02-08-2025, 12:54 AM
I have written a story about seduction of Indian House wife, the character, storyline, moments and plots are given as prompt to AI, that narrated my story. After redefining the narration a number of time let me post the Story here for you. We can say, the director and script writer is me, the language is by AI (there are number of ways to make your AI tune to what you want 
).
*Caution: The storyline is a slow burning type, the initial sex scenes are more emotional, it will suit for those who wish to feel the build up.
Chapter 1: The Rhythm of Home
The first morning light came through the bedroom curtains, making pale gold stripes on the messy sheets. Meera woke up before the alarm, a habit from years of getting up early with children. Beside her, Rajiv slept soundly, his chest moving up and down in a steady, regular way. She looked at him for a moment – his familiar face relaxed, the shape of his shoulder under the thin sheet. A quiet feeling of warmth filled her. Carefully, she got out of bed.
The cool marble floor felt cold under her bare feet as she walked quietly to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face got rid of the last bits of tiredness. She stood in front of the mirror, pushing her fingers through her thick, dark hair, messy from sleep. She pulled it into a loose braid and fixed it with a band. A few pieces came loose right away, hanging around her face.
Back in the bedroom, she opened the carved wooden wardrobe. Her fingers touched colourful silks and cottons before picking a soft peach cotton saree with a thin gold edge. She took off her nightdress and stood before the full-length mirror. The morning light showed her body clearly – the shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the strength in her arms. A small, private smile touched her lips. At thirty-two, a mother, she felt a quiet pride in what she saw – womanly, soft, wanted. She picked plain cotton underwear, practical but chosen knowing her shape. The routine of putting on the saree started: folding the pleats neatly at her waist, fixing the end piece firmly over her shoulder, adjusting the length so it touched her ankles. Each move was skilled, quick, but still had its own simple grace.
The kitchen needed her. The leftover smell of yesterday's spices mixed with the new smell of coffee making. Meera moved with purpose: filling the kettle, measuring rice into a bowl, washing lentils under cold water. The regular sound of chopping vegetables filled the quiet – the solid thwack as she cut potatoes, the softer crunch of cucumbers. She was focused on the job when warm arms suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind, making her gasp in surprise.
"Rajiv!" she laughed, leaning back naturally into his solid warmth. He smelled like sleep and soap.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said, his voice still thick with sleep, giving her a warm kiss just below her ear. His hands moved gently up her sides, following the shape of her waist under her thin top before resting firmly on her hips. He rubbed his face against her neck, his morning stubble feeling rough and nice against her skin. "Mmm, you smell like jasmine and breakfast."
Meera turned a little in his arms, lifting her face up. He kissed her slowly and deeply, tasting like toothpaste and sleep. His hands moved over her back, pulling her closer. "And you smell like my lazy husband who needs to get ready," she teased, pulling back a bit, though her eyes were bright.
"Lazy? I'm getting my energy," Rajiv argued, his hands sliding down to give her backside a playful, familiar squeeze that made her yelp and swat at him. He moved away, laughing, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles fast. "What's the food situation, Captain?" He nodded towards the lunch boxes on the counter.
"Almost ready," Meera said, turning back to stir the cooking sambar. "Just packing the rice now." She felt him standing close behind her, a steady presence. As she bent down to get a container from a low cupboard, she felt his hand briefly, firmly, move over the curve of her hip through the saree. She stood up, meeting his look, feeling her cheeks get warm. He winked, a slow, fond smile spreading over his face before he went for his shower.
The busy morning started. Rajiv came out, neat in his work clothes. Their five-year-old son, Aaryan, walked sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. "Mummyyy..." he whined, holding onto her saree.
"Good morning, my sunshine!" Meera bent down, hugging him tightly, breathing in his special sleepy child smell. "Come on, let's get you washed up." The next half-hour was busy: getting Aaryan to eat his idlis, carefully packing Rajiv’s lunch (extra pickle, just how he liked it), checking college bags, and tying small shoelaces. Rajiv helped, doing his tie while reminding Aaryan about sharing toys. Finally, at the door, Rajiv put on his jacket.
"Have a good day, Rajiv," Meera said, giving him his lunch and briefcase.
"You too, Meera," he replied, looking at her warmly and with approval. He pulled her close for a proper goodbye kiss, deeper than the morning peck, his hand holding her cheek. "Take care of yourself." He messed up Aaryan’s hair. "Be good for Mummy, champ!"
"Bye, Papa!" Aaryan said cheerfully.
Then they were gone. The sound of the car engine disappeared. Sudden quiet filled the apartment. Meera stood in the hallway, listening to the silence, feeling the change. She walked back to the living room. Sunlight came in stronger now, showing dust floating in the air. She sat on the sofa, pulling Aaryan onto her lap for a few minutes of quiet cuddles, enjoying the calm after the busy morning.
The day moved into its own slow speed. She cleaned up the breakfast dishes: scbanging plates, putting them in the sink, running hot soapy water. The clatter of dishes was the only noise. She wiped the table, the counters, the stove top, cleaning every sign of the morning meal. Later, she sorted the laundry – separating Rajiv’s neat shirts from Aaryan’s small t-shirts and her own sarees. She filled the washing machine, the regular sound of water a low background noise. She made phone calls: checking on her mother, confirming weekend plans with Rajiv’s sister. The phone felt cool against her ear, the talks short and ordinary.
Mid-morning, she helped Aaryan with simple pre-college work – copying letters, counting bright blocks – her voice calm and supportive. She felt a familiar feeling of pride seeing his small forehead wrinkle as he concentrated.
Later, she took Aaryan to the small prayer area. Lighting a match, she lit the small oil lamp, the flame burning steadily. She lit an incense stick, its scented smoke rising in thin lines. Closing her eyes, the familiar Sanskrit prayers came softly from her lips. She asked for health, for her family’s safety, for the happiness that filled her days to continue.
After Aaryan was settled for his afternoon nap, Meera ran a bath. She added a few drops of rose oil to the bathwater and watched the scented steam rise. Getting into the warm water felt wonderful, easing the slight ache in her shoulders from the morning work. She stayed there, letting the heat relax her muscles. Afterwards, wrapped in a big, soft towel, she stood before the steamed-up mirror. Water drops stuck to her skin. She rubbed on a light lotion, her hands moving over her neck, shoulders, arms, liking the cool feel of the lotion and the simple action of caring for herself. Putting on a comfortable, old blue cotton saree again felt like settling back into herself, refreshed.
The afternoon passed quietly. She folded the clean laundry, smoothing out wrinkles, matching socks. She planned dinner – dahl, rice, maybe the okra she’d bought yesterday. She wiped surfaces again – the dining table, the TV stand, the window sills – her movements steady and calming. As she moved from room to room, she saw herself in mirrors: her saree neat and practical, her eyes focused and calm as she worked. This was her home, her life. Folding Rajiv’s shirt, she smelled the clean scent of detergent, a simple feeling of satisfaction warming her. Wiping Aaryan’s small handprints from the glass door, she smiled. This routine, this caring for her family, gave her a deep, steady peace.
Evening brought the usual sounds: keys jingling, Rajiv’s briefcase thudding down, Aaryan’s excited yell of "Papa!". Noise and life rushed back into the apartment. Dinner was warm and loud, filled with Aaryan’s talking about his day and Rajiv’s stories from work. Meera listened, served food, smiled, the steady center of their family.
After Aaryan was bathed, had a story read to him, and finally asleep in his little bed in their room, the feeling changed. Meera was wiping the kitchen counters, the smell of spices and ghee still in the air, when Rajiv came in. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The overhead light was bright, but his look was soft and focused.
"Long day?" she asked, rinsing the cloth under the tap.
"Better now," he murmured, pushing away from the frame. He walked towards her, his steps slow and purposeful. Her heartbeat quickened. He stopped behind her, his hands finding her waist, but this time there was no hurry, nothing else on his mind. His touch was slow, full of meaning. He pressed his face against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin. "You look beautiful in this light," he whispered, his low voice sending a shiver through her.
Meera leaned back into him, letting out a soft sigh. "It's just the kitchen light, Rajiv," she murmured, though warmth was already spreading across her chest and up her neck.
"No," he insisted, his hands moving up, following the shape of her blouse. His thumbs found the sides of her breasts through the thin cotton, rubbing slow circles that made her catch her breath. "It's you." He turned her gently to face him. His eyes, dark and fixed on hers, held a heat that was more than affection, close to hunger. He kissed her deeply, a kiss that spoke of wanting her all day. His tongue sought hers, and she met it willingly, a familiar, strong warmth gathering low in her belly, making her tense inside.
His hands moved over her back, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the hard shape of him pressing against her stomach through his trousers. A small sound escaped her as his mouth left hers to trail warm, open kisses down her neck. His stubble felt rough and good against her skin. "Rajiv... Aaryan..." she breathed, the protest faint, her voice already heavy with want.
"He's fast asleep," Rajiv murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot. His fingers found the row of small hooks at the back of her blouse. He started undoing them, one by one, the backs of his knuckles brushing her skin each time, sending sharp tingles through her. The silk whispered as it loosened. "Come with me," he urged, his voice rough with need.
"But... the room..." Meera protested weakly, even as her body pressed towards his touch, her hips pushing against what she felt.
Without a word, Rajiv bent down, slid one arm under her knees and the other firmly around her back, and lifted her easily off her feet. Meera gasped, the sudden move surprising her, and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face against the warm skin of his shoulder. He carried her out of the kitchen, through the dim living room. He didn’t head for their bedroom where Aaryan slept. Instead, he pushed open the door to the front room. A single blue lamp glowed in the corner, covering everything in a soft, private blue light. He’d thought of this.
He set her down gently on her feet within the blue light. The light changed the plain room, making it feel secret, apart from their normal life. Rajiv stepped back, looking at her, his gaze intense, admiring, taking her in. "See?" he whispered, a knowing smile touching his lips. "I told you. You look... amazing in this light."
Meera felt the flush grow hotter across her chest and face, mixed with a sharp thrill of excitement. Being looked at like this by her husband, in this strange light, was deeply and powerfully arousing. The blue light seemed to shape her body beneath the partly open blouse and dbangd saree, making shadows between her breasts, showing the curve of her hip. A slow smile curved her own lips. She knew he loved this – not just her body, but her letting him see her, wanting her so openly. She held his gaze, letting him look, silently giving herself.
He stepped close again, his hands going back to her blouse hooks. This time, she didn’t resist. The silk slid off her shoulders leaving her top half covered only by her bra. The cooler air, or the sheer force of his look, made her skin prickle. His fingers traced the lace edge of the bra, then slid slowly under the thin fabric to hold the full weight of her breasts. Meera gasped, her head falling back as his thumbs found her nipples, already hard and sensitive. The touch sent a strong jolt of feeling straight to her core, making her muscles tighten inside.
"Rajiv..." His name was a sigh, asking for more.
He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his fingers. He suckled gently, first through the fabric, the warm pressure wonderful, then pulling the bra down to bare her skin. His mouth closed over one hard peak, tongue moving, teeth grazing lightly. The feeling was sharp, almost too much, a deep pull low in her belly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him. His hands moved down, easily finding the tucked pleats of her saree at her waist and loosening them. The heavy silk sighed as it slid down her legs, leaving her standing in just her thin cotton underskirt. He knelt before her, his hands sliding up the outside of her thighs, pushing the underskirt down over her hips until it joined the saree on the floor.
Now she stood before him in the blue light, wearing only her underwear. His gaze was full of admiration, tracing every line and curve – the dip of her stomach, the shape of her hips, the smooth skin of her thighs. He stood up, his hands skimming her waist, her hips, his fingertips leaving trails of heat across her bare back, the sides of her ribs. Meera trembled, exposed but completely safe within her husband's wanting. The cool air touched her skin, making more goosebumps, but the heat of his look was much stronger.
He pulled her close, skin touching skin. The feeling of his bare chest against her breasts, the roughness of his trousers against her bare thighs, was intensely private, a shock of contact that made her gasp. His kisses were deep and demanding, taking her mouth as his hands moved over her – following the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the shape of her hips, the firmness of her backside. Every careful touch, every brush of his lips against her neck, her shoulder, the space between her breasts, built the heat inside her. The ache between her legs grew stronger, an emptiness only he could fill.
"Meera," he breathed roughly against her skin, his voice tight. "You drive me crazy..." His hand slid lower, fingers finding the wet heat between her legs, touching her firmly through the thin, damp fabric. She cried out, a sharp sound of pure feeling, her hips moving against his touch without thought. The pressure felt wonderful, almost too much, a sharp, sweet tension winding tighter and tighter inside her, ready to break.
He lifted her again, easily, carrying her a few steps to the daybed. He laid her down gently on the cool cover, the blue light washing over her skin, showing every curve. He undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving her body, burning with need. Then he was with her, his weight settling over her, skin against skin, heat coming from him. His touch was everywhere – careful yet demanding, possessive yet gentle. He kissed her deeply as his hand returned to her center, sliding under the last piece of clothing. His fingers found her wetness, entering her with a slow, sure stroke that stretched and filled. She arched off the bed, a low, deep moan escaping her as the feeling shot through her. He touched her inside, knowing her, finding the places that made her gasp and move. He built her feeling with his fingers, sending sparks through her nerves until she was shaking near the edge, breathing hard, her body tight.
"Please, Rajiv... now..." she begged, her voice thick and broken with need, her body asking for him.
Slowly and gently he pulled the underwear down, his finger tips brushing her skin as they moved. He positioned himself, his gaze locked fiercely with hers, filled with love and a strong, basic desire. He entered her slowly, bit by bit, stretching her, filling the emptiness completely. Meera gasped, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing him closer. A perfect, familiar fit. A deep sense of coming home. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that started carefully, each pull back feeling like loss, each push forward a wave of pleasure. Their bodies found their old rhythm, a basic movement. The world became only feeling: the thick fullness of him moving inside her, the wet closeness, the feel of his rougher skin against her smoothness, the sound of their heavy breathing mixed, the way his eyes darkened with intense feeling with every deep push. She moved with him, her hips rising, her hands holding his back, her own pleasure building in strong waves.
The blue light seemed to move with their rhythm. Sweat formed on their skin, shining in the dimness. Feeling built, tightened, coiled almost too tight. Meera felt it rising, a wave of pure, breaking pleasure that tore through her. She cried out his name, the sound muffled against his sweaty shoulder as her body clenched around him, pulling him deeper. Her release started his own; he pushed hard, deep inside her with a rough groan that seemed pulled from his chest, his body shaking as he came.
They fell together, a tangle of sweaty limbs, breathing hard in the sudden quiet of the blue-lit room. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city. Rajiv shifted slightly, pulling her with him, holding her tightly against his chest. His heart beat fast against her ear, matching the wild pulse she still felt in her own body. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her damp hairline, his arms holding her with a possessiveness softened by deep tenderness.
"My Meera," he whispered, his voice rough from passion and strong, lasting affection. "Always my Meera."
She nestled closer, limp and completely satisfied, a deep sense of peace and connection flowing through her like warm honey. She traced lazy patterns on his damp chest, listening as his heartbeat slowly calmed. In this quiet time after, bathed in the strange blue light, held in the solid warmth of her husband’s arms and the private smell of their closeness, Meera felt deeply, completely loved. This was her anchor, her world. She closed her eyes, a small, completely happy smile curving her lips as she drifted towards sleep, safe and treasured within the steady rhythm of their love.
Chapter 2: Shifting Currents
Saturday Splash
Saturday mornings at the busy 'FreshMart' were normal for the Sharma family. Sunlight came through the high windows, lighting up crowded aisles. Meera moved through the produce section easily. Her navy blue silk saree with thin silver borders moved smoothly as she walked. The cool silk felt nice against her skin. Rajiv, relaxed in jeans and a polo shirt, pushed the cart with their happily talking son Aaryan sitting on the folded seat.
"Papa, look! Big apples!" Aaryan pointed excitedly, bouncing a little.
"Big apples for sure, champ!" Rajiv laughed, adding a bag to the cart. "Meera, do we need more potatoes? The potato parathas were good last Sunday."
"Yes, yes," Meera smiled, picking firm fresh ones. "Just one kilo more. And we need good tomatoes for the vegetable dish." She leaned over the display, the end of her saree slipping slightly off her shoulder as she chose tomatoes. Rajiv fixed it back, his fingers touching her collarbone - a small, claiming move that made her feel warm.
"Five-year-old energy needs food," Rajiv said, pushing the cart toward snacks. "Aaryan, pick one treat. Only one!"
The usual talk about chocolate biscuits started, with Aaryan pleading and Rajiv pretending to be strict. Meera watched them, feeling her usual calm happiness. This is my world: the market colors, the smells of spices and bread, my husband and son. She fixed her saree, the silk making a soft sound as she walked to the dairy section.
An Unexpected Meeting
As they turned a corner near rice and lentils sacks, Meera heard a familiar laugh. "Meera! Rajiv!"
She turned to see Aarti, her lively neighbor and friend, waving. Next to Aarti stood a man Meera didn't know right away - tall, strong in a dark t-shirt and jeans, standing with confidence and smiling at them. Then she remembered: Arjun, Rajiv's work friend from the big company. She'd seen him briefly at a Diwali party months ago but never really talked to him.
"Aarti! Arjun!" Rajiv greeted warmly, shaking Arjun's hand. "Small place! Weekend shopping?"
"Trying to," Aarti grinned, hugging Meera lightly. "Arjun offered to drive, so I made him carry heavy things." She winked.
"Smart man," Rajiv laughed. "Meera, you remember Arjun from the office party? Arjun, my wife Meera."
Arjun looked straight at Meera. His smile grew warmer, openly admiring. "Of course. Hello, Meera. It's nice to see you again." His eyes stayed on hers a moment too long, a direct look that felt flattering but also a little unsettling. He had a natural charm about him.
"Hello, Arjun," Meera replied with a polite smile. "Yes, nice to see you."
"And who's this little man?" Arjun asked, looking at Aaryan who was watching from the cart.
"This is Aaryan," Rajiv said proudly.
"Hello, Aaryan!" Arjun bent down to the boy's level. "Helping with shopping?" His friendly tone wasn't awkward like some adults. Aaryan, usually shy with new men, gave a small smile and nodded. Arjun asked about his favorite biscuits, making the boy comfortable fast. Meera watched, surprised by how easily Arjun talked to Aaryan.
The two groups walked together, chatting about work, neighborhood news, and weekend plans. Meera talked happily with Aarti about a local event, laughing at her jokes. But underneath, she kept noticing Arjun. When I laugh, his eyes follow my neck. When I turn, he looks at my chest under my blouse. She saw him watching her while she talked to Aarti, his gaze staying when she moved her hands or turned. It wasn't rude staring, but it was definitely interested.
Walking toward the dry goods aisle, the crowd got tighter. As Meera reached for moong dal on a high shelf, Arjun reached at the same time. Their hands touched - his fingers warm and slightly rough against her skin. It lasted just a second.
"Oh, sorry!" Arjun said quickly, pulling his hand back with an apologetic smile.
"It's fine," Meera said softly, grabbing the dal and stepping away. Her heart jumped oddly. The spot where he touched felt strangely warm. She busied herself putting the packet in the cart, avoiding his eyes.
The feeling grew as they moved through crowded aisles. Arjun seemed to end up near her often. Once at the spice counter, his arm accidentally brushed hers as he talked to Rajiv. Another time, passing a display, he was suddenly close behind her when she stopped. She caught his scent - sandalwood, citrus, and a subtle manly smell - cutting through the store smells and staying in her mind. It was... nice. Interesting. Why do I notice it so much? a quiet voice asked inside her.
Meera felt a strange shiver low in her stomach, a flutter she didn't want. Why am I reacting like this? He's just Rajiv's work friend. But she kept feeling watched. As she walked ahead to pick tea bags, she became very aware of her own body. She walked normally, her hips swaying naturally from years in sarees, without thinking about it. But now, imagining Arjun looking at her back, at the way the navy silk fell over her hips, her usual walk felt suddenly powerful. Is he watching? Does he see it? The thought brought confusing heat and unease to her skin. She turned back toward Rajiv, and in that quick moment, she clearly saw Arjun looking at her from behind. He was watching my shape. I'm aware of my own body in a way I haven't been in years. Then she corrected herself: No, this isn't like me. I shouldn't care about such looks. But why do I feel so aware now? Why is he looking at me like that? she thought, flustered, as she pretended to compare tea boxes. It's just how I walk. Doesn't he know I'm married? Rajiv is right here! She felt loyalty mixed with annoyance, mostly at herself. She deliberately walked slower, trying to stop her natural sway, feeling suddenly clumsy. The easy shopping trip now felt tense for her. She stayed close to Aarti, talking only about safe things, laughing a bit too loudly.
At the checkout, Meera felt strangely tired and unsettled. The polite goodbyes - "Bye, Aarti! Take care, Arjun!" - felt heavy. Arjun's last smile and "Good seeing you, Meera," with that direct look, stayed in her thoughts. Driving home, Aaryan chattered and Rajiv talked about cricket on the radio, but Meera stayed quiet, looking out the window.
That smell... why can I still sense it? The shiver in her stomach came back, faint but staying. And when I walked ahead... he was watching. What did he see? Do I still have that effect? Married, a mother - but can I still draw that kind of look? The questions circled in her mind, unwanted thoughts growing. Arjun's confident, admiring smile appeared in her thoughts, right next to the familiar comfort of her husband. A small spark had been lit, and its quiet warmth stayed uncomfortably in her belly.
Chapter 3: Echoes and Whispers
Mirror, Mirror
Later that night, Rajiv slept deeply beside her, one arm loose across her waist, breathing slow and steady. Aaryan was a small, quiet shape in his bed nearby. But Meera couldn't sleep. The afternoon kept playing in her head.
His hand brushing mine... the heat of it. That smell... sandalwood and something else. Warm. Manly. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake Rajiv. And his eyes. Watching me. Watching me walk away. The memory of imagining his gaze on her back, on the sway of her hips under the blue saree, sent a fresh wave of heat through her, tingling low in her belly – a heat that was part shame, part something else she pushed away.
Quietly, she slipped out from under Rajiv's arm and the sheet. The cool marble floor felt solid under her bare feet. She walked silently to the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the soft night light. She stood before the large mirror, the dim light making shadows on her face and body in her simple cotton nightgown.
She looked hard at her reflection. Age 32. A mother. Small lines around her eyes if she looked close. Her body, still curved the way Rajiv loved, showed the soft marks of time and having a child – softer at her middle, breasts full but not as firm as in her twenties. She ran her hands over her hips, her waist, held her breasts. This? she thought, staring at her own eyes. This is what he looked at? This is what he... wanted?
She turned sideways, pressing the nightgown against the curve of her hips with her hand. Or was he looking at the shape of my backside?
The thought felt silly and exciting at the same time. A man like Arjun – sure of himself, handsome, probably used to younger, maybe flashier women – looking at her like that? Why? Was she still... wanted like that, beyond Rajiv's safe, known wanting?
She leaned closer to the mirror, touching her jawline. The faint memory of his smell seemed to stay, like a ghost. Why does it stick? It was just a second in a busy store. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to push away the thoughts, the confusing warmth deep inside. But the questions stayed: Did he see how I walked? What exactly did he see?
Messages and Thoughts
The next day, during the morning rush packing Rajiv's lunch, Arjun's easy smile while talking to Aaryan flashed in her mind. The usual chores went smoothly, the rhythm she knew so well. But today, something stayed with her – the smell, the look. She kept shaking her head to clear it. After her bath, wrapped in a towel, she stood before the long mirror again. This time, looking at herself felt different, mixed with a strange new curiosity. The blue saree hung on its hanger nearby.
Wanting a distraction, she sat on the sofa with her phone just as a notification chimed. A WhatsApp message from Aarti.
Aarti: Hey girl! Kya kar rahe ho? Kal Jyaada baath hee nahee kar paaya? (Hey girl! what you doing? couldn't talk to you more!)
Meera: Haan bas abhi hi. Subah ka circus khatam hua. (Yes, just now. The morning circus is over.) Rajiv office, Aaryan college. Peace! waise bhi kal tho wo rush mein kyaa bath hona thaa?
Aarti: Peace? Lucky you! Humara toh pura din nikal jata hai. (Peace? Lucky you! My whole day gets wasted.)
They chatted for a few minutes – about a new recipe Aarti tried, something funny a neighbor did. Then, the talk changed.
Aarti: Arre yaar, kal ka din achha tha na? Arjun ke saath? (Hey, yesterday was good, right? With Arjun?)
Meera: Haan, accha tha. Aaryan toh usse instant fan ho gaya! (Yes, it was good. Aaryan became his instant fan!)
Aarti: Sach mein! He’s so good with kids. Aur waise bhi... (Really! He’s so good with kids. And otherwise also...)
There was a pause. Meera waited, a tight feeling in her chest.
Aarti: Yaar Meera, woh banda... kamaal ka hai. (Yaar Meera, that guy... is amazing.)
Meera: Oh? Kya hua? (Oh? What happened?)
Aarti: Kal raat... bas. (Last night... wow.) Uff, uska confidence... aur uske haath... (Uff, his confidence... and his hands...)
Meera: Aarti! She typed, feeling her cheeks flush hot. bus kar yaar!! (Stop it!)
Aarti: Arre yaar, tumse hi share karungi na? (Arre yaar, who else will I share with?)
Meera: Kyoom? Nahee yaaaar... its your time na! (Why? No yaar... it's your time!)
Aarti: Aree suno Meera, He’s just... so intense. Jaanwar jaise, (He’s just... so intense. Like an animal, but controlled.) eek bath boolon?? down there... tongue ka magic alag hi hai. (Shall I say one thing?? down there... his tongue is different magic.)
Meera stared at the screen. Aarti’s words made strong pictures in her mind – Arjun’s powerful hands, his confident mouth, the closeness Aarti described so freely. A strong heat flared deep inside Meera, a purely physical reaction she couldn't stop. She shifted on the sofa, feeling herself grow wet between her thighs. Stop, she told herself sharply. This is Aarti’s life. Not yours.
Aarti: Aur hesitation zero! Har inch explore karta hai... slowly, like he’s memorizing. (And zero hesitation! Explores every inch... slowly, like he’s memorizing.) Proper man hai yaar. (He's a proper man, yaar.)
Meera took a shaky breath, trying to think of a simple reply. Before she could, another message popped up.
Meera: Bus kar Aarti, mujhe jaana hee... Sharam tho karo! (Stop Aarti, I have to go... Have some shame!)
Aarti: Aur ek baat... kal grocery shop mein tumhare baare mein kaha tha. (And one thing... yesterday at the grocery shop he said something about you.)
Meera’s breath caught. Her fingers froze.
Meera: Mere baare mein? Kya? (About me? What?)
Aarti: Haan! Tumhare figure ki tareef ki. (Yes! He praised your figure.) Bola ki tumhari saree tumhari body pe kamaal ki suit karti hai. (Said your saree suits your body amazingly.) "Perfect curves, and she carries it with such... inner grace," aisa bola. ("Perfect curves, and she carries it with such... inner grace," he said like that.) Tumhare andar ki khoobsurti bhi dikhti hai, usne bola! (Your inner beauty shows too, he said!)
The words burned on the screen. Perfect curves. Inner grace. Inner beauty. Said by him. The man whose smell still lingered in her thoughts, whose imagined look had made her feel both seen and strangely strong yesterday. The man Aarti described as such a skilled lover. The heat in Meera’s belly grew stronger, spreading lower, a pulsing throb of forbidden awareness. Her reflection in the dark TV screen seemed to swim.
Meera: Aarti, pagal hai kya? (Aarti, are you crazy?) Woh bas polite tha. (He was just being polite.) She typed, fingers trembling. The denial felt thin, even to her.
Aarti: Polite? Nahin yaar! Usne genuinely kaha tha. Mujhe pata hai. (Polite? No yaar! He genuinely said it. I know.) Anyways... just saying! Tera husband toh already lucky hai! (Anyways... just saying! Your husband is already lucky!) Lunch time. Chat later!
The chat ended suddenly, leaving Meera alone in the quiet, a storm raging inside. She dropped the phone like it was hot. She wrapped her arms around herself, pacing the living room.
He said that? About my body? My... curves? About inner beauty? The words echoed, mixing with the memory of his look in the store, the ghost of sandalwood. Why? Why tell Aarti? Was it just charm, or...? The image of Arjun as Aarti described him – intense, sure, touching every inch – crashed into the image of him praising her saree, her shape.
The confusion was a real ache. That a man like Arjun found her worth looking at? That he’d noticed her, really seen her, beyond just being Rajiv’s wife? But mixed in was the hot disturbance from Aarti’s words, a heat now sharply focused. She imagined those confident hands, that exploring touch... on her. No! She pressed her palms to her hot face. That’s for Aarti. Not you.
Yet the questions grew louder, fed by Aarti’s news. Am I still wanted? Not just by Rajiv, but... by others? By a man like that? She thought of her reflection. Is that what he saw? Is that why he watched? The memory of walking in the store, the imagined weight of his eyes on her moving hips, the sway she couldn’t help... played again, now charged with a dangerous new energy. The small spark from yesterday had caught fire from Aarti’s messages. A slow, unsettling heat burned within Meera, throwing confusing shadows over her familiar, devoted life. She lay awake long into the quiet night, Arjun's admiring smile and Aarti’s explicit words twisting together in the dark. Why? The question beat with her faster heartbeat. Why me?
).*Caution: The storyline is a slow burning type, the initial sex scenes are more emotional, it will suit for those who wish to feel the build up.
The Descent of Meera; An Indian House Wife
Chapter 1: The Rhythm of Home
The first morning light came through the bedroom curtains, making pale gold stripes on the messy sheets. Meera woke up before the alarm, a habit from years of getting up early with children. Beside her, Rajiv slept soundly, his chest moving up and down in a steady, regular way. She looked at him for a moment – his familiar face relaxed, the shape of his shoulder under the thin sheet. A quiet feeling of warmth filled her. Carefully, she got out of bed.
The cool marble floor felt cold under her bare feet as she walked quietly to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face got rid of the last bits of tiredness. She stood in front of the mirror, pushing her fingers through her thick, dark hair, messy from sleep. She pulled it into a loose braid and fixed it with a band. A few pieces came loose right away, hanging around her face.
Back in the bedroom, she opened the carved wooden wardrobe. Her fingers touched colourful silks and cottons before picking a soft peach cotton saree with a thin gold edge. She took off her nightdress and stood before the full-length mirror. The morning light showed her body clearly – the shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the strength in her arms. A small, private smile touched her lips. At thirty-two, a mother, she felt a quiet pride in what she saw – womanly, soft, wanted. She picked plain cotton underwear, practical but chosen knowing her shape. The routine of putting on the saree started: folding the pleats neatly at her waist, fixing the end piece firmly over her shoulder, adjusting the length so it touched her ankles. Each move was skilled, quick, but still had its own simple grace.
The kitchen needed her. The leftover smell of yesterday's spices mixed with the new smell of coffee making. Meera moved with purpose: filling the kettle, measuring rice into a bowl, washing lentils under cold water. The regular sound of chopping vegetables filled the quiet – the solid thwack as she cut potatoes, the softer crunch of cucumbers. She was focused on the job when warm arms suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind, making her gasp in surprise.
"Rajiv!" she laughed, leaning back naturally into his solid warmth. He smelled like sleep and soap.
"Good morning, beautiful," he said, his voice still thick with sleep, giving her a warm kiss just below her ear. His hands moved gently up her sides, following the shape of her waist under her thin top before resting firmly on her hips. He rubbed his face against her neck, his morning stubble feeling rough and nice against her skin. "Mmm, you smell like jasmine and breakfast."
Meera turned a little in his arms, lifting her face up. He kissed her slowly and deeply, tasting like toothpaste and sleep. His hands moved over her back, pulling her closer. "And you smell like my lazy husband who needs to get ready," she teased, pulling back a bit, though her eyes were bright.
"Lazy? I'm getting my energy," Rajiv argued, his hands sliding down to give her backside a playful, familiar squeeze that made her yelp and swat at him. He moved away, laughing, catching her hand and kissing her knuckles fast. "What's the food situation, Captain?" He nodded towards the lunch boxes on the counter.
"Almost ready," Meera said, turning back to stir the cooking sambar. "Just packing the rice now." She felt him standing close behind her, a steady presence. As she bent down to get a container from a low cupboard, she felt his hand briefly, firmly, move over the curve of her hip through the saree. She stood up, meeting his look, feeling her cheeks get warm. He winked, a slow, fond smile spreading over his face before he went for his shower.
The busy morning started. Rajiv came out, neat in his work clothes. Their five-year-old son, Aaryan, walked sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. "Mummyyy..." he whined, holding onto her saree.
"Good morning, my sunshine!" Meera bent down, hugging him tightly, breathing in his special sleepy child smell. "Come on, let's get you washed up." The next half-hour was busy: getting Aaryan to eat his idlis, carefully packing Rajiv’s lunch (extra pickle, just how he liked it), checking college bags, and tying small shoelaces. Rajiv helped, doing his tie while reminding Aaryan about sharing toys. Finally, at the door, Rajiv put on his jacket.
"Have a good day, Rajiv," Meera said, giving him his lunch and briefcase.
"You too, Meera," he replied, looking at her warmly and with approval. He pulled her close for a proper goodbye kiss, deeper than the morning peck, his hand holding her cheek. "Take care of yourself." He messed up Aaryan’s hair. "Be good for Mummy, champ!"
"Bye, Papa!" Aaryan said cheerfully.
Then they were gone. The sound of the car engine disappeared. Sudden quiet filled the apartment. Meera stood in the hallway, listening to the silence, feeling the change. She walked back to the living room. Sunlight came in stronger now, showing dust floating in the air. She sat on the sofa, pulling Aaryan onto her lap for a few minutes of quiet cuddles, enjoying the calm after the busy morning.
The day moved into its own slow speed. She cleaned up the breakfast dishes: scbanging plates, putting them in the sink, running hot soapy water. The clatter of dishes was the only noise. She wiped the table, the counters, the stove top, cleaning every sign of the morning meal. Later, she sorted the laundry – separating Rajiv’s neat shirts from Aaryan’s small t-shirts and her own sarees. She filled the washing machine, the regular sound of water a low background noise. She made phone calls: checking on her mother, confirming weekend plans with Rajiv’s sister. The phone felt cool against her ear, the talks short and ordinary.
Mid-morning, she helped Aaryan with simple pre-college work – copying letters, counting bright blocks – her voice calm and supportive. She felt a familiar feeling of pride seeing his small forehead wrinkle as he concentrated.
Later, she took Aaryan to the small prayer area. Lighting a match, she lit the small oil lamp, the flame burning steadily. She lit an incense stick, its scented smoke rising in thin lines. Closing her eyes, the familiar Sanskrit prayers came softly from her lips. She asked for health, for her family’s safety, for the happiness that filled her days to continue.
After Aaryan was settled for his afternoon nap, Meera ran a bath. She added a few drops of rose oil to the bathwater and watched the scented steam rise. Getting into the warm water felt wonderful, easing the slight ache in her shoulders from the morning work. She stayed there, letting the heat relax her muscles. Afterwards, wrapped in a big, soft towel, she stood before the steamed-up mirror. Water drops stuck to her skin. She rubbed on a light lotion, her hands moving over her neck, shoulders, arms, liking the cool feel of the lotion and the simple action of caring for herself. Putting on a comfortable, old blue cotton saree again felt like settling back into herself, refreshed.
The afternoon passed quietly. She folded the clean laundry, smoothing out wrinkles, matching socks. She planned dinner – dahl, rice, maybe the okra she’d bought yesterday. She wiped surfaces again – the dining table, the TV stand, the window sills – her movements steady and calming. As she moved from room to room, she saw herself in mirrors: her saree neat and practical, her eyes focused and calm as she worked. This was her home, her life. Folding Rajiv’s shirt, she smelled the clean scent of detergent, a simple feeling of satisfaction warming her. Wiping Aaryan’s small handprints from the glass door, she smiled. This routine, this caring for her family, gave her a deep, steady peace.
Evening brought the usual sounds: keys jingling, Rajiv’s briefcase thudding down, Aaryan’s excited yell of "Papa!". Noise and life rushed back into the apartment. Dinner was warm and loud, filled with Aaryan’s talking about his day and Rajiv’s stories from work. Meera listened, served food, smiled, the steady center of their family.
After Aaryan was bathed, had a story read to him, and finally asleep in his little bed in their room, the feeling changed. Meera was wiping the kitchen counters, the smell of spices and ghee still in the air, when Rajiv came in. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The overhead light was bright, but his look was soft and focused.
"Long day?" she asked, rinsing the cloth under the tap.
"Better now," he murmured, pushing away from the frame. He walked towards her, his steps slow and purposeful. Her heartbeat quickened. He stopped behind her, his hands finding her waist, but this time there was no hurry, nothing else on his mind. His touch was slow, full of meaning. He pressed his face against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin. "You look beautiful in this light," he whispered, his low voice sending a shiver through her.
Meera leaned back into him, letting out a soft sigh. "It's just the kitchen light, Rajiv," she murmured, though warmth was already spreading across her chest and up her neck.
"No," he insisted, his hands moving up, following the shape of her blouse. His thumbs found the sides of her breasts through the thin cotton, rubbing slow circles that made her catch her breath. "It's you." He turned her gently to face him. His eyes, dark and fixed on hers, held a heat that was more than affection, close to hunger. He kissed her deeply, a kiss that spoke of wanting her all day. His tongue sought hers, and she met it willingly, a familiar, strong warmth gathering low in her belly, making her tense inside.
His hands moved over her back, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the hard shape of him pressing against her stomach through his trousers. A small sound escaped her as his mouth left hers to trail warm, open kisses down her neck. His stubble felt rough and good against her skin. "Rajiv... Aaryan..." she breathed, the protest faint, her voice already heavy with want.
"He's fast asleep," Rajiv murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot. His fingers found the row of small hooks at the back of her blouse. He started undoing them, one by one, the backs of his knuckles brushing her skin each time, sending sharp tingles through her. The silk whispered as it loosened. "Come with me," he urged, his voice rough with need.
"But... the room..." Meera protested weakly, even as her body pressed towards his touch, her hips pushing against what she felt.
Without a word, Rajiv bent down, slid one arm under her knees and the other firmly around her back, and lifted her easily off her feet. Meera gasped, the sudden move surprising her, and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face against the warm skin of his shoulder. He carried her out of the kitchen, through the dim living room. He didn’t head for their bedroom where Aaryan slept. Instead, he pushed open the door to the front room. A single blue lamp glowed in the corner, covering everything in a soft, private blue light. He’d thought of this.
He set her down gently on her feet within the blue light. The light changed the plain room, making it feel secret, apart from their normal life. Rajiv stepped back, looking at her, his gaze intense, admiring, taking her in. "See?" he whispered, a knowing smile touching his lips. "I told you. You look... amazing in this light."
Meera felt the flush grow hotter across her chest and face, mixed with a sharp thrill of excitement. Being looked at like this by her husband, in this strange light, was deeply and powerfully arousing. The blue light seemed to shape her body beneath the partly open blouse and dbangd saree, making shadows between her breasts, showing the curve of her hip. A slow smile curved her own lips. She knew he loved this – not just her body, but her letting him see her, wanting her so openly. She held his gaze, letting him look, silently giving herself.
He stepped close again, his hands going back to her blouse hooks. This time, she didn’t resist. The silk slid off her shoulders leaving her top half covered only by her bra. The cooler air, or the sheer force of his look, made her skin prickle. His fingers traced the lace edge of the bra, then slid slowly under the thin fabric to hold the full weight of her breasts. Meera gasped, her head falling back as his thumbs found her nipples, already hard and sensitive. The touch sent a strong jolt of feeling straight to her core, making her muscles tighten inside.
"Rajiv..." His name was a sigh, asking for more.
He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his fingers. He suckled gently, first through the fabric, the warm pressure wonderful, then pulling the bra down to bare her skin. His mouth closed over one hard peak, tongue moving, teeth grazing lightly. The feeling was sharp, almost too much, a deep pull low in her belly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him. His hands moved down, easily finding the tucked pleats of her saree at her waist and loosening them. The heavy silk sighed as it slid down her legs, leaving her standing in just her thin cotton underskirt. He knelt before her, his hands sliding up the outside of her thighs, pushing the underskirt down over her hips until it joined the saree on the floor.
Now she stood before him in the blue light, wearing only her underwear. His gaze was full of admiration, tracing every line and curve – the dip of her stomach, the shape of her hips, the smooth skin of her thighs. He stood up, his hands skimming her waist, her hips, his fingertips leaving trails of heat across her bare back, the sides of her ribs. Meera trembled, exposed but completely safe within her husband's wanting. The cool air touched her skin, making more goosebumps, but the heat of his look was much stronger.
He pulled her close, skin touching skin. The feeling of his bare chest against her breasts, the roughness of his trousers against her bare thighs, was intensely private, a shock of contact that made her gasp. His kisses were deep and demanding, taking her mouth as his hands moved over her – following the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the shape of her hips, the firmness of her backside. Every careful touch, every brush of his lips against her neck, her shoulder, the space between her breasts, built the heat inside her. The ache between her legs grew stronger, an emptiness only he could fill.
"Meera," he breathed roughly against her skin, his voice tight. "You drive me crazy..." His hand slid lower, fingers finding the wet heat between her legs, touching her firmly through the thin, damp fabric. She cried out, a sharp sound of pure feeling, her hips moving against his touch without thought. The pressure felt wonderful, almost too much, a sharp, sweet tension winding tighter and tighter inside her, ready to break.
He lifted her again, easily, carrying her a few steps to the daybed. He laid her down gently on the cool cover, the blue light washing over her skin, showing every curve. He undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving her body, burning with need. Then he was with her, his weight settling over her, skin against skin, heat coming from him. His touch was everywhere – careful yet demanding, possessive yet gentle. He kissed her deeply as his hand returned to her center, sliding under the last piece of clothing. His fingers found her wetness, entering her with a slow, sure stroke that stretched and filled. She arched off the bed, a low, deep moan escaping her as the feeling shot through her. He touched her inside, knowing her, finding the places that made her gasp and move. He built her feeling with his fingers, sending sparks through her nerves until she was shaking near the edge, breathing hard, her body tight.
"Please, Rajiv... now..." she begged, her voice thick and broken with need, her body asking for him.
Slowly and gently he pulled the underwear down, his finger tips brushing her skin as they moved. He positioned himself, his gaze locked fiercely with hers, filled with love and a strong, basic desire. He entered her slowly, bit by bit, stretching her, filling the emptiness completely. Meera gasped, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing him closer. A perfect, familiar fit. A deep sense of coming home. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that started carefully, each pull back feeling like loss, each push forward a wave of pleasure. Their bodies found their old rhythm, a basic movement. The world became only feeling: the thick fullness of him moving inside her, the wet closeness, the feel of his rougher skin against her smoothness, the sound of their heavy breathing mixed, the way his eyes darkened with intense feeling with every deep push. She moved with him, her hips rising, her hands holding his back, her own pleasure building in strong waves.
The blue light seemed to move with their rhythm. Sweat formed on their skin, shining in the dimness. Feeling built, tightened, coiled almost too tight. Meera felt it rising, a wave of pure, breaking pleasure that tore through her. She cried out his name, the sound muffled against his sweaty shoulder as her body clenched around him, pulling him deeper. Her release started his own; he pushed hard, deep inside her with a rough groan that seemed pulled from his chest, his body shaking as he came.
They fell together, a tangle of sweaty limbs, breathing hard in the sudden quiet of the blue-lit room. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city. Rajiv shifted slightly, pulling her with him, holding her tightly against his chest. His heart beat fast against her ear, matching the wild pulse she still felt in her own body. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her damp hairline, his arms holding her with a possessiveness softened by deep tenderness.
"My Meera," he whispered, his voice rough from passion and strong, lasting affection. "Always my Meera."
She nestled closer, limp and completely satisfied, a deep sense of peace and connection flowing through her like warm honey. She traced lazy patterns on his damp chest, listening as his heartbeat slowly calmed. In this quiet time after, bathed in the strange blue light, held in the solid warmth of her husband’s arms and the private smell of their closeness, Meera felt deeply, completely loved. This was her anchor, her world. She closed her eyes, a small, completely happy smile curving her lips as she drifted towards sleep, safe and treasured within the steady rhythm of their love.
Chapter 2: Shifting Currents
Saturday Splash
Saturday mornings at the busy 'FreshMart' were normal for the Sharma family. Sunlight came through the high windows, lighting up crowded aisles. Meera moved through the produce section easily. Her navy blue silk saree with thin silver borders moved smoothly as she walked. The cool silk felt nice against her skin. Rajiv, relaxed in jeans and a polo shirt, pushed the cart with their happily talking son Aaryan sitting on the folded seat.
"Papa, look! Big apples!" Aaryan pointed excitedly, bouncing a little.
"Big apples for sure, champ!" Rajiv laughed, adding a bag to the cart. "Meera, do we need more potatoes? The potato parathas were good last Sunday."
"Yes, yes," Meera smiled, picking firm fresh ones. "Just one kilo more. And we need good tomatoes for the vegetable dish." She leaned over the display, the end of her saree slipping slightly off her shoulder as she chose tomatoes. Rajiv fixed it back, his fingers touching her collarbone - a small, claiming move that made her feel warm.
"Five-year-old energy needs food," Rajiv said, pushing the cart toward snacks. "Aaryan, pick one treat. Only one!"
The usual talk about chocolate biscuits started, with Aaryan pleading and Rajiv pretending to be strict. Meera watched them, feeling her usual calm happiness. This is my world: the market colors, the smells of spices and bread, my husband and son. She fixed her saree, the silk making a soft sound as she walked to the dairy section.
An Unexpected Meeting
As they turned a corner near rice and lentils sacks, Meera heard a familiar laugh. "Meera! Rajiv!"
She turned to see Aarti, her lively neighbor and friend, waving. Next to Aarti stood a man Meera didn't know right away - tall, strong in a dark t-shirt and jeans, standing with confidence and smiling at them. Then she remembered: Arjun, Rajiv's work friend from the big company. She'd seen him briefly at a Diwali party months ago but never really talked to him.
"Aarti! Arjun!" Rajiv greeted warmly, shaking Arjun's hand. "Small place! Weekend shopping?"
"Trying to," Aarti grinned, hugging Meera lightly. "Arjun offered to drive, so I made him carry heavy things." She winked.
"Smart man," Rajiv laughed. "Meera, you remember Arjun from the office party? Arjun, my wife Meera."
Arjun looked straight at Meera. His smile grew warmer, openly admiring. "Of course. Hello, Meera. It's nice to see you again." His eyes stayed on hers a moment too long, a direct look that felt flattering but also a little unsettling. He had a natural charm about him.
"Hello, Arjun," Meera replied with a polite smile. "Yes, nice to see you."
"And who's this little man?" Arjun asked, looking at Aaryan who was watching from the cart.
"This is Aaryan," Rajiv said proudly.
"Hello, Aaryan!" Arjun bent down to the boy's level. "Helping with shopping?" His friendly tone wasn't awkward like some adults. Aaryan, usually shy with new men, gave a small smile and nodded. Arjun asked about his favorite biscuits, making the boy comfortable fast. Meera watched, surprised by how easily Arjun talked to Aaryan.
The two groups walked together, chatting about work, neighborhood news, and weekend plans. Meera talked happily with Aarti about a local event, laughing at her jokes. But underneath, she kept noticing Arjun. When I laugh, his eyes follow my neck. When I turn, he looks at my chest under my blouse. She saw him watching her while she talked to Aarti, his gaze staying when she moved her hands or turned. It wasn't rude staring, but it was definitely interested.
Walking toward the dry goods aisle, the crowd got tighter. As Meera reached for moong dal on a high shelf, Arjun reached at the same time. Their hands touched - his fingers warm and slightly rough against her skin. It lasted just a second.
"Oh, sorry!" Arjun said quickly, pulling his hand back with an apologetic smile.
"It's fine," Meera said softly, grabbing the dal and stepping away. Her heart jumped oddly. The spot where he touched felt strangely warm. She busied herself putting the packet in the cart, avoiding his eyes.
The feeling grew as they moved through crowded aisles. Arjun seemed to end up near her often. Once at the spice counter, his arm accidentally brushed hers as he talked to Rajiv. Another time, passing a display, he was suddenly close behind her when she stopped. She caught his scent - sandalwood, citrus, and a subtle manly smell - cutting through the store smells and staying in her mind. It was... nice. Interesting. Why do I notice it so much? a quiet voice asked inside her.
Meera felt a strange shiver low in her stomach, a flutter she didn't want. Why am I reacting like this? He's just Rajiv's work friend. But she kept feeling watched. As she walked ahead to pick tea bags, she became very aware of her own body. She walked normally, her hips swaying naturally from years in sarees, without thinking about it. But now, imagining Arjun looking at her back, at the way the navy silk fell over her hips, her usual walk felt suddenly powerful. Is he watching? Does he see it? The thought brought confusing heat and unease to her skin. She turned back toward Rajiv, and in that quick moment, she clearly saw Arjun looking at her from behind. He was watching my shape. I'm aware of my own body in a way I haven't been in years. Then she corrected herself: No, this isn't like me. I shouldn't care about such looks. But why do I feel so aware now? Why is he looking at me like that? she thought, flustered, as she pretended to compare tea boxes. It's just how I walk. Doesn't he know I'm married? Rajiv is right here! She felt loyalty mixed with annoyance, mostly at herself. She deliberately walked slower, trying to stop her natural sway, feeling suddenly clumsy. The easy shopping trip now felt tense for her. She stayed close to Aarti, talking only about safe things, laughing a bit too loudly.
At the checkout, Meera felt strangely tired and unsettled. The polite goodbyes - "Bye, Aarti! Take care, Arjun!" - felt heavy. Arjun's last smile and "Good seeing you, Meera," with that direct look, stayed in her thoughts. Driving home, Aaryan chattered and Rajiv talked about cricket on the radio, but Meera stayed quiet, looking out the window.
That smell... why can I still sense it? The shiver in her stomach came back, faint but staying. And when I walked ahead... he was watching. What did he see? Do I still have that effect? Married, a mother - but can I still draw that kind of look? The questions circled in her mind, unwanted thoughts growing. Arjun's confident, admiring smile appeared in her thoughts, right next to the familiar comfort of her husband. A small spark had been lit, and its quiet warmth stayed uncomfortably in her belly.
Chapter 3: Echoes and Whispers
Mirror, Mirror
Later that night, Rajiv slept deeply beside her, one arm loose across her waist, breathing slow and steady. Aaryan was a small, quiet shape in his bed nearby. But Meera couldn't sleep. The afternoon kept playing in her head.
His hand brushing mine... the heat of it. That smell... sandalwood and something else. Warm. Manly. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake Rajiv. And his eyes. Watching me. Watching me walk away. The memory of imagining his gaze on her back, on the sway of her hips under the blue saree, sent a fresh wave of heat through her, tingling low in her belly – a heat that was part shame, part something else she pushed away.
Quietly, she slipped out from under Rajiv's arm and the sheet. The cool marble floor felt solid under her bare feet. She walked silently to the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the soft night light. She stood before the large mirror, the dim light making shadows on her face and body in her simple cotton nightgown.
She looked hard at her reflection. Age 32. A mother. Small lines around her eyes if she looked close. Her body, still curved the way Rajiv loved, showed the soft marks of time and having a child – softer at her middle, breasts full but not as firm as in her twenties. She ran her hands over her hips, her waist, held her breasts. This? she thought, staring at her own eyes. This is what he looked at? This is what he... wanted?
She turned sideways, pressing the nightgown against the curve of her hips with her hand. Or was he looking at the shape of my backside?
The thought felt silly and exciting at the same time. A man like Arjun – sure of himself, handsome, probably used to younger, maybe flashier women – looking at her like that? Why? Was she still... wanted like that, beyond Rajiv's safe, known wanting?
She leaned closer to the mirror, touching her jawline. The faint memory of his smell seemed to stay, like a ghost. Why does it stick? It was just a second in a busy store. She splashed cool water on her face, trying to push away the thoughts, the confusing warmth deep inside. But the questions stayed: Did he see how I walked? What exactly did he see?
Messages and Thoughts
The next day, during the morning rush packing Rajiv's lunch, Arjun's easy smile while talking to Aaryan flashed in her mind. The usual chores went smoothly, the rhythm she knew so well. But today, something stayed with her – the smell, the look. She kept shaking her head to clear it. After her bath, wrapped in a towel, she stood before the long mirror again. This time, looking at herself felt different, mixed with a strange new curiosity. The blue saree hung on its hanger nearby.
Wanting a distraction, she sat on the sofa with her phone just as a notification chimed. A WhatsApp message from Aarti.
Aarti: Hey girl! Kya kar rahe ho? Kal Jyaada baath hee nahee kar paaya? (Hey girl! what you doing? couldn't talk to you more!)
Meera: Haan bas abhi hi. Subah ka circus khatam hua. (Yes, just now. The morning circus is over.) Rajiv office, Aaryan college. Peace! waise bhi kal tho wo rush mein kyaa bath hona thaa?
Aarti: Peace? Lucky you! Humara toh pura din nikal jata hai. (Peace? Lucky you! My whole day gets wasted.)
They chatted for a few minutes – about a new recipe Aarti tried, something funny a neighbor did. Then, the talk changed.
Aarti: Arre yaar, kal ka din achha tha na? Arjun ke saath? (Hey, yesterday was good, right? With Arjun?)
Meera: Haan, accha tha. Aaryan toh usse instant fan ho gaya! (Yes, it was good. Aaryan became his instant fan!)
Aarti: Sach mein! He’s so good with kids. Aur waise bhi... (Really! He’s so good with kids. And otherwise also...)
There was a pause. Meera waited, a tight feeling in her chest.
Aarti: Yaar Meera, woh banda... kamaal ka hai. (Yaar Meera, that guy... is amazing.)
Meera: Oh? Kya hua? (Oh? What happened?)
Aarti: Kal raat... bas. (Last night... wow.) Uff, uska confidence... aur uske haath... (Uff, his confidence... and his hands...)
Meera: Aarti! She typed, feeling her cheeks flush hot. bus kar yaar!! (Stop it!)
Aarti: Arre yaar, tumse hi share karungi na? (Arre yaar, who else will I share with?)
Meera: Kyoom? Nahee yaaaar... its your time na! (Why? No yaar... it's your time!)
Aarti: Aree suno Meera, He’s just... so intense. Jaanwar jaise, (He’s just... so intense. Like an animal, but controlled.) eek bath boolon?? down there... tongue ka magic alag hi hai. (Shall I say one thing?? down there... his tongue is different magic.)
Meera stared at the screen. Aarti’s words made strong pictures in her mind – Arjun’s powerful hands, his confident mouth, the closeness Aarti described so freely. A strong heat flared deep inside Meera, a purely physical reaction she couldn't stop. She shifted on the sofa, feeling herself grow wet between her thighs. Stop, she told herself sharply. This is Aarti’s life. Not yours.
Aarti: Aur hesitation zero! Har inch explore karta hai... slowly, like he’s memorizing. (And zero hesitation! Explores every inch... slowly, like he’s memorizing.) Proper man hai yaar. (He's a proper man, yaar.)
Meera took a shaky breath, trying to think of a simple reply. Before she could, another message popped up.
Meera: Bus kar Aarti, mujhe jaana hee... Sharam tho karo! (Stop Aarti, I have to go... Have some shame!)
Aarti: Aur ek baat... kal grocery shop mein tumhare baare mein kaha tha. (And one thing... yesterday at the grocery shop he said something about you.)
Meera’s breath caught. Her fingers froze.
Meera: Mere baare mein? Kya? (About me? What?)
Aarti: Haan! Tumhare figure ki tareef ki. (Yes! He praised your figure.) Bola ki tumhari saree tumhari body pe kamaal ki suit karti hai. (Said your saree suits your body amazingly.) "Perfect curves, and she carries it with such... inner grace," aisa bola. ("Perfect curves, and she carries it with such... inner grace," he said like that.) Tumhare andar ki khoobsurti bhi dikhti hai, usne bola! (Your inner beauty shows too, he said!)
The words burned on the screen. Perfect curves. Inner grace. Inner beauty. Said by him. The man whose smell still lingered in her thoughts, whose imagined look had made her feel both seen and strangely strong yesterday. The man Aarti described as such a skilled lover. The heat in Meera’s belly grew stronger, spreading lower, a pulsing throb of forbidden awareness. Her reflection in the dark TV screen seemed to swim.
Meera: Aarti, pagal hai kya? (Aarti, are you crazy?) Woh bas polite tha. (He was just being polite.) She typed, fingers trembling. The denial felt thin, even to her.
Aarti: Polite? Nahin yaar! Usne genuinely kaha tha. Mujhe pata hai. (Polite? No yaar! He genuinely said it. I know.) Anyways... just saying! Tera husband toh already lucky hai! (Anyways... just saying! Your husband is already lucky!) Lunch time. Chat later!
The chat ended suddenly, leaving Meera alone in the quiet, a storm raging inside. She dropped the phone like it was hot. She wrapped her arms around herself, pacing the living room.
He said that? About my body? My... curves? About inner beauty? The words echoed, mixing with the memory of his look in the store, the ghost of sandalwood. Why? Why tell Aarti? Was it just charm, or...? The image of Arjun as Aarti described him – intense, sure, touching every inch – crashed into the image of him praising her saree, her shape.
The confusion was a real ache. That a man like Arjun found her worth looking at? That he’d noticed her, really seen her, beyond just being Rajiv’s wife? But mixed in was the hot disturbance from Aarti’s words, a heat now sharply focused. She imagined those confident hands, that exploring touch... on her. No! She pressed her palms to her hot face. That’s for Aarti. Not you.
Yet the questions grew louder, fed by Aarti’s news. Am I still wanted? Not just by Rajiv, but... by others? By a man like that? She thought of her reflection. Is that what he saw? Is that why he watched? The memory of walking in the store, the imagined weight of his eyes on her moving hips, the sway she couldn’t help... played again, now charged with a dangerous new energy. The small spark from yesterday had caught fire from Aarti’s messages. A slow, unsettling heat burned within Meera, throwing confusing shadows over her familiar, devoted life. She lay awake long into the quiet night, Arjun's admiring smile and Aarti’s explicit words twisting together in the dark. Why? The question beat with her faster heartbeat. Why me?
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)
