[tharkibudda]

So I had this discussion with another author in literotica and when she gave this idea, I immediately laughed off telling it so similar to another story. But now I realise that most of these loving wives stories fall under very few specific templates and people aren't interested in other genres as much as I can see with my “The Village is No Place for Girls” story. 



So here is my story written in First Person POV

Please note: This story takes place before the Jio Revolution in order to avoid several plotholes. That doesnt mean it will be perfect

Note : All pics generated through AI and any resemblance to any person is mere coincidental of AI


4/23/2026 Update

Hello All



I was writing my story and I deliberately made the pacing slow because I felt most of the stories move from a sanskari wife to a gangbanged whore pretty soon mostly because they make her submit so soon.

So despite many suggestions, I kept the suspense between the wife and Lakhan drawn out where she doesnt submit to him completely despite him using her several times. Also I didnt want the husband to be completely a cuckold to enjoy fapping to his wife's bang.



Although i would say despite being non cliche, i literally followed every cliche of these cheating wife story but i felt happy because I went in my own pace. I also regularly collected the feedback and incorporated a few and ignored the rest. I also got into arguments with few users which I now regret.



During December, I took the much awaited break I needed with my wife and children and since I had to celebrate sankranti, i told I will be back post that. 



But unfortunately,life had other plans. A close person fell ill and the first two months was spent running after hospitals while also working on the side and also maintaining my kids education and wife's job. But the incident left me physically and mentally exhausted. I can no longer continue to write these stories ,not because my name is Rahul or my wife beat me but the incident left a deep impression on me and I cannot concentrate anymore on these activities.



i now have what people call as Writers block and Im not sure if it might even be cured anytime soon. SO If anyone wants to continue the story, please go ahead. Im not even sure I will even come back and read them given my state of mind. It doesnt matter if SHivanikaur ji or anyone takes it, although I would be happy if they continue same pacing while examining the deep intrusive thoughts of Manav and how he sees the changes in Dhristi slowly than a quick turn. 



Also, I tried to close a lot of silly gaps like birth control pills . I dont know if i was missing the forest for the trees because I spent weeks on establishing the possibility of no accidental pregnancy. Bit of backstory of Lakhan's past etc but I dont regret it because i wanted this to a product of years not a few boring nights work before life happened.



The ones who want to continue may start or they may reach me where i can provide my idea of how the story I envisioned. they are free to include my plotline or modify if needed. Although i might take days to respond . 



For the sake of story, the show must go on ,even if the original author retires. although I cant call myself original because the main idea was lifted from "who watches the watchman" series by sweetdreamssss and gave the idea to me 



Signing off
 Definitely Not Rahul who got beaten by his wife

[tharkibudda]

Chapter one - Angel Into my life

I'm Manav. I'm 27 years old and work as an accountant for a small company. I grew up in a poor family and somewhat ok in studies. I couldnt afford to go to engineering, so opted for Commerce. I had completed M.Com and moved to Mumbai for work. It's a grind, but it pays the bills. Most of my days are spent in a cubicle, numbers and spreadsheets my only companions. My apartment is a tiny chawl in the heart of the Ghatkopar with 3 roommates but it's home. It's a place to eat, sleep, and occasionally, to escape from the chaos outside.


Soon, my parents started looking for bride. But i was rejected because i was only 5'6", poor, not English medium and not working as an engineer or doctor. It was a constant humiliation for me, especially when my friends started getting married to their beautiful, well-educated brides. I felt like a failure in their eyes.

Then, the miracle happened. They showed me a girl from a very rural part of our area. Her name was Dhristi.  Her parents were poor, and she didn't even have the luxury of completing her education beyond the 12th standard. They couldn't marry her off because of their dire financial situation.

When I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She was only 5'3", petite, and had a raw, untouched beauty that no glammed-up South Bombay girl could ever compete with. Her skin glowed with the warmth of the Indian sun, and her eyes, though cast downward in shyness, sparkled like the stars in a clear night sky. She didn't have the polished English or the fancy degrees, but she had something far more valuable: an innocence and purity that was becoming increasingly rare in this hookup culture world.

The wedding was a simple affair, held in a small village hall. The smell of marigold garlands and sandalwood filled the air as we exchanged our vows. Her family couldn't afford much, so my parents had stepped in to help with the expenses. The jealousy from my relatives was palpable, like a thick fog hanging over the room. They whispered about her background, her education, and her height, but she remained unfazed, a silent storm in the calm demeanor. I felt a strange mix of pride and inadequacy as I held her hand. Pride for marrying someone so beautiful, yet inadequate because I knew I couldn't give her the life she deserved.

That night, in our small, dimly lit room, the reality of our union set in. She was shy, her eyes avoiding mine, as she sat on the bed in her simple white sari, looking like a lost doe in the city lights. I knew I had to be patient, that she was a delicate bloom in a harsh world. I approached her gently, unsure of how to explain the sex she'd been shielded from. Her hands trembled as I touched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin and the rapid beat of her heart. Her eyes searched mine for reassurance, and I whispered sweet nothings in her ear, hoping to ease her fears.

Leaning in, I brushed my lips against hers, feeling the softness of her mouth. At first, she tensed up, unsure of how to respond. But as my kiss grew more urgent, she began to melt into me. She parted her lips slightly, allowing me to deepen the kiss, and I could taste the sweetness of her innocence. Her breath was shallow, her pulse racing as she tentatively placed her hands on my chest. I knew she was feeling the same passion that was coursing through my veins, even if she didn't know what to do with it.

Her shyness was palpable as I began to unravel the intricate knots of her sari. Each layer revealed more of her smooth, untouched skin, and she shivered beneath my touch. Her eyes darted around the room, seeking escape or perhaps guidance, but I kept my gaze fixed on hers, reassuring her with every tender stroke. Finally, the last of the fabric fell away, leaving her in a simple cotton petticoat and blouse. The lamp danced across her curves, highlighting the contours of her body that had been hidden beneath layers of modesty.

My hands hovered over her blouse strings, unsure of whether to proceed. But she looked up at me, her eyes filled with a silent plea, and I knew she trusted me. With trembling fingers, I began to untie the knot. She took in a sharp breath as the material loosened, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. When the last thread of fabric gave way, I paused, waiting for a sign from her. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and I gently slid the blouse from her shoulders.

The sight of her bare breasts was nothing short of breathtaking. They were full and firm, the perfect handful, with pinkish brown areolas and erect nipples that begged to be kissed. I marveled at how they contrasted with her small waist, making her seem even more delicate. I leaned in closer, brushing my lips against the soft mounds, feeling her body tense and then relax into me. She whimpered as I took a nipple into my mouth, teasing it gently with my tongue. The sound was like music to my ears, and I felt my desire for her growing with each passing moment.

As I continued to play with her breasts, she began to squirm under my touch, her breathing growing ragged. She was like a bud opening to the first kiss of spring rain. I watched her face, her eyes closed in pleasure, and knew I had to explore further. With trembling hands, I slid my fingers down to the waist of her petticoat, feeling the warmth emanating from her core. She gasped when I touched the strings of her panty, her body jolting with anticipation.

Her moans grew louder as I gently tugged at the fabric, revealing the untouched landscape between her thighs. The sight of her thick, untrimmed bush was surprising yet strangely erotic. It was a stark contrast to the hairless women I'd seen in the porn videos that had been my only sexual education. Her innocence was as tangible as the fabric of her undergarments, and it fueled my desire to claim her, to be the one to introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh.

She was a vision of raw beauty, her curves and lines untouched by the modern world's obsession with perfection. Her plump thighs were scattered with goosebumps, and I felt a primal urge to explore every inch of her. I traced the line of her thighs with my fingers, feeling her quiver as I approached the juncture of her legs. When I reached the soft mound of her pubic hair, I paused, looking up to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were still closed, but she bit her lower lip, a silent invitation for me to continue.

She was wet, her folds glistening with arousal, and I felt a surge of pride that she was responding to my touch. Her breath hitched as the fabric slid down, exposing her to the cool air of the room. I took a moment to appreciate the beauty of her, the pinkness of her lips, the way they swelled and beckoned to me.

Her eyes remained closed as I stepped out of my own clothes, revealing my 4.5 inch cock, standing at attention. It wasn't the largest, but it was mine, and in that moment, it was all that mattered. I knew she had never seen one before, never felt one against her skin. The anticipation was thick between us, a palpable force that seemed to hold its breath.

I laid beside her, my hand caressing her stomach, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath my touch. I whispered to her, telling her how much I wanted her, how much I cared for her, hoping to ease the fear that was surely coiled in her belly. Slowly, with a gentle firmness, I parted her legs, feeling the softness of her thighs against mine.

Her eyes snapped open as the tip of my cock brushed against her entrance, the reality of what was about to happen crashing over her like a wave. "Nahi, nahi," she gasped, her voice tight with pain as I began to push inside her. Her nails dug into my skin, her body taut as a bowstring. I paused, my heart aching at the sight of her distress, but her eyes, though wet with fear, held a spark of something else. A silent plea for me to continue.

With a deep, shaky breath, I began to move again, inch by agonizing inch, feeling her tightness envelop me. She was so tight, so warm, like nothing I had ever felt before. Her walls clenched around me, a testament to her purity. I could feel her fighting the pain, her body adjusting to the new sensation of being filled.

Her screams grew louder, a symphony of pain and pleasure that seemed to echo through the walls of the small room. Her nails dug deeper into my flesh, leaving red marks that stood out starkly against the pale canvas of my skin. Each thrust was met with a cry that grew more and more desperate, a mix of agony and ecstasy that I found myself craving. I had to remind myself to be gentle, to go slow, to not lose myself in the heat of the moment.

But as the initial pain gave way to something else, something deeper, something primal, I felt her body begin to respond. Her hips began to move with mine, almost imperceptibly at first, but gradually with more urgency. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer, her walls clenching around my cock in a rhythmic dance that was as old as time itself.

I knew I was close, the tension in my body building like a crescendo. But before I could go further, I felt something rise in me, a force that I couldn't control. My eyes widened with the realization that I was about to cum. I wanted to slow down, to savor this moment, but my body had other plans. With a roar that was torn from the very core of my being, I released my seed inside her, filling her with the essence of my passion.

As I rolled off her, she breathed a sigh of relief. The pain of her stretched vagina finally relaxed, and I felt a twinge of guilt for not lasting longer. But her eyes, still filled with a mix of fear and wonder, offered me something more profound than any words could express. It was a silent acknowledgment that she had felt something she had never felt before. She was still a virgin in so many ways, but now she knew the raw power of intimacy, of giving herself to another.

Her skin was slick with sweat, the beads glistening in the dim lamplight. The softness of her body was a stark contrast to the harshness of the world outside. She lay there, a vision of innocence lost and found, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I reached out to brush the damp hair from her forehead, and she leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed again.

For a moment, we lay in silence, our hearts hammering against each other like two wild creatures trapped in a cage. Then she spoke, her voice small and unsure. "Did I do okay?" she whispered, her cheeks flushing a deep red. The question was loaded with insecurity, and I felt a surge of protectiveness. I gathered her into my arms, cradling her against my chest.

"You did more than okay," I murmured, stroking her hair. "You were perfect."

We lay there, our bodies tangled together, the scent of our love-making hanging in the air. The room grew quiet, the only sounds the distant chorus of crickets outside and the steady rhythm of our breathing. Gradually, our hearts slowed, and our bodies cooled. Dhristi's trembles subsided, and she melted into me, her head resting on my chest. Her breathing grew even, and soon she was asleep, her soft snores a gentle melody in the stillness of the night.

The next day, we moved to Mumbai, where I had managed to rent a 1BHK apartment in a slightly better area than my previous abode. The room was small, but it was ours, a sanctuary from the prying eyes of relatives and neighbors. The walls were a fresh coat of white, a stark contrast to the dingy gray of the chawl, and a single window allowed in a beam of sunlight that danced across the floor. It wasn't much, but it was a step up from what we had.

[tharkibudda]

I know what everyone are thinking, "Hey I know where this is going?"


Dont worry,its going in the same direction as literally every other story in Indian erotica site. but turns out thats the only thing people like,whether she is ultra educated SoBo girl or an uneducated village girl. Everyone wants a cheating wife story

I wasnt even sure if I had to introduce sex so early and not even mention the first night because the basic story has some parts before it comes to that.  Please be a bit patient as I want some generic plot to evolve before we once again bring back the main characters beyond these two people.

Please let me know your feedback and suggestions. 

[tharkibudda]

Thank you Tom,Baba and Tweeny for your comments

Readers,Please forgive me if I cant give regular updates in case my life becomes busier or I have writer's block. I hope this one doesn't get the same lack of enthusiasm as my "Village not for girls"
 
Next few chapters will be dedicated to building the plot, Hope the readers show some patience

[tharkibudda]

Chapter 2 - Mumbai Meri Jaan, but not for her

The first few weeks were a whirlwind of excitement. I felt like a new man, my steps lighter as I boarded the crowded local train each morning, the weight of my new responsibilities and the joy of my marriage lifting me up. The commute, which had once felt like a never-ending slog through the bowels of the city, was now filled with thoughts of Dhristi waiting for me at the end of the day. Her sweet smile, the way her eyes lit up when she saw me, made the cramped journey seem like a minor inconvenience.


In our new home, we discovered each other's quirks and habits. She liked to wake up early, making me tea . Her voice was like a melody as she hummed folk songs  and I found myself smiling even before I'd had my first sip. I taught her about the fast-paced life of Mumbai, the art of navigating the crowded streets, and the importance of a good bargain at the local bazaar. She was a quick learner, her curiosity and willingness to adapt a balm to my soul.

Every evening, as the city lights began to flicker on, she would stand by the window, her eyes searching the horizon for my return. I could see the exhaustion etched on her face, the toll of the day's work evident in her weary smile. But the moment she heard the jangle of my keys, she would straighten up, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She would give a warm embrace after the cold shoulder of the city's concrete jungle.

The aroma of her handcooked meals filled the apartment, a stark contrast to the unhealthy meals that had been my staple for so long. She had learned to cook from her mother, who had instilled in her the belief that food was love made edible. And oh, how I feasted on that love.

But it was the nights that truly became our sanctuary. After the day's bustle had quieted and the city outside had gone to sleep, we would come together in the sanctity of our tiny bedroom. Her shyness remained a part of her, a delicate veil that she'd let slip away bit by bit each time we made love. We'd start with soft whispers and gentle caresses, my hands tracing the curves of her body that she still shielded from my eyes with a modesty that seemed almost out of place in the heat of passion.

Our lovemaking grew more intense with each passing day, our bodies learning the intricate dance that could only exist between us. I'd kiss her neck, her earlobes, her breasts, and she'd arch her back, her gasps of pleasure a sweet symphony in the silence. I'd push into her, feeling the tightness that never fully disappeared, a testament to her untouched past. Our rhythm grew more urgent, the slap of our skin against each other echoing in the stillness of the room. And when I could hold back no longer, I'd release with a roar, feeling her pussy clench around me, her nails digging into my back as she found her own release.

The weekends became our escape, our time to revel in each other without the constraints of work or the prying eyes of society. Sometimes, we'd make love two times in a single night.  My stamina had improved; I could now last between two to five minutes, a stark improvement from the first night.

We explored the concrete jungle of Mumbai, her eyes wide with wonder at the grandeur of the city. Every weekend, I'd take her to a new place: the Gateway of India, the bustling streets of Colaba, the  Marine Drive. She was like a child in a candy store, her eyes lighting up at every new sight, We'd walk hand in hand, lost in the sea of people, her excitement a stark contrast to the jaded expressions of the city dwellers.

But what truly surprised her was the fashion of the city's women. She'd stare, unabashed, at the girls in short skirts and deep necklines, their bodies on display for the world to see. She'd whisper to me, "These are the things they only show in the movies, right?" I'd chuckle, squeezing her hand, "It's the way of the city, Dhristi."

One evening, as we sat in the local park watching the sunset, a couple next to us engaged in a passionate kissing. Dhristi's eyes went wide as she took in the sight, her cheeks flaming red. She whispered, "Back home, if a girl did that, she'd be shunned!" Her voice was tinged with both shock and fascination.

"Things are different here," I said, trying to sound casual. "But I prefer our love, private and pure."

Dhristi nodded, her eyes still on the couple. I could see the curiosity in them, a hint of longing for the freedom she hadn't yet experienced. "But why do they do it?" she asked. "Isn't it only for marriage?"

I sighed, not quite ready to dive into the complexities of modern relationships. "Some do it for love, some for fun," I said, hoping that was enough.

Her gaze remained on the couple, a mix of anger and confusion playing on her features. "But it's wrong, isn't it?" she finally asked, turning to me.

I took a deep breath, understanding the cultural gap she was trying to bridge. "It's not about right or wrong, Dhristi," I said, choosing my words carefully. "It's about what two people agree upon, what makes them happy. "

But she wasn't convinced. "But what if they get caught? What if someone sees them?" she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of her village's judgment.

"In the city, people have their own lives to live," I replied, trying to soothe her worries. "They don't care as much about what others do."

But the fury in her voice was unmistakable. "City girls have no shame," she spat, her eyes still on the couple. "They throw their bodies around like it means nothing."

She added "And dont ever try to kiss me in public," her voice laced with anger. "My love is not for everyone's eyes. It's only for you, in the sanctity of our bedroom." Her words were a reminder of the contrast between her village upbringing and the liberal culture of Mumbai.

The weeks passed, and Dhristi began to adapt to the chaotic rhythm of the city, but her disgust for the city's morals remained unshaken. She'd often compare the immodest behavior of city women to the virtuousness of village girls, leaving me feeling torn between defending the place I called home and supporting her views.

One day, as we walked through the crowded market, a group of men leered at her, making lewd comments. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and she clung to my arm, her eyes downcast. I felt a surge of anger, but she squeezed my hand, reminding me of her strength. "These men have no respect for a married woman," she whispered, her voice filled with disdain. "Back home, they'd never dare."

Her words stung, a stark reminder of the city's harshness. I realized that while I had been enamored with the freedom and glamour of Mumbai, she saw only the ugliness that lurked beneath the surface. Her purity and innocence were not a hindrance, but a bastion of strength. In her own way, she was a rebel, holding onto her values in a world that seemed determined to strip them away.

As the days turned into weeks, I noticed a shift in her. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, and the spring in her step grew heavier. She spoke less of her village and more of her longing for the simplicity of life there. The noises of the city, which had once fascinated her, now seemed to grate on her nerves. The endless sea of people, the honking of cars, and the blaring of horns became a cacophony she longed to escape.

A lot of village girls would have used this opportunity to escape from the traditions of their small-town lives, eagerly embracing the anonymity and freedom that Mumbai offered. They'd shed their conservative attire for sleek outfits that whispered of rebellion with every step, their eyes hungry for the sights and sounds of the city's decadence. But not Dhristi. Instead of letting the city's allure sweep her away, she felt nauseated by it all. The glitz and glamour held no appeal when juxtaposed with the wholesome simplicity she'd left behind.

My friends and relatives had warned me not to bring a village girl to the city. They spoke of how lonely housewives were easy prey for the casanovas that roamed the streets, looking for a secret affair. They painted a picture of a life where temptation lurked around every corner, where marital vows were as flimsy as a paper boat in a monsoon storm. I'd laughed it off, confident in Dhristi's innocence and purity.

But as the days passed, I began to see their concerns reflected in the shadows of doubt that danced in her eyes. She was a fish out of water, her simplicity a stark contrast to the complex tapestry of Mumbai. The long hours of solitude weighed on her, turning her into a recluse within the four walls of our apartment. Her days were spent cooking and cleaning, her nights filled with longing for the quiet whispers of her village's nightfall.

I tried to distract her with trips to the mall, to the cinemas that played the latest Bollywood blockbusters, but she remained unmoved, her gaze drifting to the horizon, searching for something she could never find here. The vibrant colors of the city only served to highlight the dullness in her soul.

One evening, as I lay in bed with her, her eyes wide open in the dark, I made a decision. "Dhristi," I whispered, "I think we should move to a smaller town. Maybe somewhere quieter, with a slower lifestyle and we can breathe."

Her eyes searched my face in the moonlight, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. "Do you think we can?" she asked, her voice small.

"We have to," I assured her, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. "This isn't living. We're meant for more."

The next day, I began the quest for our escape. I approached my colleagues and friends with a newfound urgency, inquiring about opportunities in smaller towns. The city's hustle and bustle had always been my muse, but now it felt like a cage that stifled the very essence of Dhristi's being.

Days turned into weeks, and the job search grew more intense. Finally, a glimmer of hope appeared in the form of a job offer from a small tier-3 town nestled in the heart of North India. The company was a manufacturer of corrugated tiles, a humble yet stable trade. The salary was a tad lower than what I was making in Mumbai, but I realized the cost of living would be significantly less. The prospect of a less frugal life, one that allowed us to breathe and enjoy each other's company without the suffocating embrace of the city's chaos, was intoxicating.

I discussed the offer with Dhristi, her eyes lighting up at the mention of a town that reminded her of her own. The thought of leaving the claustrophobic confines of Mumbai brought a smile to her lips, a smile that had been missing for far too long. The quietude of a small town, the simplicity of life, and the absence of lecherous eyes—it was a promise of a sanctuary she hadn't dared to dream of.

[tharkibudda]

Good start to the story, bro! The initial setup is really engaging.

The way the story began, with Manav's friends' comments, had me thinking the same thing – that Drishti would be immediately swept off her feet by the charm and energy of the Mumbai wala. It's interesting, then, to see this story of potential seduction and treachery playing out not in the glitz of a big city, but rather in a tier 3 city with its own unique character and dynamics. This setting adds an unexpected layer of complexity.

So, the question now is: How will the change of scenery affect Drishti's perceptions and vulnerabilities? What kind of deceptive game is being played in this new environment? We are eagerly waiting to know what happens next! Keep it coming

Thanks Tweeny

The Mumbai stay was an important part of the character development of Dhristi because she came from a backward village and then seeing the amount of skin show and PDA in Mumbai made her get acclimatize to the outside world. She thought only bollywood actresses dressed in small cleavage bearing clothes and no woman in real life does.

The pit stop of Mumbai provides two possibilities - Dhristi who had a very black and white view of sex and marriage got introduced to another world where it was common. Just like passive smoking, these thoughts even though she didnt like slowly entered her conscience.

Or the second option is that since this is narrated by Manav's view, he was blindsided by Dhristi who constantly critiqued the culture of Mumbai but secretly liked it. Since he went to office and morning and returned late evening, he was oblivious what was happening during his absence in a city with noone who knows them.

Whatever it is, the real truth is revealed through CCTV which is where the story heads

[tharkibudda]

Chapter 3 - New Beginnings

Two trains and a bus ride later, we found ourselves in the dusty embrace of Jaunpur. The town was smaller than I had imagined, with narrow streets lined with shops that seemed to have been there for generations. The air was cleaner, the noise a distant memory, and for the first time in months, I felt my lungs expand with something other than the pollution of the city.


The office of Chand Tiles was a modest building, a stark contrast to the gleaming towers of Mumbai. The receptionist, a middle-aged lady with a warm smile, directed me to Lakhan Chand's office. He was a man of surprising poise, his late-30s features etched with a maturity that seemed beyond his years. His English was peppered with an accent that hinted at a foreign education.

As I sat across from him, the air in the room seemed to shift, carrying with it the scent of old money and new ambition. His eyes, sharp and assessing, took in my city attire, the crispness of my shirt and the shine of my shoes. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and spoke with an ease that belied his position.

"Manav," he began, his voice a rich baritone that filled the room, "I must say, your qualifications are quite impressive. And your dedication to your work, commendable."

"Thank you, Sir," I said, trying to keep the excitement from my voice.

Lakhan Chand's eyes twinkled, as if he enjoyed watching the dance of ambition in my eyes. "It's not every day we get an M.Com graduate from Mumbai to apply for a position here," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But I believe that your experience and my company's growth prospects will be a perfect match."

The interview was over before I knew it, and Lakhan Chand leaned forward, extending his hand. "Welcome aboard, Manav," he said, his grip firm and reassuring. "I've seen potential in many young men, but something tells me you're going to go far with us."

My heart raced as I took the appointment letter from him, feeling the weight of the decision in my hands. The words "Immediately Effective" stared back at me, a stark reminder of the life-altering choice I had just made. This was it—our ticket out of Mumbai, our path to a simpler life with Dhristi.

Back in Mumbai, I shared the news with her, her eyes sparkling with joy. We decided she would stay with her parents for a while until I had set up a suitable house for us. I packed her off to her mother's home.

The first few days in Jaunpur were a blur of meetings and paperwork, but I managed to squeeze in some time to look for a place to live. I stayed in a small, clean lodge .

The broker, a squat man with a greasy smile and a penchant for chewing paan, took me through a whirlwind tour of the town's housing options. The first few places were small and dingy.

"No, no," I said, shaking my head. "Dhristi deserves better. Show me something bigger."

The broker looked at me, surprise etched on his face. "But, Sahib," he protested, "these are the best options within your budget."

I stood firm. "I don't want the best of what's available," I said, my voice filled with a determination that had been dormant for too long. "I want the best that this town can offer."

The broker's smile faltered for a moment, his paan-stained teeth bared in a look of disbelief. Then, with a shrug, he led me to a more upscale part of town. The houses grew larger and the roads were cleaner. It was a stark contrast to the claustrophobic chawl we'd left behind in Mumbai.

But as we stopped in front of a 3bhk bungalow surrounded by a lush garden, the price tag slapped me in the face like a wet fish. I blinked, staring at the figure he rattled off in Hindi, hoping I'd misunderstood. The house was beautiful, no doubt, but the rent was more than I'd ever imagined spending on a place to live.

"It's too much," I said, my voice tight with disbelief.

The broker looked at me, his expression a mix of greed and smugness. "Sahib," he said, his words heavy with the sweetness of a sales pitch, "this is the best that Jaunpur has to offer. The neighborhood is safe, and the house is fit for a king."

I swallowed hard, the reality of small-town prices hitting me like a ton of bricks. The cost of the bungalow was steep, even for a man with a newfound sense of purpose. I thought of Dhristi's smile, the way she'd looked at me with hope in her eyes when I spoke of our new life. I couldn't bear the thought of her living in a cramped, dingy place, not when she deserved so much more.

"I understand," I said, my voice firm. "But I need something that won't break the bank. Something comfortable, but affordable."

The broker's smile didn't waver. He nodded, his eyes gleaming as if he had an ace up his sleeve. "Sahib, I may have just the place for you," he said, and I felt a glimmer of hope.

He led me to the next street, where a house stood tall behind a six-foot wall, its gate painted a cheerful blue that spoke of better days. The garden was small but well-maintained.

The broker's eyes gleamed as we approached. "Sahib," he said, "this is the house you've been looking for." He unlocked the gate with a flourish, revealing a courtyard filled with potted plants and a single neem tree that whispered its welcoming shade. The house was a 3BHK with nice modern fittings.

"But what's the catch?" I blurted out, unable to believe my luck. The house was well within my budget, and yet it had a charm that spoke of a life we could build together, a life that didn't feel cramped or compromised.

The broker's smile grew wider, revealing the darker truth beneath his polished veneer. "The house is caught in a legal tussle," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The owner, he's in a nasty divorce. The wife, she left him, took everything but the house. Court's sealed it until they decide who gets what."

My heart sank, but the allure of the place was too strong to resist. "What does that mean for us?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

The broker's smile grew more smug as he leaned closer. "It means, Sahib," he said, his words oily, "that for a small additional 'monthly fee,' we can make sure that the local authorities look the other way. The house will be all yours."

I stared at him, the weight of his proposition settling in my gut like a stone. The thought of living in a house with such a shadow over it was unsettling, but the desperation in Dhristi's eyes, her need for a clean break from the suffocating chaos of Mumbai, echoed in my mind. I knew she'd love this place, the quietude and the touch of nature soothing her soul. I took a deep breath, weighing the risks and the rewards.

"How small is this... additional fee?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

The broker's eyes narrowed, the gleam in them sharper than the blade of a knife. "ten percent, Sahib," he replied, his voice oily. "A small price to pay for a place like this."

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, but I couldn't deny the pull of the house. "Okay," I said, swallowing hard. "But I want to see the interior before I commit."

The broker's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming as he fished out a set of keys from his pocket. "Of course, Sahib," he said, jingling them like a street magician about to reveal his grand illusion. He unlocked the door with a dramatic flourish, and I stepped into a world that was a stark contrast to the one I'd known.

The living room was indeed vast, with high ceilings that made me feel like I could breathe for the first time in months. The floor was a gleaming expanse of marble,There were two plush couches  a dining table that could host a small feast and a kitchen with a countertop. The flat screen TV was a silent sentinel in the corner, a beacon of modernity in a town that still clung to its old-world charm.

"And these?" I asked, pointing to the air conditioners, a fridge, and a washing machine that stood out like trophies .

The broker's smile grew even more smug. "Ah, yes," he said, his eyes glinting. "Those are part of the amenities. The previous tenants couldn't take them when they left, so they're included in the rent."

As he spoke, he led me through the house, pointing out the two bedrooms that remained locked. "The owner's personal belongings," he explained with a shrug, as if that were the most natural thing in the world. "But fear not, the master bedroom is more than enough for you and your  wife."

He threw open the door to the master suite, and I couldn't help but gape at the grandeur before me. The bed was indeed a king-sized bed and flanked by nightstands . The attached bathroom gleamed with chrome fixtures and a shower large enough for two.

But the suspicion lingered. "If it's that easy to bribe the officials," I said, my voice echoing in the emptiness of the room, "why hasn't anyone else rented this place?"

The broker's smile didn't falter. "Well, sir, since the divorce is well known in this town, people consider this house as unlucky, a bad omen. They say it's cursed, that it brings misfortune to whoever lives here." His eyes darted around the room, as if expecting the walls to start whispering dark secrets.

I couldn't ignore the unease his words stirred in me, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the warmth and comfort the house promised Dhristi. "We're not superstitious," I said firmly, hoping my words would drown the whispers of doubt in my mind. "We'll take it."

The broker's smile grew wider, a shark scenting blood in the water. He took the advance and promised to handle the paperwork. I left the house feeling both elated and queasy.

In the following days, I worked tirelessly to make the house a home. I set up the gas connection, had the electricity transferred.

When I finally brought Dhristi to see our new place, her eyes widened with astonishment. She had never seen a house like this, not even in her wildest dreams. I watched her take in every detail, her eyes dancing with excitement as she touched the marble floors and the cold metal of the kitchen appliances.

"This is... amazing," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "How did we get so lucky?"

I wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. "We make our own luck," I said, hoping the lie didn't show in my eyes. "Let's make this our home, Dhristi."

The house was indeed a haven for us, a place where we could breathe and grow. But it was also a prison, a testament to someone else's shattered dreams. The walls seemed to hold their breath, as if waiting for the next tragedy to unfold.

[tharkibudda]

Hey guys, I will have a small break. And yes I'm taking just when things are shaping up...Sorry for that. I will try to answer ur queries and feedback in the meanwhile. Please  let me know your thoughts and comments 

[tharkibudda]

Expecting a very big update in weekend..

Sorry Anushka ma'am... Not this weekend....

[tharkibudda]

Chapter 4 - New Town, New Challenges

The first few weeks passed in a blur of unpacking and setting up.


The office was a short commute, the traffic a mere trickle compared to the madness of Mumbai. The quietude of the town's streets was a balm to my soul, and the air was so clean it felt like a luxury. Each morning, I'd watch the sun rise over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, a stark contrast to the perpetual smog that had cloaked the city.

The job at Chand Tiles was challenging but fulfilling. Lakhan Chand was a demanding boss I threw myself into the work, eager to prove my worth and to build a life for Dhristi that was everything she deserved.

The office was a microcosm of a world that functioned on a very different wavelength than the one I was used to. Everything was dealt with in cash, both the legal transactions and the ones that were...less so. The books were meticulously kept one for the tax authorities and the other for us.

Lakhan Chand was a master of this shadow economy, his smile never slipping as he navigated the treacherous waters of bribery and corruption with the grace of a seasoned pirate. I watched him, torn between admiration and disgust, as he charmed his way through every obstacle with a wink and a nod, a handshake and a sly remark.

The office work was indeed more labor-intensive than what I'd been used to in Mumbai. Without the luxury of computerized systems, every transaction, every invoice, had to be meticulously filed and refiled. My days were spent shuffled through the endless sea of documents. But the irony wasn't lost on me—despite the additional work, my commute had been reduced to a mere fifteen minutes. The thought of the two-hour train rides I'd endured back in the city made me smile, a wry twist to my lips as I went through my second hand scooter I'd bought.

But amidst the chaos of work and setting up the new house, I noticed a change in Dhristi. Initially, the excitement of the new town and the comforts of our spacious home had kept her spirits high.  But as the weeks passed, she grew quieter.

Her eyes, once alight with curiosity, now held a sadness that tugged at my heart. Our evenings were spent in a silent dance of routine, our weekends a muted affair. She'd accompany me to the local markets, her hand in mine, but there was a distance that hadn't been there before.

With the extra time I had now, I used to take her everywhere. This place wasn't Mumbai, at least we could watch a movie, go to market, eat panipuris. The simple joys we'd discovered together in the early days of our marriage had become a lifeline for her, a way to cling to the happiness she'd left behind in her village.

But the work was very demanding. Some days, it was like wrestling a hydra—cut off one task and two more sprouted in its place. I'd bring those files home with me, their weight a constant reminder of the responsibilities I'd taken on. The numbers and invoices would spread out across the dining table like a sea of unsolved puzzles, a stark contrast to the quietude of our evenings.

Months passed, but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was disturbing Dhristi. She'd always been straight forward with me, but now she remained tight-lipped, her smiles forced and her eyes distant. I knew she missed her village, but I couldn't fathom what had changed in our relationship. I'd thought the house would be our sanctuary, but it seemed to have become a fortress, one that kept her fears and anxieties locked away from me.

Our neighborhood, it turned out, was a curious blend of opulence and desolation. The houses surrounding us were sprawling mansions, most of them vacant, serving as summer retreats for the wealthy city dwellers spending time in their hometown. The few that were occupied were by wealthy families who'd known each other for generations, their social circles tight-knit and unassailable. They eyed us with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, the newcomers who didn't quite fit into the tapestry of their elite community.

But the nights, oh the nights, they were ours alone. The memory foam king bed was a revelation, a silent lover that molded to our every contour, whispering sweet nothings of comfort and desire. We made love without worrying about falling down. I'd never experienced anything like it before—the way the bed cradled us, the way it seemed to amplify every sensation, every gasp and sigh.

And Dhristi, she was blossoming. With every passing day, she grew more comfortable in her new skin, shedding the village shyness l. Our lovemaking had evolved from the tentative explorations of our early days to a fiery passion that consumed us both.

One night,  She straddled me, her soft thighs pressing against my hips, her small, firm breasts brushing against my chest. Her hands traced the outline of my shoulders, sending shivers down my spine.

Her eyes searched mine, looking for approval, and when she found it, she began to rock against me, her wetness coating me in a warm, inviting embrace. She'd been shy about taking the lead in our intimate moments before, but tonight, she was a woman transformed—bold and uninhibited.

I watched, my heart racing, as she rose above me, her body a vision of beauty and strength. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, framing the desire that burned in her eyes. She positioned herself, and with a gentle sigh, she took me inside her, her walls tightening around me.

But as she began to rock, my body betrayed me. The stress of the job, the weight of our new life, it all crashed down in a wave of pleasure that left me gasping. I couldn't hold back, and with a moan that was torn from the depths of my soul, I climaxed.

Her eyes widened in shock, and then anger, as she realized what had happened. Before I could even apologize, she slapped me across the face, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The sting of her hand against my cheek brought me back to reality with a jolt, and I watched in horror as the tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks in a silent deluge.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed sobs. "I didn't mean to... I didn't want to..." She trailed off, her eyes searching mine for something she wasn't sure she'd find.

I reached out to her, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to bridge the chasm that had suddenly opened between us. "Dhristi, it's okay," I said, my voice hoarse. "I know you didn't mean it. It's just the stress."

But she slipped away from me, her body trembling. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could somehow shield herself from the raw emotions that lay between us. "It's not okay, Manav," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm so lonely here."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Lonely? In this house that I had fought so hard to give her, in the town that I had moved us to for a better life?

From that day, Dhristi's mood swings became a tempestuous sea that I struggled to navigate. One moment, she'd be all smiles, showering me with affection and kisses, her warmth wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. Her touch would be feverish, her eyes filled with a hunger that made me feel like the most desired man on earth. She'd whisper sweet nothings into my ear, her breath hot against my skin, and I'd feel like I could conquer the world.

But then, without warning, the storm would come. Her eyes would grow cold, her smile slipping away like a mirage in the desert heat. Her voice, once a melody that filled my heart, turned into a frosty gale that chilled me to the bone. The warmth of her embrace would be replaced by the frigid wall of her indifference, leaving me gasping for air in the cold vacuum of her silence.

The days grew longer, and the nights more fraught with tension. Our bed, once a sanctuary of love, now felt like a battlefield of unspoken words and unmet needs. I'd lie beside her, my body aching with longing, my mind racing with thoughts of what I could do to make her happy again. But she remained a closed book, her secrets locked away behind the impenetrable fortress of her silence.

I decided to play along with her mood swings, giving her the space she needed when she was cold and distant, and showering her with love and attention when she was open to it. I knew it wasn't a permanent solution, but it was all I had to offer in the face of her turmoil.

Meanwhile, at work, the whispers grew louder. The office was a minefield of gossip and intrigue, where everyone had an angle to play. Lakhan Chand had taken a liking to me, recognizing the spark of ambition in my eyes that mirrored his own. He began to give me more responsibility, trusting me with tasks that involved going out of town for a couple of days.

One evening,I returned home to find Dhristi curled up in our bed, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She looked up at me, her face a picture of despair, and my heart sank.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice tight with concern.

Dhristi looked up at me, her eyes swollen and red. "I just... I miss home," she choked out. "I miss the village, my family... everything."

My heart felt like it had been punched. "I didn't know it was this bad," I whispered, sitting down beside her. "You know I'll do anything to make you happy."

Dhristi's eyes searched my face, and for a moment, I thought she might open up to me. But then she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... I miss the simplicity of the village, the people I know."

My heart ached for her, for the pain she was feeling that I couldn't ease. "I know," I said, stroking her hair gently. "But think of all the good things we have here—the house, my job... We can build a new life together."

Dhristi looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know," she said, her voice trembling. "But I just... I need some time, Manav. Can you understand?"

I nodded, feeling a heaviness settle in my chest. "Of course," I murmured, wrapping my arms around her.

Dhristi leaned into my embrace, her body trembling. "I need to be with my parents," she whispered. "Just for a few weeks. To feel normal again."

I felt a pang of regret for not seeing her pain sooner. "Of course," I said, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. "Whatever you need."

Her eyes searched mine, looking for something I wasn't sure she'd find. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

The next day, I called her parents and told them about her visit. They were overjoyed to hear her voice, and agreed to pick her up from the bus station. I watched her go with a heavy heart, the house suddenly feeling too large, too empty without her.

[tharkibudda]

Sorry guys , I've personal and professional commitments so couldn't update..

And no I'm not abandoning so soon.. I can see people are invested on my story and would give a shot until it becomes uninteresting..

Sorry again..

[tharkibudda]

Sorry everyone, we are having produciton cutover.... I will start giving more updates by next week....

[tharkibudda]

Sorry guys for keeping you waiting....I had to temporarily take a sabbatical... I will try to make it up by an update or two by this week ends,,

[tharkibudda]

Chapter 5 - The House's hidden Secret

The house felt like a tomb once Dhristi left. The bed was a cold, empty cavern, and the kitchen, which had been filled with the aroma of her cooking, was now just a room with cold appliances. I tried to throw myself into work, hoping that the familiar rhythm would dull the ache of her absence.


The text message she had sent hung over me like a dark cloud, heavy with the weight of her sadness. "Reached home, need to take a break, no call please." Her words were a dagger to my heart, a silent scream echoing through the emptiness of our once-happy home.

For the first few days, I tried to respect her space. I threw myself into work, staying late at the office to avoid the oppressive silence that filled the house. I told myself that she needed time to heal, that she'd come back to me when she was ready.

I realized that I had never really learned to cook; in Mumbai, the cheap eateries had been a lifeline for me. But now, without Dhristi's warm, delicious food, those greasy restaurant food held no allure. I decided it was time to learn how to cook.

The first day was a disaster. I tried to make a simple dal-chaval,  but the rice was sticky, and the dal was burnt. I stared at the plate, my stomach growling in protest, and laughed bitterly. I missed Dhristi's cooking. With a sigh, I grabbed my wallet and headed to the nearest restaurant.

The following days, however, brought a strange sort of liberation. With Lakhan Chand out of town, the office was quieter, and the air less suffocating. The freedom of working from home allowed me to breathe easier, with files strewn across the floor. The quiet was a welcome relief from the office cacophony.

But that Friday evening, as I turned the key in the lock, a sense of unease washed over me. A faint whiff of gas tickled my nostrils, setting my heart racing. I sprinted into the kitchen, my eyes searching for the source. The stove! In my hurry that morning, I'd forgotten to turn it off after heating milk for tea. The vessel was charred, the gas hissing a silent warning.

With trembling hands, I shut off the gas knob, the smell slowly dissipating. My heart hammered in my chest, a drumbeat of fear that echoed through the empty house. I leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of panic that had taken root in my gut. How could I have been so careless?

I immediately opened all the windows and doors, letting the fresh air rush in, banishing the noxious fumes.  I stepped outside, the cool evening air washing over me like a balm.

My heart was racing as I sat on the porch, my thoughts a tangled web of what-ifs. What if the gas had built up? What if it had been a few minutes longer? The thought of the house turning into an inferno was too much to bear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I mustered the courage to step back inside. The smell of gas had dissipated, but its specter lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the danger that had been averted.

I decided to eat outside that night, my appetite a distant memory. t. As I sat on the porch, I couldn't help but wonder about the two locked rooms that had been left untouched by the previous owner.

Their contents remained a mystery to me, but now, the possibility of residual gas lurking within their confines filled me with a newfound sense of dread. What if they accidentally catch fire?

I didn't know if the broker had the additional keys, but the fear of potential danger was too strong to ignore. I approached the two locked bedroom doors with a mix of trepidation and determination. I will explain the owners later but I need to be careful now and broke them with a stone.

The first room I entered was a stark reminder of the life that had once been lived there.  The furniture was dusty, the cobwebs hanging from the corners like forgotten lace. Boxes filled with clothes and kitchen items were piled haphazardly in the center of the room, as if they had been hastily packed in the throes of a painful separation. The air was stale, tinged with a faint scent of sadness that seemed to cling to the very fabric of the space.

But it was the second room that sent a shiver down my spine. It was smaller, yes, but it was something more than that. Something in the very air was different, thick with an unsettling energy. The moment I stepped inside, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The room was almost entirely empty, save for a single desk pushed against the far wall. Atop it sat a computer, . There were also a big strange electronics equipment with antennas and lights, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie.

It was connected to the electric plug and switched on. I never knew that a computer was sitting inside our house all these times and was in power for close to a year and we had no idea about it.

Curiosity piqued, I approached the computer with the same caution one would a sleeping beast. The screen flickered to life, casting an eerie glow over the room. The password prompt glared at me like a silent sentinel, daring me to disturb the secrets it guarded.

But the room held another surprise. Beneath the desk, I found a pile of instruction manuals, their pages yellowed with age. They were mostly in Chinese, but the second half had been meticulously translated into English. I guess these were for the strange equipment.

The manuals were for a high-end surveillance system—cameras, microphones, and all the other gadgets that could turn a place into a fortress of privacy or an intruder's playground. The instructions were clear and detailed, outlining how to set up the devices to capture every sound and image within the house.

My stomach churned as I realized what I was holding in my hands—this wasn't just any room; it was a command center for a very personal kind of war. The thought of our most intimate moments being observed and recorded by some unseen eye made me sick to my stomach.

I grabbed my phone, the anger bubbling up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt. It was 11 pm, but I didn't care. I dialed the broker's number with trembling hands, my voice a harsh whisper of fury.

"What the hell is this?" I bellowed as soon as he picked up, not bothering with pleasantries. "You've got a surveillance system set up in my house? What kind of sick game are you playing?"

The poor guy stuttered, clearly caught off guard by my midnight rage. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to squeak out.

"Don't play dumb with me!" I bellowed into the phone, my voice echoing in the empty house. "I've found your little setup in the locked room. The computer, the manuals, the cameras!"

The line went silent for a beat, and then the broker spoke, his voice a tremulous whisper. "I-I swear,  I had no idea!"

"You expect me to believe that?" I snarled.

"I swear on my mother's life, I didn't know!" the broker's voice wavered. "The owner he said the rooms were personal and should never be opened. He was very adamant, almost superstitious about it."

My hand tightened around the phone "Well, now that I know, I want to talk to him," I said, my voice low and deadly. "Give me his number."

The broker's voice was a whine on the other end. "Please, sir, it's very late. Can't this wait until the morning?"

I clenched my jaw, my knuckles turning white around the phone. "You're damn right it can't wait," I ground out. "This is my house, and I demand to know who's been spying on my wife and me."

The broker's voice grew more frantic. "Please, sir, I'll give you the number first thing tomorrow. I promise, I didn't know!"

"You better," I said, and ended the call, my heart racing.

The room felt suffocating, the very air thick with the weight of the broker's deceit. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that coursed through my veins. I knew that confronting the owner now, in the middle of the night, would only make things worse. I needed a clear head to deal with this.

The next morning, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, I received an SMS from the broker. The owner's number was there, taunting me with its presence. I stared at it for a moment, the screen of my phone casting an eerie glow on my face, before dialing the number with a trembling hand.

The phone rang twice, and then a man picked up,  "Hello?" he said, his tone amicable, as if he had no clue of the storm that was about to hit him.

"Hello, I'm Manav," I began, my voice tightly reined in. "I'm your new tenant at the 3BHK in Jaunpur."

There was a pause, and then the man spoke, his tone measured and calm. "Ah, yes. How are you finding the place?"

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger at bay. "It's fine," I said through gritted teeth. "But I had to break the locks on the extra bedrooms because of a gas leak to prevent a house fire. And what I found inside..."

The man on the other end of the line grew still. "I see," he said slowly. "What did you find?"

His calm demeanor only served to fuel my anger. "Your little spy setup," I spat out. "Cameras, microphones, the works. You've been watching us, haven't you?"

The man on the line took a deep breath, the silence stretching between us like a tightening noose. "Manav," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "I assure you, it's not what you think. That equipment was installed for a very personal reason."

"And what could that possibly be?" I demanded,. "To spy on your tenants?"

The man on the line took a deep breath, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. "Manav," he said, his voice measured. "The truth is, I installed the equipment because I had my suspicions about my wife. I had reason to believe she was... indiscreet with other men in the house."

I could feel my anger waver, the wind of his confession buffeting against the walls of my fury. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

The man on the line took a deep breath. "When my wife and I were living in the house," he began, his voice tight with pain. "I noticed she had started acting differently. " His voice broke, and I could almost hear the tears he was holding back. "After I discussed with a friend, he made me import a high class equipment and I had it all set up to catch her in the act."

My anger began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, uncomfortable understanding. "What did you find?" I asked, the words sticking in my throat.

The man on the line took a deep, shuddering breath. "I found what I needed to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Evidence of her... with different men, low class men like the painter we hired and his friends..IN MY OWN BED FOR HEAVEN SAKE. I wish i had burned that before I left"

It was a closed network, Manav. The cameras recorded onto a hard drive in the second locked room. I had no intention of watching you or your wife, I swear it. I never even knew it was still on."

My mind raced with the implications. The thought of some pervert watching us, invading our most intimate moments, made me want to smash the computer into a thousand pieces. But the owner's voice held a note of such pain, such raw agony, that I couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy.

He spoke again, his words measured and deliberate. "The password is 'betrayedhusband', all one word. Go through the footage if you must, and then delete them and pause all future recordings."

I felt a mix of anger, disgust, and pity for this man whose pain was so palpable it hung in the air like a toxic fog. "Thank you sir," I said " I believe you"

With a heavy heart, I hung up the call. Today was a Saturday, a day that usually brought a respite from the grind of work. But today, it brought with it a new burden. I approached the computer with a sense of trepidation, the password echoing in my head—'betrayedhusband'. The stark simplicity of it was a stark reminder of the raw emotions that had led to this moment.

As I sat down, the password trembling on the tips of my fingers, I couldn't help but think of Dhristi who hadnt called or messaged for close to a week. I dont know what she might think if she was constantly recorded. I  took a deep breath and typed the password with a tremble, and the screen flickered to life.

[tharkibudda]

Thank you all for encouraging me post the return. It helps me write more

[tharkibudda]

Good writting bro
I have a doubt how writers in english section gives updates even without proper responses from readers ?
Very good job bro
Waiting for next update

Unfortunately,we get discouraged due to lack of updates. I continued another story but I had no encouragement so I left it. It wasnt a cheating wife story so I chagned my story to suit the audience

[tharkibudda]

wow.. what a big surprise fren
was expecting a different one, but not this one
so what is Manav going to do?
Will he get corrupted by seeing the owner wife with many men?
Eagerly waiting for the next one

The owners wife will be in a prequel as Manav cannot find anything without using a software which brings back deleted videos

[tharkibudda]

Awesome writing. Manav is now going to see the biggest shocker of his life. Dont make it a cuck story please.

You can see where its heading

[tharkibudda]

Wow!!Loving every bit of it.❤️.keep rocking Bro!!
If you don't mind, I have a request to make,please don't make it a cuck story,  ..let the husband be man enough to fight back If he finds out Infidelity of his wife Drishti!!

Please don't get me wrong,  it's just a request  After all it's yours story, so i  really don't have any right to question your imagination..anyways i would be reading this story wholeheartedly.
Eagerly waiting for next update

Best regards Bro!!❤️
Best regards

Thanks, in this case, he is going to see videos of the past which he has no control of...which wife is the question...

[tharkibudda]

My wife Drasti

Wow is that AI generated ??

She looks so perfect for my character,.. cute innocent face but have big boobs for her body ...and a sexiness in her 

Please generate more as the story progresses with the same model you have