[kk007007]

Eagerly waiting KK!!

Eagerly awaiting next update.

Still waiting KK bro..

Yeah! will post in couple of days

[kk007007]

Announcement 

I have converted my story into audio book! 

Message me if anyone interested 

I will send directly to your mail

This solve the problem of reading previous updates after a long gap.. you listen to audio book and catch up to the story 

[kk007007]

Send it to me bro...... I love this story too much

Msg your mail to me

[kk007007]

Please send it Bro!! I'm literally loving this story...one of the best story on this platform!! Don't want to miss a single word of story ❤️

Have sent you a private message with mail address. Please check and send the audiobook to that mail address.

After you send me your email, i will add you to google chat group.. But you have to accept my invite.

[kk007007]

Where is the udpate?
Where is the utdape?
Where is the uptade?
Where is the utpade?
Where is the udtape?

2maro for sure..

[kk007007]

Recap:

• Srinu took ganga to meet priya
  
• srinu and ganga went to Bus stand
  
• Ganga left for her cousin's wedding
  
• Srinu went to office
  

For Character Reference: Charaters

The Husband

Srinu sat at his office desk, trying to concentrate on his work. The screen in front of him displayed a half-written report, but his mind wasn’t on the numbers or the words. His fingers tapped nervously on the desk.


Srinu (muttering to himself, shifting in his seat): "Shit… I can’t even sit straight today."

His eyes kept darting to his phone screen. He opened the diary app, hovered his thumb over the last page of Ganga’s diary he had been secretly reading. But then—he pulled back.

Srinu (thinking, whispering to himself): "No… not now. Every time I read this thing… I end up with a fucking hard-on. If someone sees…"

He glanced around the office. A few colleagues were busy at their stations, heads down. Still, the risk was real. One bulge in the wrong moment, and he'd be branded a pervert.

Srinu (gritting his teeth): "Damn you, Ganga… why the fuck is your diary so addictive?"

Time crawled by.

Finally, the clock struck noon. Srinu pushed his chair back.

Srinu (stretching, exhaling): "Lunch break… few more hours, and I’m outta here."

But before he could head out, he pulled out his phone and tried video calling Ganga. Although he hated Ganga more than anything in the world for betraying him, he could not stop himself from caring for her safe travel. It was natural for him to be protective of her because of the immense love he had for her.

The screen rang.

And rang.

No answer.

Srinu (dialing voice call, sighing): "Come on, pick up, baby..."

The call connected.

Srinu (smiling): "Hello?"

Ganga (crackling voice): "He…llo… Sr—nu…?"

Srinu (confused, frowning): "Why weren’t you picking up my video call?"

Ganga (voice breaking badly): "Si—gnal…bad… no ne—twork…"

Srinu could barely understand her, but he pieced it together.

Srinu: "Ah, okay. Where are you right now?"

Ganga (distorted, repeating herself): "B—bus… stop—ped… at a… Punjabi… dhaba… lunch..."

Srinu (nodding, smiling): "Oh, that’s good. I’m heading for lunch too."

Ganga had to repeat her sentence twice before it made sense to him.

Ganga (straining her voice, frustrated): "Oh… wh—ere… will you… eat?"

Srinu: "Not sure yet. Maybe the office canteen."

Ganga (annoyed): "I told you to go to Priya’s house for lunch."

Srinu (guilty, rubbing his neck): "Sorry, baby… I know… I’ll go tomorrow, promise."

Her voice broke again into nothing but static.

Ganga (muffled, trying to speak): "So—rry… bad recep—tion… I’m h—nging up… we’re going for—"

Click.

The call dropped.

Srinu stared at the screen for a second, then tilted his head.

Srinu (thinking aloud): "Did she say we are going for lunch? Why the fuck is she saying ‘we’?"

He tried to rationalize it, shaking his head.

Srinu (shrugging): "Maybe I misheard… stupid reception."

Just then, a colleague barged into his room with a cheerful grin.

Colleague: "Srinu! Canteen? Come on, man. Let’s eat."

Srinu (forcing a smile): "Yeah, coming."

He shoved the phone into his pocket and followed his colleague, still thinking about Ganga’s last word: “We.”

He rode home, each signal, each speed bump only fueling his anticipation. Reaching his house, he locked the main door behind him, the sound of the bolt clicking like sealing away the world.

Srinu (to himself, breathing fast): "Finally… Home!"

He dropped his bag, rushed to the kitchen, grabbed some morning leftovers to eat, barely chewed before swallowing. He wiped his mouth and hurried upstairs.

Their bedroom door creaked open as he entered. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting golden shadows across the room.

He flopped onto the bed, pulled out his phone…

But paused.

Srinu (frowning): "Reading this on the phone is tiring. Fuck it… I’ll just read from the source."

He sprang up, eyes gleaming.

He marched to Ganga’s wardrobe, yanking open drawers, flipping through her clothes, checking under piles of sarees and blouses.

Nothing.

He checked her bag.

There it was the diary hidden deep inside her clothes

Srinu (frustrated, slamming the door shut): "Of course… of fucking course she took it with her."

He stood there, hands on hips, chest rising.

Srinu (snarling): "She doesn’t want anyone to find out about her dirty little secrets. Bloody whore."

After cursing under his breath, he climbed back onto the bed, pulled the sheet aside, and opened the diary.

Srinu (whispering): "Let’s see what you were too afraid to leave behind… my sweet, dirty Ganga."

And he started reading the next part of her diary…

Ganga wrote in her diary... “As I closed the main door of the house, my heart was still racing after revisiting my flashback with Priya and our first kiss in the hostel. Surely that was the reason why I was able to feel Sundari's touch on my body when she tried to seduce me, sending a chill down my spine. The real question would be, why was somebody trying to seduce me?

Remembering Priya, I asked myself, should I tell Priya what happened last night with Javed and Chacha? Should I tell my family? Will they understand my side of the story? What if they hate me after listening to what happened in that room with Javed and Chacha?

I can't risk telling them right now, at least not completely. I quickly got freshened up and packed some clothes for you to wear in the hospital. Prepared lunch for you and your parents. I called my family first and explained to them how the attacker had stolen our belongings. I made it sound like it was just a theft, nothing else. I told them that in the process of saving me, Srinu got hurt and was admitted to the hospital.

I know, Srinu, as you read this, that I have lied to my family. You will hate me more than before, but I couldn't face their wrath. I need their help to take care of you — at that moment, my priority was you getting well as soon as possible.”

Srinu (muttering): "Now she made me an excuse for lying to her family... that's pathetic of her." (angry, jaw clenched.)

Ganga’s Diary – Continued... “My family informed me that they are immediately leaving their farm work and coming to see us. But I did not want them to lose their year-long work on their agricultural produce. I assured them that I would be able to manage a few days without them and asked them to complete their work before coming to see us in the hospital. To which they agreed.

After that, I called Priya and told her about the attack. I did not tell her about Javed and Chacha either. She is my best friend with whom I usually share all of my secrets, but at that moment, I did not feel like telling her about Javed and Chacha, at least not yet.

Later that day, Priya and her husband came to the hospital to console me.

A couple of days passed by with the same routine, with your parents looking after you in the hospital. I took care of the rest of the things — preparing food, bringing your medicines, washing your clothes to keep them fresh. This meant I had to travel back and forth from our house to the hospital multiple times each day.

Every day since the day of the attack, I cursed myself. The pain of betraying you was cutting my heart into pieces. Every breath I took was painful. I wanted to end this pain. At that point, I was ready to do anything for you to recover — I was even ready to exchange my life for yours.

On one such day, I woke up early in the hospital room. You were lying there… so still. So silent.

Ganga (softly, standing beside the bed): “I couldn’t bear looking at you like that, Srinu… motionless.” (She wiped her tears, then grabbed the laundry bag.)

I somehow felt I was the reason that you are in that hospital bed. I lost count of how many times I cursed myself for not coming to help you when I saw you on the stairs looking for me.

Instead, I just closed the door behind you… so that I… I can... have a second round with Javed and Chacha...

Oh, that was so humiliating. The guilt was killing me inside."

Srinu (whispers aloud, frozen): “Second round…”

Ganga’s Diary – Continued... "I couldn’t stay in that room. I picked up the bag of unwashed clothes, told your parents I was heading home to cook lunch and do laundry. At the bus stop, as I waited for the early morning bus, an auto pulled up near me.

The auto stopped right in front of her. It was a green Bajaj auto, covered inside with faded Urdu phrases scribbled on the roof and seatbacks — some religious verses, others just filthy graffiti. A dusty garland of fake flowers hung from the rearview mirror, swaying lazily.

The auto driver was a middle-aged man, dark-skinned with a thick, unkempt beard. He wore a white skullcap on his head and a worn-out khaki shirt, its buttons mostly undone. His blue cotton lungi was tucked at his waist carelessly, exposing hairy legs as he sat hunched forward. His eyes had a dirty hunger in them, and his smile was twisted like a permanent sneer.

Auto Driver (grinning): “Memsaab, chale kya?” [Madam, shall we go?]

Me (ignoring him): “No, thank you.”

Auto Driver (persisting): “Memsaab, kaha jana hai?” [Madam, where do you want to go?]

(I shook her head, dismissively.)

Auto Driver: “Chalo madam, main bus ticket se bhi saste mein le jaunga.” [Come madam, I’ll take you for less than the cost of a bus ticket.]

It was too early for the city bus anyway, and I had to come back to the hospital as soon as possible with food. So I agreed and got into the auto.

All the while through our journey, the auto driver kept looking at me from his side mirror with a devious smile on his face. I covered myself as much as possible from his eyes.

I stayed awake late last night looking after you, Srinu, so I felt a little tired waking up early. The morning breeze hitting my face made me sleepy. Without knowing, I nodded off into a little nap.

I don't know how long I slept. When I woke up, my eyes fell on the driver’s side mirror. I could see the driver's face was flushed, and his hungry eyes were fixed not on my face but below my neck.

I followed his eyes and realised — when I fell asleep, my pallu had slipped off my shoulder, showing my cleavage with my mangal sutra dangling on it.




I quickly covered myself up and looked at him angrily. He gave me a disappointed look and focused back on driving.”

Finally, we reached home. I got off the auto and went to his side. I could see one side of his lungi was up to his knees. There was a clear bulge near his crotch. I wondered if he was looking at my cleavage and mastur... before i could notice anything else he quickly dropped his lungi and gave me an awkward smile. To diffuse the situation I asked,

Me (stepping out): “Kitna hua bhaiya?” [How much is it, brother?]

Auto Driver (smiling, removing his skullcap): “Uska koi jarurat nahin hai madam, aapke pati se le lunga.” [There’s no need for that, madam. I’ll take it from your husband.]

Me (confused): “What did you say?”

Auto Driver (smiling wider): “Vahi madam ji, aapko paise dene ki jarurat nahin hai. Iske paise main aapke pati se le lunga.” [Just that, madam. You don’t need to pay. I’ll collect the fare from your husband.]

Me (furrowing her brows): “How do you know my husband?”

Auto Driver (with a casual shrug): “Main aapke pati ko bahut acche se jaanta hoon. Hum donon ek hi jagah pe bade hue hain.” [I know your husband very well. We both grew up in the same place.]

Me (in disbelief): “So you come from the same village as Srinu?”

Auto Driver (suddenly frowning): “Srinu kaun hai?” [Who is Srinu?]

(My heart skipped a beat. He started the auto again.)

Auto Driver (grinning as he drove off): “Achcha chalta hoon, madam!” [Take care, madam!]

I stood there confused, his words echoing in my head. Who was he talking about if not Srinu? Who did he think my husband was?"

Srinu (Angry): “Wait is it the same auto driver... that i followed when he took ganga to ranigunj?”

Ganga’s Diary – Continued...

"I walked toward the main door, confused about what he meant by my husband.

Even though I started doing the housework, the question kept eating at me. I put the clothes into the washing machine and began preparing food.

I finally convinced myself, thinking — maybe the auto driver had mistaken me for someone else’s wife. They see many people every day.

(Doorbell rings)

I went and opened the door.

Milkman (smiling): "Memsaab, I came yesterday and the day before that. Your house was locked. What happened? Did you go somewhere?"

Me (hesitating, trying to avoid eye contact): “Oh, my husband got into a little accident and got admitted to the hospital. We were at the hospital.”

Milkman: “Oh, very sad, Memsaab. How is your husband now?”

Me (firmly): “He is okay, no need to worry.” (I turned to bring a bowl for the milk.)

Milkman (mischievously): “Memsaab, bring a big bowl for extra milk. You might be tired after two rounds.”

Me (turning, stunned): What did he just say...?

My head was spinning with questions. What did he mean by two rounds?

Was he referring to my second round with Javed and Chachaerring? How could he know about that?

After a pause, I gathered myself.

Me (carefully): “What do you mean by two rounds?”

Milkman (smirking): “I mean, you must be travelling two rounds daily from your home to the hospital. Right, Memsaab? I thought you might be tired, and you must have relatives visiting your husband. so you may need extra milk.”

(She let out a deep breath and nodded, fetching the bowl.)

Milkman (waving his hand): “Don’t worry, Memsaab. I’ll take money from your husband.”

Me (frowning): “But… like I said, my husband is in the hospital. How can he pay you?”

Milkman (walking away with a sly smile): “Memsaab… your husband will come home soon.”

The front door creaked softly as Ganga closed it behind her. The clink of the latch falling into place echoed louder than usual. I leaned against the door for a moment, holding the bowl of milk close to her chest, her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

Me (thinking): What did he mean? Did he mean ‘get well soon’? Or… did he mean something else entirely? Why did it feel like he knew more than he was letting on?

My grip on the stainless steel bowl loosened. It clattered against the kitchen counter as she set it down, milk splashing at the edges. My hands were trembling. Visibly.

I stared at them — thin fingers, shaking uncontrollably, her wrists stiff with tension.

Me (whispering): “What’s happening to me…”

My chest was tight. Each breath felt like it had to crawl up through a tunnel of barbed wire. The quiet of the house amplified the noise inside her head.

It’s all catching up to me. It's making me paranoid.
That night — the attack.
Javed’s eyes, dark and mocking.
Chacha’s breath on my neck.
Their hands.
Their force.
Their laughter.

My own screams — muffled and ignored.

And then the lies… the lies I’ve been weaving ever since.
To your parents. To the hospital staff. To myself.

The guilt keeps growing. The web keeps tightening.

I turned her face toward the calendar on the wall — Srinu’s hospital discharge was circled in red. Three weeks from now.

Me (thinking): Can I look him in the eye again? Can I even bear to hold his hand without him seeing everything I’ve hidden?

I turned toward the milk bowl again. The surface of the milk had gone still. My own reflection stared back at me, but I didn’t recognize myself.

Me (shaken): Even the milkman, who is like a father to me, is making me doubt myself.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I gathered herself and returned to the kitchen.

I thought I knew myself. I thought there were lines I would never cross.
That my love for you was my anchor. That no matter what storm hit, I would stay grounded.

But that night… that fucking night… it exposed something in me. Something I didn’t know existed.

That part of me that didn’t just break… it responded. It betrayed everything I thought I stood for.

I wiped her tears with the back of her hand, but they kept coming. My entire body ached from holding this truth in for so long.

Srinu, you’ll hate me when you find out. When you know what I did that night… when you see who I really am… you’ll hate me.

I gathered herself and returned to the kitchen.

As I cooked, I thought I saw a shadow behind the kitchen window. I turned — nothing.



Again, I felt eyes watching me. I quickly walked to the window — nothing.



I thought my paranoia was making me see things. I put the curry on a simmer and went to have a bath.

I walked up the narrow staircase to my bedroom slowly, each step heavy with thoughts that wouldn't let me go.

All I wanted was a moment to myself. To wash away the sweat, the guilt, the unease. Just a bath.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, or at least I thought I did. My mind was too foggy to be sure of anything anymore.

I stood by the almirah, unpinned my saree, letting the soft cotton fall in folds to the floor. 

The morning sun filtered in through the mesh of the window, drawing golden patterns across my bare skin. I picked up a fresh towel, wrapped it tightly around me, and headed to the bathroom.



I turned the shower on. The cold water hit my body first, stealing my breath, but soon it warmed. I let it run down my neck, over my shoulders, closing my eyes, just trying to breathe.

Just a bath, Ganga. Just a bath. Don’t think. Don’t remember.

But I couldn’t help it.

Again — that feeling.

Like someone was watching me.



My eyes snapped open, heart racing. I turned to the tiny ventilation window, that grimy piece of glass above the sink. There was no movement. No shadow. No silhouette. Just the flickering of the neem tree outside. Still, I kept staring for a long second… just to be sure.

Me (whispering): “Get a grip…”

I sighed, finished my bath quickly, and stepped out, dripping onto the tile floor. I dried myself fast, skin prickling with the faint chill of suspicion, and walked back into the bedroom wrapped in the towel.

I opened the almirah doors, pulled out a fresh green bra and lilac panty, and slid them on one by one. I wore my bra and my blouse first.



Then I pulled up my panties, followed by lunga.



when I was adjusting my saree



I froze.

The bedroom door.

It was open. Slightly ajar.

I knew I had closed it. I knew I had.

Then… movement.

My heart dropped.

A pair of eyes — peeking through the crack.

Wide. Male. Young.

Someone was watching me.

Me. Naked. Vulnerable.

For a second, I stood frozen, my half-dbangd saree in my hands. Then anger surged like a fire up my spine.

Me (shouting): “Aye!”

The boy jumped, panic flashing across his face. It was the water boy.

I ran to the door and slammed it shut.

My hands were shaking as I tucked the pallu into my waist. My blood boiled. I marched to the door, yanked it open and stared straight at him — his hands clasped, his face pale, lips trembling.

Me (furious, breath heavy): “You were watching me?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Water Boy (stammering): “Didi… woh… woh main—main bas paani rakhne aaya tha… darwaza thoda khula tha… main—main kuch nahi kiya, kasam se!”
[Sister... I-I just came to drop off the water... the door was slightly open... I-I didn’t do anything, I swear!]

Me (eyes narrowing): “Kasam se? You think I didn’t see your filthy eyes at the door? Don’t lie to me!”

Water Boy (voice trembling): “Galti ho gayi, didi… main dar gaya… aap gussa ho gayi toh—mujhe maaf kar dijiye, please…”
[I made a mistake, sister... I got scared... you got angry so—please forgive me...]

Me (stepping closer, voice low but sharp): “You come into my house, uninvited, and then you peek into my bedroom while I’m changing?! You know what that’s called?”

Water Boy (head bowed, whispering): “Mujhe pata hai didi… I didn’t mean to… bas darwaza khula tha… aankhon se galti ho gayi…”
[I know, sister… I didn’t mean to… the door was open… my eyes made a mistake…]

Me (teeth clenched): “Galti aankhon se nahi hoti, niyat se hoti hai.”
[A mistake doesn’t happen through the eyes, it happens through intention.]
“And your intention was filthy.”

Water Boy (on verge of crying): “Maa kasam, didi, main ab kabhi nahi karunga… please kisi ko mat batayiye… main paani bhi nahi launga ab se…”
[I swear on my mother, sister, I’ll never do it again… please don’t tell anyone… I won’t even bring the water from now on…]

Me (coldly): “You think I’m scared of making noise? I should drag you out by your collar and show your face to the whole basti!”
[neighborhood]

He shook his head violently, backing away.

Water Boy (pleading): “Didi, please… chhoti si naukri hai meri… ghar mein chhoti behen hai… mat kijiye aisa…”
[Sister, please… I have a small job… I have a younger sister at home… please don’t do this…]

I looked at him — trembling like a leaf, cheeks flushed with shame or fear, or both. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream until the whole lane heard. But something inside me — maybe exhaustion, maybe disgust — pulled me back.

Me (cold, sharp): “Get out.”

He turned, nearly stumbling down the stairs.

Water Boy (walking to the door, apologetic): “Sorry again…”

Me: “Wait. What about the card? I have to sign for the delivery, right?”

Water Boy (turned around): “Don’t worry, didi. Your husband already signed it.”

Before I could react, he ran out with fear.

I stood there frozen.

What the hell is happening?

Why are all these men — the auto driver, milkman, now even the water boy — referring to someone else as my husband?

I glanced at the wall clock and realized I was running out of time. I needed to get back to the hospital with food and fresh clothes. I went into the kitchen and packed the lunch boxes. As I was putting fresh clothes into the bag, I suddenly froze.

Doorbell rings again. I walk cautiously toward the door.

Me (anxiously): “Who is it?”

Voice from the other side — deep, familiar, spine-chilling:

Your husband!"

Note: Everyone who sent me their email IDs for audio book need to accept the invite i sent you on your mail and join the chat space, i cant share files with each and every one of you individually... in the space i can share with all at once.

[kk007007]

Buddy, please proof read your story a few times before publishing... There are glaring mistakes...most common being "Herself" vs "Myself"... Just a suggestion...

Switching between 1st and 3rd person is difficult..

Appreciate for pointing out this.. i will take care next time

[kk007007]

Super update bro, tumhari story to purani sharab jaisi hai shuru main kuch nasha nahi hota Lekin 4 peg ke baad khoob Chad jati hai. Aur iss story mein eroticism ke sath thriller ka tadka hai is story pe to bollywood ya south ki movie ban sakti hai jo blockbuster ho jayegi. Thank you for this mind-blowing story. keep it up

Bro whattta fantastic story,,, i swear this the best story on the internet and i have almost read every story of this forum but found none this much of erotic.....so gooodddd.....

yr):

[kk007007]

Author left the story?

Guys i had the outline of this update and next update 3 weeks ago.. even before posting the last update[42].

But my 9 hrs office work and coming back home late night around 10-10:30 PM.. to make it worse i have to travel between 2 cities every 2 weeks for work. 

This workload is sucking all my energy, although i completed 90% of this update[43].. i could not make myself to write the last 10%.. i just dont feel like writing due to this pressure.. 

But somehow i will try and manage to complete the story..

The only solution is permanently shift from my hometown to my work place.. Which will probably happen this month..

So, be patient.. i will let you know..

Update[43] will be posted today without GIFs Sad ..

[kk007007]

Recap:

• Srinu took ganga to meet priya
  
• srinu and ganga went to Bus stand
  
• Ganga left for her cousin's wedding
  
• Srinu went to office
  
• Srinu called ganga to know her whereabouts on her bus travel
  
• Srinu was surprised ganga saying WE in the phone call
  
  
• Srinu went home after office
  
• Srinu read ganga's dairy
  
• ganga wrote weird behavior of autowalla, milkman and the waterboy
  
• Srinu was shocked reading unknown person called himself 'Husband'
  

Wedding Photo

Srinu, reading this part, clenched his fists so hard the diary’s pages crumpled.

He muttered to himself, seething with rage

Srinu (gritting his teeth): "Your husband! What the hell... How many husbands does Ganga have?!"

And with that, he flipped to the next page in his phone, his heart pounding like a drum, desperate to know what else was hidden inside Ganga’s painful confessions.

Ganga’s Diary:

"The bell rang again, jerking me out of my frozen stupor.

With a dry, stuttering voice, I somehow managed to ask, “Who... who is it?”

The reply came back, even more confidently this time:

Javed (voice louder, smug): "Your husband!"

Hearing that, there was no longer any doubt. It was him. It was Javed.

A million thoughts flashed through my mind at once —
Why is he here?
What does he want?
Should I open the door?
Will he hurt me?

The doorbell rang again, and then his voice came, chillingly casual:

Javed (mockingly sweet): "I know you're in there, Madam ji. No point hiding."

Hearing him call me Madam ji made my skin crawl. It brought back flashes — flashes of that night, that horrific night that changed my life forever.

I pressed myself against the wall, silent, hoping he would think I wasn't home and leave.

But then came the next threat:

Javed (playful): "Please open the door, Madam ji, or else... I’ll break it."

My heart nearly stopped.
He sounded like he wasn’t bluffing.
I had to do something. Plan an escape. Scream maybe? But before I could even move, I heard him again — his voice dripping with amusement:

Javed (pretending to be casual): "Oh, who’s this neighbour Aunty? She’s looking at me, Madam ji."

I gasped in horror.

The neighbour aunty!
She saw him!
What if she comes here?
What if Javed talks to her?
What if he... he tells her what happened that night?!

Panic overtook every rational thought. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't let that bastard expose me. Not like this. Not now.

My hand acted on its own — trembling, shaking — it grabbed the door handle... and opened the door.

And there he stood.

Javed (with a wide, devilish grin): "Salamalekum, Madam ji?"
[Peace be upon you, Madam ji?]

Javed stepped into the house without any hesitation. I closed the door before the neighbour aunty saw us.

I couldn't even form words. My anger and fear exploded all at once.

I screamed and pushed at him, my voice cracking, “WHAT THE FUCK are you doing here?!”



I was so shaken, I started stuttering, “You... you bastard, how... how dare you come to my house?!”

Javed, completely unfazed, simply smiled at me like I was an old friend:

Javed (teasing): "Oh, Madam ji, is this the way you talk to your husband?"

I snapped back at him, spitting venom, “What the hell are you talking about?! How dare you call yourself my husband?!”

Right then, a terrifying thought hit me.
Wait... the milkman... the auto driver... the water boy...
They were all... referring to Javed as my husband?!

How? How could they know about Javed?
How much did they know about that night?

Javed interrupted my spiraling thoughts with a disgusting smirk:

Javed (mockingly): "What else should I call myself, Madam ji? After what we did in that construction building... that night... our first night. Automatically, I became your husband."

Hearing him spell it out so shamelessly made my head hang low in shame.
The rage inside me melted into humiliation.
The guilt started to choke me.

But Javed wasn’t done.
He twisted the knife even deeper:

Javed (sarcastic): "Anyway, I think you’ll need a husband soon enough, as your real husband is lying unconscious on a hospital bed."

His words made my blood boil.

And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he added:

Javed (mocking): "It’s a miracle he’s still alive... after I hit him so hard with that iron rod."

Hearing him admit — brag — about attacking Srinu...
I could have killed him right there.

I glared at him with pure hatred.



But Javed didn’t care.

He stepped closer to me, smiling viciously.
He reached out his hand, he gently brushed my breast with his fingers while he grabbed my Mangal Sutra between his fingers.

Javed (sarcastic, mocking): "Your mangalsutra must be really powerful, it saved your husband's life."

That was it.

I snatched the Mangal Sutra from his filthy hand and shouted, “GET OUT! Leave this house immediately or I swear I'll scream and call the whole colony!”

Javed threw back his head and laughed hysterically:

Javed (mocking): "Oh please, Madam ji, call whoever you want. But you’ll have to explain to them who I am... and why I’m in your house."

His words slapped me harder than any physical blow.
He was right.
What would I say?
How could I explain?

Once again, I was trapped.

Before I could respond, Javed said, grinning:

Javed (smirking): "Don’t worry, Madam ji, I’ll go away. You just have to finish our game and let me play my turn."

Confused and furious, I asked, “What the hell are you talking about?! What game?! Whose turn?!”

Javed clapped mockingly:

Javed (grinning): "Wow, Madam ji, you forgot already? The coin toss game, remember?"

The moment he said it, the memories slammed into me —
The coin toss.
The night.
Javed and Chacha.

I shivered, guilt drowning me again.

Javed leaned in, voice low and disgusting:

Javed (whispering): "If not for that stupid luck of Chacha... I would’ve enjoyed you first."

I could barely stand hearing his filth.

I shouted back at him, my face burning with shame and anger:

“I don’t know anything about your stupid game or your turn! Now get the fuck out of here!”

For the first time, Javed looked slightly surprised.
But he still didn’t back off.

Javed (teasing): "What happened, Madam ji? It’s me, Javed. Why are you acting all angry now?"

I gave him a cold, disgusted stare.

“Acting angry?! What the hell do you mean acting?! You really think I’m acting?!”

Javed (calmly raising his hands): "Hold your horses, Madam ji. Why so much gussa? [anger] Pretending like you don't like us?"

The audacity of this bastard!

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
I said, “What on Earth are you talking about?! What makes you think I would ever like a low-class scum like you?”

Javed’s mischievous smile widened:

Javed (mockingly): "Perhaps you forgot, Madam ji. You’re the one who seduced low-class scum like us... from the very beginning."

The shame was unbearable.
He actually thought that night was my fault.

I spat back at him, voice trembling:

“Wow... you idiot... you seriously think I seduced you?! No, you bastard! It was you! You forced me! You molested me!”

He smiled and let out a sigh of disbelief, shaking his head like I was the one twisting the truth.
Javed (calmly): "Okay, madam ji. I think you’ve forgotten what happened two nights ago. Let me remind you quickly."

He looked at me with that same devious smile that had once haunted my dreams.
Javed: "Do you remember how you looked at us when we entered the theatre?"

I replied with disgust,
Me (spitting the words): "Not only me, everyone in the theatre was looking at you because you were shouting like animals!"

Javed (smugly): "Okay, okay… no need to call us animals. We were excited to see such a beautiful woman like you."

When he said beautiful woman, he scanned my entire body slowly, hungrily, like he wanted to devour me. My legs weakened. I lowered my head in shame, unable to meet his eyes.

Then he started circling around me—slowly—like a vulture eyeing prey.

Javed (voice lowering): "What about the moment when I started touching you with my shoulder? Your whole body shuddered. I know you liked it."

Me (sharply): "Why the hell do you think I liked it?"

Javed stood behind me now, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

Javed (whispering near my neck): "Oh? If you didn’t like it, then why didn’t you tell your husband about me?"

He placed his hand on my waist. I slapped it away immediately, but I couldn’t answer his question. My words stumbled out.

Me (stuttering): "I… I was…"

Javed (relentlessly): "You not only didn’t tell your husband, you hid our secret."

Me (confused): "What secret?"

Javed: "When I was touching your hand… you dropped your pallu to cover it from your husband’s eyes."

Me (stammering): "That… that was just an accident."

Javed (mocking): "Oh really? An accident?"

He didn’t even let me breathe. He started walking around me faster, talking faster, throwing his accusations like bullets, one after another.

Javed: "What about when you bent for the national anthem so we could smell your arse?"
As he said that, he slapped my butt hard while circling me. I winced in pain.

Javed (quickly): "What about you coming to the bathroom where we were eating samosas?
What about when you deliberately passed through us, making sure your breasts and buttocks touched us?
What about when you changed your seat after complaining to your husband about our misbehaviour?"

Each question struck like a whip. My mind was spinning with guilt and confusion. Was I truly that unaware? Had I somehow seduced them without meaning to?

Then his voice turned darker.

Javed: "Yes, we forcefully took you into the construction building… we tried to force ourselves on you. But what about when you had a chance to run to your husband, and you stood at the exit door instead of escaping?"

My brain went numb. My body froze. A heavy fog of guilt and helplessness settled over me.

Javed stopped circling. He stood behind me.

Then… he moved closer and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, hands clamping gently over my belly button.
His lips found my shoulder and then my neck, gently caressing, softly kissing.

My heart was pounding. My thoughts were a hurricane.

His lips moved up behind my ear, planting kisses beneath my earlobe.

Javed (whispering): "And the most important of them all… why did you come back for the second round when no one even forced you?"

That question destroyed me.

I had no answer. No defence.

I felt defeated. Cornered. But I reminded myself of my promise to you, Srinu. I had vowed to never cheat again. I would rather die.

Javed started humping against my butt, slowly. I could feel his hard penis pressing through his pants. The sensation hit my spine like lightning. It reminded me exactly of that night.

His kisses on my neck became more intense. His hands massaged my soft belly while pressing my hips tighter against his.

He paused just to whisper again—

Javed (hot breath in my ear): "Do you remember, after coming for the second round… how you sucked our cocks and drank our cu—"

I didn’t let him finish.

With every ounce of strength and rage inside me, I shoved his hands off, broke free, turned around, and slapped him hard across the face.

CRACK.

His face turned with the force. For a moment, silence.

He clutched his cheek and stared at me. I stared back, breathing heavily, chest rising with fury.

I thought he might have learnt his lesson after that slap, but to my surprise... a smile.

A wild, twisted smile curled across his lips.

That look sent a chill through my body.

Without thinking, I ran—straight into the kitchen.

I stood at the sink, facing the wall, breathing fast, trying to gather myself.

But he didn’t give me time.

Javed came running in. Before I could scream, he grabbed me from behind, hugging me tight and pinning me to the kitchen counter.

He began humping furiously—his hips thudding into my butt, even through our clothes.
Thap... Thap... Thap...

His face was buried in my neck, licking and kissing wildly.
His hands massaged my belly like he was sculpting me with his fingers.

I struggled, desperately trying to break free. I wanted to scream—to call for help—but the shame was louder in my head than any cry I could make.

What would everyone say?
What if they ask who is javed? what do i say?

How was this happening to me again?

I was trying my level best to get out of his grip. I wanted to scream and call everyone for help, but everyone would ask about Javed and his association with me. I was asking myself How is this happening to me again? I could clearly feel my body responding to his actions. I thought to myself, human bodies are hard-wired to respond automatically when there is external stimuli, Irrespective of gender. Clearly, this was being proved right in my case. No matter how strong I determine to resist Feelings from a stranger's touch. My body was clearly responding to Javed's touch. 

I hate myself for even writing this down.

But I promised myself… I will be honest with you, Srinu. I don’t want to hide this anymore.

And worse… my body. My fucking body was reacting.
My heart was racing.
My breathing became heavier.
I was sweating.
And worst of all… my pussy was getting wet.

My body was acting as if it had its own mind. Even after the last two days after the attack, I had strongly decided this would never happen again. Unable to get out of his strong grip or even call for help from my colony neighbours, I just closed my eyes, hoping that I would wake up from this nightmare. But unfortunately, it was reality.

Javed moved his hands from my belly to my breasts and removed my saree pallu. He fully cupped and massaged my breasts, often pinching my nipples. He quickly undid my blouse hooks, popping my breasts open. My boobs jiggled out of my blouse, revealing my bra. He quickly turned me around to get a good look at my breasts. I was still closing my eyes, but I could feel him staring at my breasts. I could feel both his hands fully cupping my boobs and pressing them as hard as he could. I let out a sigh of pain.

He buried his face into my breasts, licking and biting on top of them. He had a pattern of licking first—he licked and kissed my right boob, followed by the left, finishing off with his face in my cleavage. Clearly, the cleavage was his favourite spot to lick.

Suddenly, he stopped. I could hear him walking away from me. I couldn't believe it and opened my eyes slightly. I saw him walking to the bowl of milk, which I had collected from the milkman a few minutes ago. Javed held the bowl of milk and looked at me with a devious smile. He walked back to me with the bowl of milk in his hands.

Javed (teasing, smugly): “Drink this.”

I shook my head weakly, saying "No..." and looked at him hesitantly. But he didn’t care.

He didn’t wait for my reaction. He placed the edge of the bowl on my lower lip and tilted it. The milk started flowing into my mouth. With no other option, I started gulping it down. He slowly raised the bowl, making the milk flow faster into my mouth. I couldn't handle the amount of milk flowing in, and eventually, I started choking. The milk began slipping out of my mouth, down my neck, and into my cleavage.

And like a fucking animal, he bent down and started licking it. Lapping it up from my skin, from my breasts, from the valley between them. His tongue was hot and relentless, his moans disgusting and eager.

Finally, the bowl was empty. He threw the bowl into the sink. He raised his head from my breasts to meet my eyes. He looked at me intensely for a few moments, scanning every inch of my face. There were still a few droplets of milk dripping from my lips. He immediately locked my lips with his. He was hungry, kissing like he wanted to eat me alive. His tongue pushed through my lips. Mine fought back, resisting. But he didn't stop.

I tried to push him away with my hands. He didn’t move. Not an inch. I used all my strength to move his head away from me, trying to free myself from his kiss. But it was all futile.

I don't know how long he kissed me, but his intentions were clear: he wanted to have my tongue inside his mouth. He was trying so hard to suck my tongue into his mouth. At the same time, he did not let go of me for even a single second—his whole body was at work, both his hands massaging my body, switching between different parts—boobs, arse, waist. One hand pressed into my arse, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

I tried grabbing his wrist—then his fingers—but he was too fast. Whenever I caught one hand, the other groped somewhere else. He was toying with me—testing my reactions.

Then he started humping. Even though he was still fully clothed, his crotch was grinding against my belly. I could feel the hardness. His cock was rock hard inside his pants, and it was throbbing—poking my stomach like it was desperate to be freed.

It was getting hard to control my body from responding to so much stimulation. My body was reacting. My breathing became heavier. My nipples were betraying me—hard under my bra. I hated it. I hated that I was getting wet. I hated how my thighs were clenching, I was using every bit of my determination to not let him know that my body was enjoying his touch.

Meanwhile, the battle of our tongues continued. Eventually, he won the battle, and I had to surrender my tongue to him, which he happily sucked into his mouth, drinking my saliva and moaned like he was drinking the last drop of water in the desert. I could hear him smirk at his victory. That smirk again. The bastard was proud of it, which made me a little angry. So, as retaliation, I moved my hand under his shirt and pinched him on his waist.

To my surprise, he did not even sigh in pain. Instead, he stopped kissing me and moved his head slightly away from my face. he grabbed my wrist, and pushed my hand down—down to his pants. To his cock.

Javed (grinning): "Madam ji... if you really want to hurt me... pinch me here."

I thought for a couple of seconds as Javed looked at me eagerly, waiting for my reaction. By this point, I was angry—but not at him. I was angry at myself, unable to control my body’s reactions to his touch, even after all that had happened in the last two days after the attack at the theater.

At that moment, I just wanted to hurt him in any way possible for putting me in this position. I thought, Biologically, a man’s private part is his weakest point. If I pinch here, this will definitely hurt him.

That was it—I didn’t think anymore; I just acted. I got his cock between my thumb and index finger which was hot and stiff. I pinched it as hard as I could, all the while wondering about the girth of his penis between my fingers.

Javed (yelping): "Ahhhh—fuck!"

He jumped slightly, as if a jolt of electricity had passed through his body. I felt a little satisfied for causing him pain, even if it was just a little pinch. A second later, to my surprise, his eyes lit up. Not with pain. With fucking pleasure.

Then he held my face in both hands and, without any warning, resumed kissing me—this time even more passionately. He was kissing me so furiously that I was unable to breathe. As retaliation, I pinched his penis once more, this time even harder.

He moaned. Fucking moaned. Instead of shouting in pain.

Again, to my surprise, that made him even wilder. His kissing became even more furious. He was biting my lips and face erratically. 

I realized something chilling.

Every time I resisted… every time I fought back… he wanted it more.

He was so obsessed with me that my every action turned him on. He was addicted to me.

Javed let go of my face and quickly moved his hands to his pants to unbutton them. He lowered his pants along with his underwear, and there it was—his cock. Thick. Dark. Pointing upward like it was ready to burst. The tip was glistening—pre-cum already leaking out.

My body froze. My mind raced.

It reminded me of the night of the attack—how they both stood naked with their penises oozing pre-cum all over the place. Except this was happening in my house—in my kitchen.

At this point, my saree pallu was on the floor, leaving my belly naked. My blouse was open and pushed down to my elbows. The only thing covering my breasts was my bra, which had gotten wet from the milk Javed had poured. My lower body was covered by my saree wrapped around my waist. Javed still had his shirt on, but now his pants, along with his underwear, were down to his knees.

With lust-filled eyes, he looked at me and, pointing to his penis with his eyes, said

Javed (smirking): “Madam ji, I drank your milk. It’s only fair that you drink mine.”

Realizing he wanted me to give him a blowjob, I shot back angrily—

Ganga (furious): “That wasn’t my milk you drank—it was the buffalo’s milk from our milkman. Go and give your milk to that buffalo, you MOTHERFUCKER!”

Javed grabbed my face with both hands, his grip firm and hungry, pulling me toward him. His lips crashed against mine, and he started kissing me—wet, aggressive, desperate. He whispered between each kiss, his breath hot against my mouth.

Javed (moaning between kisses): "Ahhh… Madam Ji… [kiss] It's so hot… [kiss] When you talk… [kiss] Dirty like that."

His lips never left mine for more than a second. With each sentence, he sank deeper into his madness. I was still trying to process what he meant—how even my resistance, my insults, were arousing him. What kind of man was this?

He pressed his pelvis harder against me, and I felt his hard penis grinding into my soft belly. Every thrust smeared more of his sticky pre-cum onto my stomach. It made slurping, obscene sounds with every movement. I felt disgusted. Violated. I wanted him to stop. I squirmed and pushed, but my efforts were meaningless. He was too strong, too absorbed in his frenzy.

I tried speaking through his kisses—telling him to stop, to let me go. But my muffled words only made him more wild. He humped faster, his breathing turning into snarls.

Desperate, I slapped his penis with my right hand—sharp and angry.

Javed (wincing): "Ahh—!"

He paused for a heartbeat, then resumed. I had hurt him. That was something.

I waited, watched, and struck again. Each time he drew his hips back to thrust, I slapped him. The pain in his moans told me it was working. His rhythm faltered, slowed.

Hope bloomed. I raised my hand again for one last, strong hit.

But he was faster.

As I reached for him, Javed slammed forward, pinning my arm between our bodies—my hand trapped right on top of his throbbing cock. My palm pressed against the shaft, and without moving away, he began to thrust into my hand.

Javed (whimpering in pleasure): "Mmmhh… yesss… soft haathon se… haan…"

It was revolting. He was using my unwilling hand to jerk himself off. I looked at him—helpless, my arm immobilized, lips still under siege. He was moaning into my mouth, drunk on the feeling of my unwilling touch.

Then he bit my lower lip. Not gently—like an animal. He tugged, pulled, and finally let it go.

He opened his eyes, full of fire, staring into mine.

Javed (smirking): "Madam Ji… how rude of me. I’m having all the fun. Let me return the favour."

I froze. What did he mean? My heart started pounding.

Then his hand moved down. I felt it land on my pussy—on top of the saree. He began rubbing it, deliberately. I panicked. I tried to wriggle free, to move my hips away, but it only helped him. My attempts opened up more space for his hand to explore.

Before I could rethink anything, I felt his fingers circling my clit—through three layers of clothing. Saree. Langa. Panty.

I moaned. I didn’t want to, but I did.

He kissed me again immediately, sealing my mouth. Silencing me. Claiming me.

This was spiraling. He was still humping my trapped hand. His right hand massaged my clit. His left hand now reached up—cupping and kneading my breast.

I couldn’t take it. I needed it to stop.

I grabbed his wrist with my free hand and pushed him away from my pussy. He fought back, came again. I pushed him away once more. This back and forth continued for several tense seconds—until he gave up.

Or so I thought.

He changed tactics. He placed his hand on my abdomen, just above the waistline. It didn’t alarm me at first. But then, slowly, deliberately, he slid his fingers under my saree.

I panicked. I grabbed his hand, tried stopping him. But he was smirking into my mouth.

With one steady push, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric… reached my langa.

Me (desperate, gasping): “Please stop… don’t do this…”

Javed (whispering with menace): “Shhh…”

He slid further. His fingers touched the waistband of my panty. Then they crept inside.

Me (whimpering, begging): “Please… stop… please don’t do this to me… again…”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. His fingers ran through my pubic hair.

And in that moment… I froze.

I wasn’t scared of Javed.

I was scared of myself.

I was afraid that I would lose control of my body if he touched my bare pussy. And more than anything… I was terrified that he would know just how wet I already was. 

If he comes to know that I was enjoying this, he would never stop.

I couldn’t believe this was happening to me again.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to kill something—myself, him, God—anything.

I prayed. I begged in my mind. God… help me. Please help me.

And then… something happened.

A gust of wind slammed the kitchen window open. Sunlight burst in, cutting through the horror. It fell perfectly on the photo frame hanging on the wall.

It was our wedding photo, Srinu.

In that instant, I remembered everything. The vows. The temple. The sindoor on my forehead. Your face, Srinu. Your hand in mine. Your body—broken in the hospital bed because of me.

I remembered what I swore to you.

That I would rather die than let another man touch me.

And suddenly, I wasn’t helpless anymore.

I found my strength.

I shoved Javed with all my might. He stumbled back.

Before he could recover… before he could lunge at me again… I grabbed the knife from the kitchen table.

The moment I pushed Javed off and grabbed the knife, something switched inside me. My hands trembled, but I lifted the blade anyway and pointed it straight at his face.

Me (shouting, shaking with fury): “GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

My voice was raw. Screaming didn’t feel enough. I wanted to stab the words into him. I waved the knife closer, my breaths ragged, my arms stretched forward in defiance. My body was shaking, but my anger held it steady.

Javed raised his hands, slowly stepping back.

Javed (half-laughing, defensive): “Arey… chill karo, madam. What are you doing? Relax, yaar.”

He was trying to calm me down, like I was some hysterical woman overreacting to a harmless joke. I wanted to scream louder, but my throat burned.

He stood there, confused, eyes narrowing.

Javed (frustrated, gesturing): “Why are you acting like this, haan? What’s your problem?”

I didn’t reply. I just stared—my eyes still locked on him, still holding the knife high. His face twisted, trying to make sense of my reaction.

Javed (accusingly): “You know… I thought all this was a drama when I first came in. That you're just pretending to be angry. Like you were playing hard to get. Exactly like that night… two days ago.”

His voice dipped lower, unsure whether to be sulky or assertive.

Javed (confused and bitter): “What game are you playing? Sometimes you try to seduce us… and other times, you act like you’re some pure, holy wife.”

Those words shattered something inside me.

That’s what they thought of me?

I couldn’t contain it anymore. I burst out laughing. But it wasn’t laughter. It was a scream choking in madness. My body shook from it. I laughed like a broken doll—high-pitched, cracked, distorted—and then the tears came. Hot and heavy.

Me (between tears and wild laughter): “Seduce you? Seduce?! You fools…”

I dropped the knife just slightly, still holding it but no longer pointed.

Me (voice breaking): “You actually thought… I wanted that?! That night you ruined everything—I was just being a wife. I was trying to protect my husband. But you... you animals—”

My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall yet.

Me (screaming through tears): “You broke my life! You shattered my husband! You left him bleeding, unconscious! And me? You tore me apart in ways I’ll never heal from.”

The knife dipped lower in my hand. My arms dropped to my side as I walked forward.

Me (quiet, face to face, shaking): “I’ll never be normal again… never. You know what that means, Javed? I can never be a wife to him… not fully. You made me carry this guilt. Every single day, I see it in his eyes… and he doesn’t even know the truth yet.”

I stood inches from his face now. He didn’t move.

Me (soft, deadly): “You ruined my life so deeply… that I’ve decided to end it. Because of you people.”

I let the knife fall. My hands dropped to my sides. And then… I collapsed to my knees.

My cries were no longer controlled. I sobbed like a child. The floor beneath me blurred through my tears. My lungs heaved as if they were about to burst.

For a long time… he didn’t speak.

Then, finally, I heard the sound of his zipper.

Javed (awkward, voice low): “I… I’m sorry.”

I didn’t look at him.

Javed (softly): “I never wanted to hurt you. Or your husband. That was… Chacha. He made me do it. He forced me to hit your husband.”

I looked up slowly, face soaked, eyes red.

Javed (guilt-ridden): “I swear… I worship you. From the first time I saw you in that theatre, I… I fell in love with you. It was Chacha who… who planned to bang you. Not me.”

He paused, fumbling.

Javed (desperately): “I didn’t want to force anything. I wanted you… to come to me on your own. I’ve spent my whole life with Chacha. Forcing… using… throwing women away. I got tired of it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, still on the ground. His words scbangd against my soul like rusted knives.

He laughed nervously and tried to smile.

Javed (hesitant, breathless): “Madam ji… I… I lo… I love you.”

I turned my face away. I didn’t want to hear another word.

I wiped my cheeks with my palms. Then I stood back up.

I took a moment. I rehooked my blouse. Adjusted my saree at the waist. Tucked the pleats. Pulled my pallu over my shoulder—tight, covering everything.

Only then did I look back at him.

Me (calm, dead serious): “I don’t give a damn about your stupid love act.”

Javed (pleading): “But… it’s not an act… it’s real.”

Me (furious): “Just shut up! How dare you think I would ever come to you on my own? What delusion are you living in? Stop daydreaming.”

I pointed to the door.

Me (stern, final): “Get out of my house. And don’t ever come back.”

He didn’t argue. Maybe for the first time, he realized how small he really was.

He turned around and walked out.

I waited. As soon as the door closed behind him, I slammed it shut with every ounce of strength in me. The echo filled the house like a thunderclap.

I collapsed onto the sofa, shaking. My body was still trembling with leftover fear, but I was proud of myself.

I didn’t give in. Not this time.

But then… a thought hit me like lightning.

Me (gasping): “Shit… why did I let him go?!”

I sat up, remembering.

Me (muttering, rummaging through my purse): “Constable Sundari… she gave me her number… she told me to call if I saw them…”

I found the little scrap of paper—wrinkled, but intact. I grabbed the phone and dialed.

The ringing barely lasted two seconds.

Sundari (on the line, brisk and clear): “Hello? This is Constable Sundari. Who is speaking?”

[kk007007]

The narration is good but her behaviour is so inconsistent with the earlier incident, especially the second round she herself willingly went for, that it is like looking at two different persons. Another thing is the length of the diary entries. Do people describe events at such length in their own diaries?

So now you want story in bullet points?  banghead:

Anyway she is confessing to srinu through her diary. so she wont hide anything

[kk007007]

How many of you think there are too many stoylines and charaters?

[kk007007]

I do. The flashbacks may be eliminated or greatly shortened if unavoidable. More of Ganga is preferable.

Me too bro. The woman cop is not needed as do Ganga's friend. Bring on as many male characters as you know why.

the story is loosing focus due to detailed flashbacks and sideshows ... the original story thread is still fascinating but it gets interrupted every now and then ... anyway its upto you to decide how to take it forward ... you asked so I responded ...

Guys this is a story.. Not porn where there is mindless sex without any context or background..

Moreover, Without ganga's back story or flashback how on earth will you understand why she is doing all the things in the story or will be doing in future? 

[kk007007]

Are you fishing for ideas for your next chapters???

Seriously 

Why would i ask you guys for ideas and tell you the same ideas again?

I am asking if readers are able to keep up with the story plot. Main and sub plots as well. 

Moreover, i am planning to introduce more characters in the story. 

[kk007007]

 already too much of characters. we forgot the where it all started.

Yes.. this is a problem.

[kk007007]

It seems people who voice their opinion and holds a different POV about something than you always has to face un-invited criticism.

When did i critize you buddy?

[kk007007]

Sorry guys for not posting updates..
Like I said before, In process of shifting cities.. searching for new house in budget and shifting with family is hectic.
There may not be updates till next month.. Once im settled.. i will resume the story..
Appreciate everybody for supporting this story 
Cheers..

[kk007007]

Commenting here because this thread has to stay alive in front page..I can't bear this going to 2nd or even being last in the list

For your dedication and commitment here is your reward.. Audio books for chapters 1-5.

I tried creating google chat group for audio books.. but not even 1 member accepted the request.

Need your feedback on the audio books quality.. I will post next chapters based on your feedback.

Download Here -->Chapters 1-5

[kk007007]

When the next update will come bro?

This sunday..

[kk007007]

Thanks for the audio.. appreciate the effort you are putting here... but am not gonna lie reading is better than audio so Now please continue the story we are eagerly waiting for next update... thanks again.

Bro.. these audio books are to refresh your memory.. so you dont loose the track of the story. 

Just listen to them in free time.