead. I stood there with the phone in my hand and the parcel on the table, imagination scrambling to fill in the blanks.

The bell rang again—three short, insistent peals. From the peephole I saw Rupam, grin wide, hand raised to knock again. My pulse picked up speed.

I opened the door. “Rupam!”

“Where is Rohan bhaiya?” he asked before I could close it.

“He’s taking a shower,” I said.

Rupam’s eyes glittered with excitement. “My luck. Bikram bhaiya asked me to come early. He said to keep you company, help with… preparations.”

He winked, and heat crept up my neck. I shut the door quickly and locked it behind him.

“Be careful,” I whispered. “If Rohan sees us—”

“He won’t.” He stepped closer, confidence in his stride. “He’s in the bathroom, right? I heard the water running.”

Before I could reply, his hands were on me. He cupped my face and kissed me—deep, urgent, his tongue slipping past my lips. I gasped; my fingers dug into his shirt. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with something that made my knees go soft.

“You promised,” he murmured.

“I know,” I breathed.

He turned me, pressing my back to him, his hand gliding down to cup me through the flimsy cotton of my shorts. He squeezed, low laughter rumbling against my ear.

“You really have a nice ass, Shelly. Bikram is so lucky.”

Shame and want tangled in my throat. “We shouldn’t—”

“Shh.” His lips brushed my ear. “Just a few minutes. You want this, don’t you?”

I nodded wordlessly. He kissed the juncture of my neck and shoulder, fingers tightening at my hip—just as the bathroom door creaked.

Rupam stepped back like a man with a practiced alibi. “Easy,” he said softly. “Act natural.”

I froze in Rupam's arms, every muscle locked tight. The sound of running water from the bathroom cut off—replaced by the soft shuffle of footsteps on tile. My brother was done. Any second now he'd step out, towel around his waist, and see me pressed against Rupam, my body flushed, lips swollen.

Rupam's hand was still on my hip, warm and heavy. He didn't move. Neither did I. We stood like statues, breaths held, listening.

The door creaked again—louder this time. I heard the click of the lock turning.

"Rohan bhaiya?" Rupam called out, his voice casual, unbothered. "I'm here! Bikram bhaiya sent me to pick you up early."

A pause. Then my brother's voice, muffled through the wood: "Give me five minutes. I'll be out."

Relief flooded through me, so sharp it almost hurt. Rupam's grip softened, and he pulled me away from the hallway, into the shadow of the kitchen arch. His eyes met mine, dark and amused.

"Close one," he murmured.

I couldn't speak. My legs were trembling, and I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs.

Rupam leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "But you liked it, didn't you? The fear. The risk. I felt you shiver."

I shook my head, but the denial died on my lips. He was right. The edge of being caught had sent a thrill through me, hot and electric, pooling low in my belly.

His hand slid down, fingers grazing the waistband of my shorts. "Just a little more," he whispered. "Before he comes out."

Before I could protest, his hand slipped under the fabric, past the elastic of my panties. His fingers found me—wet, warm, ready. I gasped, biting my lip to keep quiet.

"Shh," he breathed, his thumb circling my clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "Let me feel you."

I gripped his arm, nails digging into his skin. Every nerve was alive, hyperaware of the sounds from the bathroom—the rustle of a towel, the clink of a bottle. Any moment Rohan would emerge.

But Rupam didn't stop. His fingers slid deeper, pressing inside me, and I bucked against his hand, a soft moan escaping my throat.

"That's it," he murmured against my neck. "Just like that."

The bathroom door creaked, and my heart stopped.

Rohan’s voice echoed, towel-rough. “Saini? I’m done. Is my bag ready and where is Rupam?”

I smoothed my hair, forced my voice steady. “Yes, on the bed.”

Rupam's fingers withdrew slowly, deliberately, and he stepped back, wiping his hand on his jeans as if nothing had happened.

Rupam drifted toward the kitchen, pretending to pour water.

"In the kitchen, bhaiya! Just getting some water."

I pressed my thighs together, trying to steady my breathing. My body was on fire, aching for more.

I gethered myself and helped Rohan with his bag, palms slick. He emerged, towel-dried and buttoned into a fresh shirt; he glanced toward the kitchen but saw nothing to alarm him.

Rohan nodded, not suspicious. “Alright. We willl be off in ten minutes.”

Rohan appeared, dressed in a crisp shirt, hair damp. He looked at me, then at Rupam, and smiled. "Good. Let's go. ."

Rupam nodded, grabbing his bag. As he passed me, his hand brushed mine, quick and secret. "Tonight," he whispered, barely audible. "You'll have the best night. Be ready."

He followed Rohan out, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

I stood in the kitchen, alone, the sound of their footsteps fading down the stairs. My hand drifted to my stomach, where the heat still lingered. I closed my eyes, savoring the promise hanging in the air.

I watched the car pull away while the building’s security guard glanced up and down the road with the same slow, assessing stare he always gave me. The apartment sank into a hush that felt louder than the noise had been.

Aruna aunty nagged at the back of my mind like a mosquito; the thought of her knocking now would break everything. I pushed it away and dialled.

“Aunty, how is uncle now?” I asked when she answered.

“He is getting better, but I can’t leave him yet. Rohan called me half an hour ago. Why don’t you come over for two days?” she said, voice soft with duty.

“Aunty, I have computer classes I can’t miss. Rohan’s worried too, but I’ll manage.” I used my most reasonable tone, the one that had calmed her before.

She sighed. “Alright, beta. Take care.”

I exhaled with relief and convinced her not to come.

On the way to the parlour I passed the security guard again. He watched me with the same hungry, unspoken appraisal, eyes raking me like a man measuring fruit. I felt his gaze like a hand on the small of my back, and some private, heat-thick thrill answered it. Somewhere deep inside me, I wanted to be wanted. Somewhere deeper still, I wanted everything that Bikram had promised tonight.

The facial room was dim, steam fogging the mirror. Heated towels smelled of eucalyptus and lavender as they pressed against my face; the therapist’s hands were gentle, methodical. I closed my eyes and let the pampering parade through me like a benediction—cleansing milk, scrubs that left my skin tingling, a mask cooling into a taut hush. My thoughts kept sliding back to the parcel, to Bikram’s low instructions, to the packet from Jamal waiting at home.

I checked my watch. Four-thirty was half hours away. I spent them making myself ready: a careful dab of kohl, lipstick the color of pomegranate, a dress that hugged and teased in all the right places. Each small act of preparation felt like a rite, a step closer to whatever awaited me with Bikram.

At last I stood at the window and watched the street below.Somewhere in the building, the security guard’s gaze lingered. Somewhere inside me, a deliberate, electric anticipation hummed. Tonight would begin with a knock and end with a secret revealed.