[Umavictor32]

Chapter 36: Actress Keerthy Suresh Story Changed Chithra's Ideology

[Location: Saroja's house (Living Room), Porur | Day: Saturday | Date: 9th January 2027 | Time: 10:00 AM]

Chithra's hands were trembling around Saroja's phone.

The screen still glowed with Malar's price list—those stark numbers, those clinical descriptions of what a body could be sold for. Her thumb hovered over the call button, and she could feel the weight of it, the gravity of what that single press would mean.

She set the phone down.

"I can't."




Saroja's eyebrow lifted. "You just said okay."

"I know." Chithra pulled her knees up to her chest, the short skirt riding higher, exposing the soft curve of her inner thigh. "But I need to tell you something first. I need you to understand."

Saroja settled back, crossing her arms. Her face was patient, curious. Inside, her mindvoice was already sharpening. She's stalling. She's looking for a reason to back out. I need to find the thread and pull it before she unravels completely.

"I was raised a certain way," Chithra began. Her voice was low, eyes fixed on the floor. "In Madurai, in a conservative family. My parents taught me that a woman's dignity is her most precious thing. That once you lose it, you can never get it back."

She paused. Her throat worked.

"When I married Vijay, I made a promise. I would be a good wife. A good mother. I would never bring shame to my family." She laughed, a hollow sound. "I had a lover before marriage. Muthu. We loved each other, but my parents didn't let me marry him. I obeyed. I married Vijay. And even though I loved Muthu, I never cheated on Vijay with him. Not once."

"I may have avoided sex with Vijay," Chithra continued. "I did it only when necessary, only to have Aaryan. But I never betrayed him. I was faithful."

Her voice cracked on the next words.

"Then he killed my son."

"I was broken," Chithra whispered. "Completely shattered. And Muthu—he found me. He gave me love. Protection. He made me feel safe again. When I made love with him, it was because I loved him. It wasn't about lust. It wasn't about being dirty."

Keep telling yourself that, Saroja thought. Love and lust are the same thing when you're desperate enough.

"The day after I first slept with Muthu," Chithra said, her voice dropping to barely a whisper, "he gave me an i-pill. To avoid pregnancy. And in that moment, I felt like a slut. Like I was just a body he used."

Saroja's mindvoice purred. Good. Let her feel that shame. Let her remember it. Because soon, she'll feel that shame every single day—and she'll learn to love it.

"Then you came," Chithra said, looking up at Saroja. "I came here to bring you back to the party. That was my only purpose. But see what happened?" Her eyes glistened. "I slept with you like a lesbian slut. Few years back, if someone had told me I would do such a thing, I would have killed myself."

And now you're grateful for it, Saroja thought. You're grateful I showed you what your body can feel.

"And now," Chithra continued, her voice shaking, "unknowingly, I called Malar by seeing her status. And you're making me do online sex chat. And the worst part is—" Her face crumpled. "I'm slowly enjoying the thought of it. I feel nice when I imagine it. But I'm afraid, Saroja. I'm afraid I may lose everything."

Lose everything? Saroja's mindvoice scoffed. You lost everything the moment you agreed to get in my car. You just don't know it yet.

"Once, I told Muthu I would never become a money-minded slut like you," Chithra said. "But now I feel I may become worse than you. Because you do it for money. But I feel I may find pleasure in it."

Worse than me? Saroja's mindvoice went cold. You have no idea what I've done, little housewife. You have no idea the depths I've reached. And soon, you'll be right there beside me.

"I'm afraid of what society will say about me," Chithra finished. "I'm afraid, Saroja."

She fell silent. The only sound was the hum of the ceiling fan and the distant traffic from the street.

Saroja let the silence stretch. Let it breathe. Let Chithra's confession settle between them like dust.

Then she spoke.

"Chithra, I know you called me a money-minded slut."

Chithra flinched.

"I was not angry at you," Saroja said. Her voice was soft, gentle—a complete lie wrapped in velvet. Inside, her mindvoice was venomous. Not angry? I've been planning your destruction since that sentence left your lips. Every touch, every kiss, every moment of tenderness has been a step toward your ruin.

"The reason I'm doing this to you," Saroja continued, "is that your mind is asking you to enjoy this life. I want you to listen to your mind."

I want you to listen to the hunger I've planted in you. I want it to grow until it consumes everything else.

"Till now, you've never been happy," Saroja said. "You've never lived for yourself. From today, try doing it."

She stood, crossed to the cupboard, and pulled out a red silk saree. It was rich, deep crimson, with a golden border that caught the light.

"Wear this," Saroja said, holding it out. "Go to the temple alone. Talk to your god. Tell him, 'I want to live for myself. Bless me.' Then come back."

Chithra stared at the saree.

"Do one or two video calls," Saroja said. "After those two calls, if you feel this is bad, stop it. You have twenty lakhs in your account from Sethuraman. Money is not your problem. This caged life is the issue. Just come out of it."

Chithra took the saree. Her fingers brushed the silk, feeling its weight.

"Okay," she whispered.

She stood and walked to the bedroom, the saree clutched to her chest.

Saroja watched her go. The moment the door closed, her face hardened.

What the fuck? her mindvoice snarled. You showed me your whole body. You let me lick your pussy. You came on my tongue. And now you're acting like a decent woman?

She paced the living room, her heels clicking on the tiles.

Today is Saturday. I have until Wednesday morning 9 AM. Four days. Ninety-six hours.

She stopped at the window, staring out at the street.

By Wednesday, I will have broken every piece of that decency. I will have scattered it across this city like ash. She will beg me for cock. She will beg me for strangers. She will beg me to be used.

And she will thank me for it.

The bedroom door opened.

Chithra stepped out.

The red saree transformed her. It dbangd over her curves like liquid fire, the golden border tracing the swell of her hips, the curve of her waist. Her midriff was bare—a sliver of warm brown skin between the blouse and the saree's edge. Her hair was loose, falling in dark waves over her shoulders.




She looked like a goddess. A sacrifice. A bride.

Saroja's breath caught. Perfect. She's perfect. And she doesn't even know how perfect she is for what I have planned.

Before Chithra could reach the front door, Saroja spoke.

"Do you know actress Keerthy Suresh?"

Chithra paused. "Yes. Why?"

Saroja leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her voice casual.

"Keerthy Suresh initially said she would not do sexy roles in movies. She wanted to be a decent actress. 



But what did society do to her?" Saroja shook her head. "They made all her movies flop. Every single one. She couldn't get work."

Chithra listened, her hand on the door handle.

"Then she went to Telugu," Saroja continued. "Slowly, she started to expose herself in a light manner. A song with Mahesh Babu. 



She did it because she had no movies. All her films were flopping. And what did society do?" Saroja's voice turned sharp. "They started barking, 'We want that old decent Keerthy Suresh. We want the old one.'"

"She went to Hindi," Saroja said. "Acted with Varun Dhawan. Showed her body, though she covered her navel. 




And what did society do? They made that song a hit. The movie flopped, but the song—the song became a sensation."

Chithra's grip on the door handle loosened.

"Then Keerthy did the Akka web series," Saroja said. "Everyone watched it just to catch a glimpse of her navel. 






People created fake AI photos, claiming she had acted in explicit scenes in that series.






 And what happened?" Saroja smiled. "The series became a huge hit. Now she's back in the market. Getting more chances than ever."

She made her body her asset, Saroja thought. And now she's richer for it. Not just in money—in freedom.

"So don't care about society," Saroja said. "Do what you feel. The decisions you take have nothing to do with society. Your life. Your choice."

Chithra stood still for a long moment.

Then she reached down.

Her fingers found the edge of the saree, where it was tucked at her waist. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it down.

The fabric slipped, exposing her navel—the soft curve of her belly, the dark hollow of her navel, the smooth skin stretching down to the waistband of her petticoat.



She looked at Saroja.

And smiled.

A small smile. Uncertain. But real.

"Okay," Chithra said.

She took her phone from the table, tucked it into her palm, and opened the front door.

The morning sunlight hit her face as she stepped out, the red saree catching the light, her bare navel catching the breeze.

Saroja watched her go.

Yes, her mindvoice whispered. Walk into the sun, my little lamb. Pray to your god. Ask for blessings. And when you come back, I will be waiting.

Waiting to show you what freedom really means.

Waiting to show you that the cage was never society—it was your own fear.

And I'm going to break that fear apart, piece by piece, until all that's left is hunger.