Yesterday, 04:40 AM
Scene 1
=====
Kiranjeet:
(Her voice a tight wire of shame)
“Oh, God. It’s not happening. How little milk there is. My 2 babies are hungry.”
And then, a sound. A soft knock at the threshold.
Pooja appears in the doorway, Behind her, her own child, named Arjun, peeks out, content and quiet.
Pooja herself is lactating with excess milk her chest is fuller than expected.
Pooja’s smile is a benediction, her voice warm honey poured over the sharp edges of Kiranjeet’s panic.
Pooja:
“Kiranjeet! Is everything alright? I thought I heard noise.”
Kiranjeet looks up. In her eyes, a drowning woman seeing a rescue vessel. Shame wars with a desperate, burgeoning hope. The sight of Pooja’s full, life-giving form is both a torment and a salvation.
Kiranjeet:
(A weak surrender)
“Pooja. It's just… the milk trouble. It never ends.”
Pooja:
“Kiranjeet! You worry too much. It will be fine.”
The next morning, the Janakpuri apartment was quiet. Pooja’s husband had left for the office.
(A phone rings. Kiranjeet answers, her voice sleepy.)
Kiranjeet: “Hello?”
Pooja: (Her voice is tight, strained with pain) “Kiranjeet? It’s Pooja. I… I need you.”
Kiranjeet: (Instantly awake) “Pooja? What’s wrong? You sound hurt.”
Pooja: “It’s my chest. The milk… it’s too much. It feels like stone. I’m burning up.”
Kiranjeet: “Did you use the pump?”
Pooja: (A sharp sob) “I tried! Oh, God, I tried. It just made it worse. So much pain with every push. A machine… it’s not the same. It can’t replace… a human touch.”
Kiranjeet: “Where is your husband?”
Pooja: “He just left for the office. Arjun is asleep. I’m alone. Please, Kiranjeet. I don’t know who else to call. Our bond… it’s so strong. I trust you.”
Kiranjeet: “I’m coming. Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
(Kiranjeet is in Pooja’s bedroom. Pooja is sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her swollen chest.)
Kiranjeet: “My God, Pooja. You look like you’re in agony.”
Pooja: “I am. I need relief. I need… Kiranjeet, will you help me?”
Kiranjeet: “Of course. Anything. What do you need me to do?”
Pooja:
(A raw whisper)
“Please… can you… open my blouse? And my nursing bra?”
Kiranjeet’s fingers, surprisingly steady, went to the buttons of Pooja’s kurti. One by one, they came undone. Then the delicate clip of the nursing bra.
The fabric fell away, revealing the magnificent, aching truth. Pooja’s breasts, truly, were glorious. Huge, swollen globes, a testament to life-giving power, now taut and engorged to their fullest extent. They seemed to heave with the pressure from within. Her nipples, usually a soft rose, were dark, stretched, and painfully distended, practically weeping with the promise of release.
Pooja:
(Her voice catching)
“Please… can you… press or massage them? It hurts so much.”
Kiranjeet reached out, her hands hovering for a moment, then gently cupped one of the immense breasts. She tried to massage, a tender, coaxing touch, but Pooja gasped, a sharp cry of pain.
Pooja:
“Ah! No! It’s… it’s too painful that way.”
Pooja:
(Her voice barely audible, a desperate plea)
“Kiranjeet… please. Can you… can you suckle? Take the milk… from my breast? So the pain goes away.”
Kiranjeet: (Surprised, but her voice is soft, steady) “Pooja…”
Pooja: “There is no other way. The pain… it’s too much. Please. Only you can help me.”
Kiranjeet: (Nods slowly, her expression full of compassion) “Okay. Okay, Pooja. For you. Let’s make you comfortable. Lock the door.”
(An hour later. Pooja is leaning back against her pillows, her eyes closed. A long, deep sigh of relief escapes her lips. Kiranjeet is sitting beside her, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief.)
Kiranjeet leaned in. She took a deep breath, and then, slowly, reverently, she opened her mouth and latched onto one of Pooja’s hard, throbbing nipples.
The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. Warm, sweet milk surged into her mouth, thick and fast, a torrent. It was too much, so much more than she expected. It spilled from the corners of her lips, tracing paths down her chin, down Pooja’s chest.
Kiranjeet pulled back for a moment, gasping, her own face now covered in the slick, pearly milk. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and primal instinct, met Pooja’s. Pooja was watching her, a profound relief beginning to soften the lines of pain on her face.
===
===
Kiranjeet:
(Mouth full, a soft, muffled sound)
“It’s… so much!”
She scrambled, grabbing a towel from the bedside table, placing it strategically under Pooja’s breast to catch the glorious overflow. Then, without hesitation, she lowered her head again.
She suckled.
It was a deep, rhythmic pull. The milk flowed, a river of life. Kiranjeet drank, and drank, and drank, her throat working constantly. Her belly began to swell with the rich liquid, but she couldn't stop. The release that washed over Pooja was palpable, a soft sigh, a lessening of tension.
For thirty minutes, Kiranjeet devoted herself to the first breast, emptying it with a relentless, loving purpose. The once-hard globe softened under her ministrations, slowly, exquisitely. The nipple, though still dark, no longer throbbed with agony.
When she finally detached, her mouth was slick, her face glistening, and Pooja’s breast was gloriously, wonderfully empty, soft and yielding.
Pooja:
(A sigh of pure bliss)
“Oh, Kiranjeet… thank you. So much better.”
Kiranjeet nodded, She moved her attention to the other breast, equally engorged, equally aching. She took a moment, positioning the towel again, then, with a renewed sense of purpose, she fastened her mouth onto the second nipple.
Again, the powerful gush. Again, the steady, rhythmic suckling. The room filled with the soft sounds of Kiranjeet’s efforts, the delicate slurping, the gentle release of air. The hidden environment of Pooja’s bedroom, with its drawn curtains, was now a sanctuary of intimate relief.
It took almost another half hour for the second breast to yield its bounty, for the last of the painful fullness to drain away. Kiranjeet worked until both breasts were soft and pliant, no longer weeping with excess.
When she was finally done, almost an hour had passed since she first arrived. Kiranjeet sat back, her own stomach full to bursting, her lips tingling. Pooja, utterly relaxed, her face serene, reached out and gently touched Kiranjeet’s cheek, wiping away a stray drop of milk.
Pooja:
(Her voice filled with profound gratitude)
“Thank you, Kiranjeet. Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done. I feel… I feel so much better.”
Kiranjeet: “Are you sure? Is it all better?”
Pooja: “Yes. I feel so much lighter. Comfortable. You saved me, Kiranjeet. Thank you. Thank you.”
Kiranjeet: “It’s okay. We are sisters.”
Pooja: (Opens her eyes and looks at Kiranjeet, her gaze serious) “This cannot happen again. We need to resolve our issues, together.”
Kiranjeet: (Takes her hand) “Together.”
=====
Kiranjeet:
(Her voice a tight wire of shame)
“Oh, God. It’s not happening. How little milk there is. My 2 babies are hungry.”
And then, a sound. A soft knock at the threshold.
Pooja appears in the doorway, Behind her, her own child, named Arjun, peeks out, content and quiet.
Pooja herself is lactating with excess milk her chest is fuller than expected.
Pooja’s smile is a benediction, her voice warm honey poured over the sharp edges of Kiranjeet’s panic.
Pooja:
“Kiranjeet! Is everything alright? I thought I heard noise.”
Kiranjeet looks up. In her eyes, a drowning woman seeing a rescue vessel. Shame wars with a desperate, burgeoning hope. The sight of Pooja’s full, life-giving form is both a torment and a salvation.
Kiranjeet:
(A weak surrender)
“Pooja. It's just… the milk trouble. It never ends.”
Pooja:
“Kiranjeet! You worry too much. It will be fine.”
The next morning, the Janakpuri apartment was quiet. Pooja’s husband had left for the office.
(A phone rings. Kiranjeet answers, her voice sleepy.)
Kiranjeet: “Hello?”
Pooja: (Her voice is tight, strained with pain) “Kiranjeet? It’s Pooja. I… I need you.”
Kiranjeet: (Instantly awake) “Pooja? What’s wrong? You sound hurt.”
Pooja: “It’s my chest. The milk… it’s too much. It feels like stone. I’m burning up.”
Kiranjeet: “Did you use the pump?”
Pooja: (A sharp sob) “I tried! Oh, God, I tried. It just made it worse. So much pain with every push. A machine… it’s not the same. It can’t replace… a human touch.”
Kiranjeet: “Where is your husband?”
Pooja: “He just left for the office. Arjun is asleep. I’m alone. Please, Kiranjeet. I don’t know who else to call. Our bond… it’s so strong. I trust you.”
Kiranjeet: “I’m coming. Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
(Kiranjeet is in Pooja’s bedroom. Pooja is sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her swollen chest.)
Kiranjeet: “My God, Pooja. You look like you’re in agony.”
Pooja: “I am. I need relief. I need… Kiranjeet, will you help me?”
Kiranjeet: “Of course. Anything. What do you need me to do?”
Pooja:
(A raw whisper)
“Please… can you… open my blouse? And my nursing bra?”
Kiranjeet’s fingers, surprisingly steady, went to the buttons of Pooja’s kurti. One by one, they came undone. Then the delicate clip of the nursing bra.
The fabric fell away, revealing the magnificent, aching truth. Pooja’s breasts, truly, were glorious. Huge, swollen globes, a testament to life-giving power, now taut and engorged to their fullest extent. They seemed to heave with the pressure from within. Her nipples, usually a soft rose, were dark, stretched, and painfully distended, practically weeping with the promise of release.
Pooja:
(Her voice catching)
“Please… can you… press or massage them? It hurts so much.”
Kiranjeet reached out, her hands hovering for a moment, then gently cupped one of the immense breasts. She tried to massage, a tender, coaxing touch, but Pooja gasped, a sharp cry of pain.
Pooja:
“Ah! No! It’s… it’s too painful that way.”
Pooja:
(Her voice barely audible, a desperate plea)
“Kiranjeet… please. Can you… can you suckle? Take the milk… from my breast? So the pain goes away.”
Kiranjeet: (Surprised, but her voice is soft, steady) “Pooja…”
Pooja: “There is no other way. The pain… it’s too much. Please. Only you can help me.”
Kiranjeet: (Nods slowly, her expression full of compassion) “Okay. Okay, Pooja. For you. Let’s make you comfortable. Lock the door.”
(An hour later. Pooja is leaning back against her pillows, her eyes closed. A long, deep sigh of relief escapes her lips. Kiranjeet is sitting beside her, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief.)
Kiranjeet leaned in. She took a deep breath, and then, slowly, reverently, she opened her mouth and latched onto one of Pooja’s hard, throbbing nipples.
The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. Warm, sweet milk surged into her mouth, thick and fast, a torrent. It was too much, so much more than she expected. It spilled from the corners of her lips, tracing paths down her chin, down Pooja’s chest.
Kiranjeet pulled back for a moment, gasping, her own face now covered in the slick, pearly milk. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and primal instinct, met Pooja’s. Pooja was watching her, a profound relief beginning to soften the lines of pain on her face.
===
===
Kiranjeet:
(Mouth full, a soft, muffled sound)
“It’s… so much!”
She scrambled, grabbing a towel from the bedside table, placing it strategically under Pooja’s breast to catch the glorious overflow. Then, without hesitation, she lowered her head again.
She suckled.
It was a deep, rhythmic pull. The milk flowed, a river of life. Kiranjeet drank, and drank, and drank, her throat working constantly. Her belly began to swell with the rich liquid, but she couldn't stop. The release that washed over Pooja was palpable, a soft sigh, a lessening of tension.
For thirty minutes, Kiranjeet devoted herself to the first breast, emptying it with a relentless, loving purpose. The once-hard globe softened under her ministrations, slowly, exquisitely. The nipple, though still dark, no longer throbbed with agony.
When she finally detached, her mouth was slick, her face glistening, and Pooja’s breast was gloriously, wonderfully empty, soft and yielding.
Pooja:
(A sigh of pure bliss)
“Oh, Kiranjeet… thank you. So much better.”
Kiranjeet nodded, She moved her attention to the other breast, equally engorged, equally aching. She took a moment, positioning the towel again, then, with a renewed sense of purpose, she fastened her mouth onto the second nipple.
Again, the powerful gush. Again, the steady, rhythmic suckling. The room filled with the soft sounds of Kiranjeet’s efforts, the delicate slurping, the gentle release of air. The hidden environment of Pooja’s bedroom, with its drawn curtains, was now a sanctuary of intimate relief.
It took almost another half hour for the second breast to yield its bounty, for the last of the painful fullness to drain away. Kiranjeet worked until both breasts were soft and pliant, no longer weeping with excess.
When she was finally done, almost an hour had passed since she first arrived. Kiranjeet sat back, her own stomach full to bursting, her lips tingling. Pooja, utterly relaxed, her face serene, reached out and gently touched Kiranjeet’s cheek, wiping away a stray drop of milk.
Pooja:
(Her voice filled with profound gratitude)
“Thank you, Kiranjeet. Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done. I feel… I feel so much better.”
Kiranjeet: “Are you sure? Is it all better?”
Pooja: “Yes. I feel so much lighter. Comfortable. You saved me, Kiranjeet. Thank you. Thank you.”
Kiranjeet: “It’s okay. We are sisters.”
Pooja: (Opens her eyes and looks at Kiranjeet, her gaze serious) “This cannot happen again. We need to resolve our issues, together.”
Kiranjeet: (Takes her hand) “Together.”
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