4 hours ago
Meera stood under the shower and turned the knob all the way to cold.
The water hit her shoulders first, then ran down her back and over her breasts. Her nipples tightened instantly, hardening into small, dark peaks against the chill. She closed her eyes and let the stream pour over her face.
The dream still clung to her skin. The boy’s mouth, the sudden bite, the way she had opened her arms instead of pushing him away—it had felt too real. Too easy.
She rested her forehead against the tiles.
Memories from the mission rose without permission. Rooms she had entered. Clothes she had removed. Eyes that had looked at her without permission and with too much permission. The things she had allowed so that the operation would not collapse. The things she had done because there had been no clean way forward.
Shame moved through her first—hot and familiar. Then, underneath it, something else. A low, unwanted heat that settled between her legs.
Her right hand slid down over her stomach and rested between her thighs. She touched herself lightly, feeling the soft folds, already slightly swollen. Her left hand rose and cupped her breast, thumb brushing the cold-hardened nipple. The contrast of the chilly water and the warmth of her own fingers made her breath catch.
If Ajay knew everything… would he still look at me the same way?
The answer came quickly, cruel in its certainty.
No. He would not.
She had crossed lines he had only ever imagined in the safety of fantasy. He had once spoken, half-joking, about the idea of other men seeing her. But speaking about it and living the reality were different countries. She had lived in the second one for too long.
Both Navya and Raghav had been clear: tell him nothing. The full truth would only damage what they were trying to rebuild. Navya had softened it later, in a quiet moment.
“If the time ever feels right,” Navya had said, “give him a small piece. Just enough so his mind doesn’t invent something worse. But only if you’re sure.”
Meera had not been sure then. She was not sure now.
The phone rang from the bedroom, sharp and insistent.
She turned off the water. For a second she simply stood there, dripping, nipples still tight, hand still resting low on her body. Then she grabbed the towel, wrapped it roughly around her chest so that it covered her breasts, and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
She picked up the phone without checking the screen and answered.
Navya’s face appeared.
It was a video call.
Meera froze for half a second, towel clutched to her chest, hair dripping onto her shoulders, the top edge of the towel threatening to slip. Navya’s eyes widened slightly, then a small, knowing smile touched her mouth.
“Bad timing?” Navya asked, voice warm with amusement.
Meera adjusted the towel higher and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You could say that,” she answered.
The water hit her shoulders first, then ran down her back and over her breasts. Her nipples tightened instantly, hardening into small, dark peaks against the chill. She closed her eyes and let the stream pour over her face.
The dream still clung to her skin. The boy’s mouth, the sudden bite, the way she had opened her arms instead of pushing him away—it had felt too real. Too easy.
She rested her forehead against the tiles.
Memories from the mission rose without permission. Rooms she had entered. Clothes she had removed. Eyes that had looked at her without permission and with too much permission. The things she had allowed so that the operation would not collapse. The things she had done because there had been no clean way forward.
Shame moved through her first—hot and familiar. Then, underneath it, something else. A low, unwanted heat that settled between her legs.
Her right hand slid down over her stomach and rested between her thighs. She touched herself lightly, feeling the soft folds, already slightly swollen. Her left hand rose and cupped her breast, thumb brushing the cold-hardened nipple. The contrast of the chilly water and the warmth of her own fingers made her breath catch.
If Ajay knew everything… would he still look at me the same way?
The answer came quickly, cruel in its certainty.
No. He would not.
She had crossed lines he had only ever imagined in the safety of fantasy. He had once spoken, half-joking, about the idea of other men seeing her. But speaking about it and living the reality were different countries. She had lived in the second one for too long.
Both Navya and Raghav had been clear: tell him nothing. The full truth would only damage what they were trying to rebuild. Navya had softened it later, in a quiet moment.
“If the time ever feels right,” Navya had said, “give him a small piece. Just enough so his mind doesn’t invent something worse. But only if you’re sure.”
Meera had not been sure then. She was not sure now.
The phone rang from the bedroom, sharp and insistent.
She turned off the water. For a second she simply stood there, dripping, nipples still tight, hand still resting low on her body. Then she grabbed the towel, wrapped it roughly around her chest so that it covered her breasts, and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor.
She picked up the phone without checking the screen and answered.
Navya’s face appeared.
It was a video call.
Meera froze for half a second, towel clutched to her chest, hair dripping onto her shoulders, the top edge of the towel threatening to slip. Navya’s eyes widened slightly, then a small, knowing smile touched her mouth.
“Bad timing?” Navya asked, voice warm with amusement.
Meera adjusted the towel higher and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You could say that,” she answered.
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