4 hours ago
Devika 31 year old breastfeeding mother and loyal wife to Amit 36 year old. Both are kindhearted and conservative couple. Devika and amit has 06 months Raju.
Amit works in abroad. He brought 21 year old Rahul orphan adult male from orphanage, who was suffering from life threatening illness and his only treatment is breastfeeding. Devika lives in studio apartment which contains see through glass walled bathroom. She wear kameez shalwar and shawl at home and she is very careful about her dress code and never show her skins unnecessary except breastfeeding her 6 month kid. She never hide anything from her husband and discuss her daily activities at home with amit husband on phone. Amit brought Rahul with intentions of helping her during her house chores,caring her kid and protecting his family in his absence. Rahul was very skinny guy ,who looks like frail kid due his life threatening condition. Doctor advised amit for arranging his breastfeeding 6 times per day and 3 times shower thoroughly for maintaining Rahul good hygiene and speedy recovery. Rahul was very innocent and shy adult male. Devika resisted initially due to her privacy and she was reluctant how she could breastfeed 6 times per day and adult male and wash him 3 times per day. She was worried that how she can change her clothes infront of Rahul or take shower in glass walled transparent bathroom while Rahul at home and how can she share her bed with adult at night.Amit convinced her on humanitarian grounds for helping Rahul. Amit also addressed her concerns wisely. It was the detailed plot of the story and its written with passion in slow conservative and innocent mode. Everyone will enjoy if you maintains patience ?.
"Have you seen the blue shawl?" Devika called out, her voice tight with morning urgency. She rummaged through the closet, fingers brushing against folded cottons.
Rahul hovered near the doorway, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. "No, Auntie," he mumbled, clutching the doorframe. His thin frame trembled slightly—whether from weakness or discomfort, Devika couldn't tell. She paused, noticing how his oversized pajamas swallowed him whole. The doctor's words echoed: *malnutrition, compromised immunity, critical need for antibodies*. Six times a day. She inhaled slowly. "Come, beta. First feeding."
He shuffled to the sofa, movements stiff and mechanical. Devika settled beside him, adjusting her dupatta to drāpe over her shoulder and across her chest. The baby monitor crackled softly as their six-month-old slept in the adjacent room. "Close your eyes," she instructed gently, guiding his head. Rahul obeyed instantly, lashes fluttering shut against pale cheeks. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned the side of her kameez. Warm milk scent mingled with the faint antiseptic odor clinging to Rahul's skin.
Devika searched for her shawl while Rahul waited timidly. Noticing his frailty and recalling medical urgency, she initiated the first breastfeeding session on the sofa after ensuring privacy with her dupatta and instructing him to close his eyes.
"Does it... help?" she asked during the rhythmic pause, voice barely above a murmur. Rahul nodded against her arm, jaw tense. Sweat beaded on his temple despite the room's chill. Devika studied the hollows beneath his collarbones, the paper-thin skin at his wrists. Guilt prickled—this boy needed medicine, not her hesitation. Outside, monsoon rain lashed the glass bathroom walls, turning the tiny studio into a fishbowl of blurred greens and grays.
Afterward, Rahul retreated to the kitchen corner, scrubbing dishes with frantic focus. Devika watched him wobble under the weight of a steel pot. "Enough," she said, softer this time. "Your shower next." His shoulders hunched defensively. She gestured toward the steaming bathroom, its transparency suddenly glaring. "I'll draw the curtain." The floral partition felt flimsy as gauze. Water drummed against tile while Devika counted cracks in the ceiling plaster, Amit's reassuring words ringing hollow. *He's like our son*, her husband had insisted during last night's call. But sons didn't have Adam's apples that jumped when they swallowed. Sons didn't leave damp footprints on floors she'd just mopped.
Devika questioned if breastfeeding helped Rahul, observing his physical distress and feeling guilty. Post-feeding, he cleaned dishes unsteadily until she directed him toward showering; she drew a thin curtain for privacy in the glass-walled bathroom while grappling with discomfort over his adult presence.
That evening, Devika nursed her infant while Rahul sat cross-legged nearby, sketching algebra equations. Moonlight silvered the glass walls. "Didi?" His voice cracked. "May I... sleep here tonight?" He pointed to the woven mat beside her bed. She hesitated, adjusting her shawl over the baby's head. Amit's request echoed: *Hold him when night terrors come*. Slowly, she patted the mattress edge. Rahul curled like a comma against the headboard, trembling even in sleep. Devika stared at his knuckles whitening the sheet. When his whimpers began, she pulled him against her hip, humming an old lullaby. His fevered forehead pressed into her shoulder blade
.
Morning brought Amit's scheduled video call. Devika angled the phone away from Rahul bathing behind the curtainless glass wall. "He ate two rotis," she reported brightly, watching Rahul's silhouette blur through condensation. Water sluiced down his bony spine. She tightened her grip on the receiver. "Very obedient." Amit beamed. "See? Trust." Later, folding laundry, she caught Rahul staring at her damp hair clinging to her neck. His gaze snapped away. Devika clutched the baby closer, knuckles pale against the child's onesie. Rules were rules. But glass walls showed everything—steam, shame, and the way his eyes lingered a half-second too long on her discarded shawl.
Devika allowed Rahul to sleep beside her bed per Amit's advice, comforting him during nightmares. During Amit's morning video call, she hid Rahul showering in the transparent bathroom while praising his obedience; afterward, she noticed his lingering glance at her neck and felt uneasy despite compliance.
The afternoon feeding felt different. Rahul kept his eyes shut tight, jaw clenched. Devika’s milk flowed warm, her skin prickling under his uneven breaths. "Better?" she whispered. He nodded stiffly, forehead damp against her forearm. She noted the tremor in his fingers gripping the sofa edge—not weakness, but something coiled. Outside, rain blurred the city into watercolor smudges. When she rebuttoned her kameez, Rahul scrambled backward, knocking over a brass lamp. "Sorry, Didi!" Panic sharpened his voice. Devika smoothed her dupatta, pulse thudding. Glass walls, she thought. Always watching
.
Shower time. Rahul stood frozen as Devika adjusted the hot tap. Steam fogged the bathroom glass, but not enough. His ribs protruded like a bird’s carcass beneath the streaming water. Devika scrubbed his back with clinical efficiency, rough cloth scrāping skin. "Turn," she instructed. He turned, shielding himself clumsily. She saw—the involuntary flinch, the choked breath. Her own cheeks burned. Rules were rules. Amit’s voice echoed: *He’s like our son*. But sons didn’t blush crimson when she rinsed soap from their collarbones. Sons didn’t tremble at a mother’s touch
.
During breastfeeding, Rahul appeared tense and trembled nervously; he knocked over a lamp afterward. Devika later showered him, noting his extreme thinness and discomfort as she washed him—his flinching and blushing contradicting Amit's insistence that he was "like a son."
That night, thunder rattled the studio. Rahul whimpered on the mattress edge. Devika pulled him against her, humming mechanically. His fevered skin burned through her thin nightgown. Moonlight sliced through the glass bathroom, illuminating his fist clenching the sheet. When his trembling worsened, she cradled his head to her chest. "Sleep," she murmured. His eyelashes fluttered against her breast. Outside, lightning flashed—a stark, white glare that showed everything: the wet tracks on his cheeks, the rigid line of her shoulders, the impossible closeness. Rules were rules. But in the dark, with rain hammering the transparent walls, Devika counted his ragged breaths and wondered when trust became a cage.
Morning unfolded with practiced routine. Devika changed her saree blouse near the fogged bathroom glass while Rahul diligently swept the kitchen corner. "Did you finish the algebra problems?" she asked, sliding the fresh cotton over her shoulders. His eyes remained fixed on dust motes swirling near his broom. "Almost, Didi," he answered softly, knuckles white on the handle. Steam curled from the shower behind her, making the glass bloom opaque except for one stubborn clear patch—a vertical stripe revealing her damp hair clinging to her neck. Rahul never glanced up. Not once. Devika watched his reflection in the stainless steel water jug: head bowed, spine curved like a question mark. His respect was a fortress wall
.
During a thunderstorm, Devika comforted feverish Rahul against her chest, noticing his distress and their proximity. Next morning, she changed clothes near the steamy bathroom glass while Rahul avoided looking at her despite a clear patch revealing her neck, maintaining rigid respect.
Devika reluctantly breastfed frail Rahul with precautions like eye-closing instructions. Post-feeding, she directed him to shower behind a curtain in her glass bathroom. Following Amit's orders, she allowed him to sleep near her bed, comforting his nightmares. During Amit's video call, she hid Rahul showering while praising him. She noticed his glances at her neck and his tension during breastfeeding. While washing him, she saw his discomfort despite Amit's assurances. During a storm, she held feverish Rahul close. The next morning, Rahul avoided looking at her as she changed near the steamed bathroom glass despite visible skin exposure.
Later, she nursed her infant beneath the ceiling fan's lazy whirl. Rahul sat cross-legged nearby, sketching circuit diagrams with intense focus. Sunlight caught the fine bones of his wrist as his pencil moved. Devika adjusted her shawl. "The monsoon makes everything damp," she remarked casually, unhooking her kameez side. Rahul instantly closed his eyes, lashes dark smudges against too-pale skin. His pencil stilled mid-equation. Only the rhythmic suckling of the baby filled the silence. Devika studied the hollow at his throat—pulsing slightly. Rules were rules. But she felt the heat radiating from him three feet away, a silent furnace beneath paper-thin skin
.
Shower time. Devika adjusted the taps. "Scrub properly today," she instructed, her voice echoing off wet tiles. Rahul stepped under the stream, shoulders hunched. Through the steam-fogged glass, his silhouette blurred into watercolor grays—except where condensation streaked, revealing the sharp jut of a hip bone. Devika folded towels nearby, humming softly. His gaze remained fixed on the drain, but she saw it: the slight hitch in his breath when her reflection passed the clear patch of glass, her wet hair uncoiling down her back. He scrubbed his arms raw. Devika handed him a towel through the door crack, fingertips brushing his. He flinched as if burned. "Thank you, Didi," he whispered, voice thick. The towel swallowed him whole. Glass walls held their breath.
While breastfeeding her baby, Rahul closed his eyes respectfully as Devika adjusted her clothes, though she sensed his tension. Later, during his shower, Devika folded towels outside the glass bathroom; Rahul avoided looking at her reflection but reacted visibly to her proximity, flinching when their hands touched during towel handover.
Mid day dressing. Devika unfastened her damp blouse near the bathroom door. "Did Amit call?" she asked casually, drāping the wet garment over a chair. Rahul stood frozen at the stove, ladle suspended over simmering dal. His knuckles whitened. "N-not yet," he stammered. Sunlight caught the pearl buttons of her fresh choli as she slid it on. His reflection in the stainless steel cooker lid showed eyes squeezed shut—but Devika noticed the tremor in his wrist, the way his throat worked silently. She smoothed the fabric over her ribs. "Add less turmeric," she murmured. He stirred frantically, steam rising like a veil between them. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth
.
Feeding time. The baby slept. Devika patted the sofa. "Come, beta." Rahul settled beside her, spine rigid. She unbuttoned her kameez. His lashes fanned down instantly, but Devika saw the flush creeping up his neck—a slow, crimson tide. Milk scent bloomed warm in the stillness. "Better?" she asked softly. He nodded, jaw clenched. His fingers gripped the cushion edge, tendons standing stark beneath translucent skin. Outside, rain blurred the world. Devika watched a droplet trace the pane beside his reflection: sliding down, down, toward the hollow where his collarbone strained against stillness. His reverence was a vise
.
While changing clothes near Rahul, Devika noted his intense avoidance despite visible tension. Later, during breastfeeding, he remained rigidly respectful with eyes closed but exhibited physical signs of discomfort like flushing and clenched hands.
Evening algebra. Rahul hunched over equations beneath the dim lamp. Devika towel-dried her hair near the glass wall, humming. Water darkened her nightgown's cotton shoulders. "Problem twelve," she called out. His pencil snapped. He bent to retrieve it, gaze flickering—just once—toward her fogged reflection: the curve of her neck, the damp fabric clinging to her spine. Lightning flashed. In that frozen white glare, Devika saw his eyes widen—mesmerized, horrified—before snapping back to his notebook. "Yes, Didi," he choked, scribbling blindly. Thunder rumbled. Glass walls trembled. Devika twisted her hair into a knot, fingertips lingering at her nape where his gaze had burned. Rules were rules. But the air crackled with unshed words.
Morning ritual. Devika nursed her infant by the balcony door. Rahul swept nearby, broom rasping against concrete. "The baby slept well," she murmured, adjusting her shawl. He nodded, dust motes swirling gold in the sunrise. As she lifted her sleeping child to the crib, her dupatta slipped—revealing the swell of her breast for a breath. Rahul froze mid-sweep. His knuckles whitened on the bamboo handle. Devika secured the fabric, pulse steady. Not a glance. Not a flicker. Yet she knew: he’d seen. His stillness was confession enough. She watched him resume sweeping—mechanical, precise—as if scrubbing away the image. Respect was a shield. But shields could crack
.
While Devika dried her hair near the glass bathroom, Rahul briefly glimpsed her reflection during a lightning flash, showing visible distress. Later, while breastfeeding near Rahul, her accidental exposure caused him to freeze despite maintaining respectful avoidance.
Shower steam thickened. Devika lingered under the spray, eyes closed. Warmth seeped into her shoulders. Through the fogged glass, Rahul’s silhouette moved—bouncing her gurgling infant on his hip, pointing at monsoon-drenched sparrows. The baby squealed. Devika smiled, relaxing into the water’s rhythm. Safe. Protected. She reached for soap. Condensation streaked the glass. A clear patch bloomed—her reflection: full breasts, curved waist, water sluicing down bare skin. Rahul’s laughter died mid-chuckle. He spun abruptly, jostling the infant, who whimpered. "Shh, beta," he croaked, back rigid to the glass. Devika froze. Steam swallowed her. Outside, Rahul rocked the baby fiercely, gaze locked on the far wall. His ears burned crimson. Rules were rules. But glass remembered everything
.
While showering, Devika saw Rahul accidentally glimpse her exposed reflection through a clear patch in the fogged glass, causing him to abruptly turn away and soothe the baby while showing visible distress.
Dressing time. Devika slid her arms into a fresh kameez near the misted bathroom door. Rahul fed mashed banana to her infant in the high chair. "Open wide!" he coaxed, voice strained. Sunlight caught the spoon’s trembling arc. Devika fastened her side buttons. Fabric whispered. Rahul’s hand jerked—banana smeared the baby’s chin. The infant giggled, sticky fingers grabbing Rahul’s wrist. Devika watched him wipe the mess, movements jerky. His reflection in the stainless steel water tumbler showed it: eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched—but his thumb brushed the baby’s cheek with impossible tenderness. Devika smoothed her collar. Glass walls held truths deeper than shame. Rules were rules. But trust, she realized, could bloom in stolen glances and sticky fingers.
Night settled, thick and humid. Rahul curled on the mattress edge, boxers stark white against dark sheets. Devika gathered him close—a mother’s embrace. His bony spine pressed her sternum. "Sleep," she murmured into his hair. He snuffled softly, a childlike sound that eased her. Dawn painted the studio gray when she awoke. Rahul’s hips pressed flush against her belly, his erection—hot, insistent—nestled against her thigh through the thin cotton of her shalwar. Eight inches of rigid heat. She froze, breath catching. His face remained slack, innocent. This morning hardness, she told herself, was involuntary—a boy’s body betraying sleep. She shifted subtly, comparing its fierce, unwavering pressure to Amit’s softer, fleeting tumescence. A flush crept up her neck. Rules were rules. But her palm lingered, tracing the ridge against her skin before gently shaking him awake. "Beta," she whispered. "Time
While Devika dressed, Rahul accidentally glimpsed her reflection and showed visible tension while feeding the baby. Later, during sleep, Rahul unconsciously pressed his erection against Devika, causing her to note its intensity before waking him.
During breastfeeding sessions, Rahul maintained respectful eye-closure but showed physical tension. While showering or near Devika, he reacted visibly to accidental proximity or reflections—flinching at touch during towel handover, freezing during accidental exposure, and showing distress when glimpsing her reflection through fogged glass. His avoidance intensified during Devika’s changing/showering, though tension remained evident. During sleep, he unconsciously pressed an erection against Devika, startling her.
Devika reluctantly breastfed frail Rahul as instructed, requiring him to close his eyes during feeding. She permitted him to sleep near her bed per Amit's request and comforted his nightmares. While showering behind a curtain in her glass bathroom, she hid his presence during Amit's video call. She noticed Rahul's glances at her neck during breastfeeding, tension during feeding sessions, and visible discomfort during washing. During a storm, she held feverish Rahul close. The next morning, Rahul avoided looking at her despite her skin exposure while changing near steamed bathroom glass. He maintained respectful eye-closure during breastfeeding but showed physical tension and reactions to proximity: flinching at accidental touch, freezing during exposure, and distress when glimpsing her reflection. Unconsciously, he pressed an erection against Devika during sleep, startling her.
."
Breastfeeding. Devika lay on her side, Rahul facing her. His eyes stayed shut as she guided him. Milk flowed. His knee brushed her thigh; the persistent hardness pressed against her. She focused on the rhythmic suckling, the warmth spreading through her chest. His breath hitched—a tiny gasp muffled against her skin. Devika stroked his hair, humming low. Outside, sparrows chirped. When he finished, she pulled his head to her shoulder. "Sleep more," she murmured. He feigned drowsiness instantly, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Devika rose, peeling damp cotton from her skin. She shed her shalwar and kameez beside the bed, folding them slowly. Rahul’s breathing remained deep, even—but she didn’t see his eyes slit open, drinking in the curve of her hip, the sway of her breasts as she walked toward the bathroom
.
During breastfeeding, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika again, and he gasped subtly; afterward, he pretended to sleep while secretly watching her undress.
Shower steam billowed. Devika stepped under the spray, sighing as water sluiced down her bare shoulders. Safe. Protected. She tilted her face up, eyes closed. Suddenly, her baby wailed. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off wet tiles. "The bottle!" He appeared instantly at the fogged glass door, bottle in hand. "I have him, Didi," he assured, scooping up the crying infant. Devika smiled gratefully, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, Rahul’s reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. He rocked the child fiercely, gaze locked on the glass. Devika rinsed, humming, oblivious. Outside, Rahul pressed his fevered cheek against the baby’s head, bottle forgotten. His knuckles whitened on the infant’s onesie. Glass walls held secrets. Trust, Devika thought, was a warm cascade down her skin.
Morning dressing. Devika stood near the bed, towel-drying her hair. Rahul pretended sleep, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks. She slid her arms into a fresh kameez, the damp towel pooling at her feet. Sunlight caught the curve of her hip, the soft drāpe of her stomach as she fastened the side buttons. Rahul’s breath hitched—a soft, stifled sound. Devika glanced over. His eyes snapped shut, lips parting in feigned slumber. She smiled, smoothing the cotton over her thighs. "Rest, beta," she murmured. He exhaled shakily. Rules were rules. But the damp towel crumpled beside her bare feet whispered of vulnerability. Devika folded it slowly, unaware of the rigid line beneath his thin sheet
While Devika showered, Rahul secretly watched her reflection through a clear patch in the steam. Later, as she dressed near him, he pretended to sleep but showed tension when glimpsing her skin.
.
Feeding time. Devika lay beside him, guiding his mouth. Milk flowed warm. His knee brushed her thigh; the familiar hardness pressed against her shalwar. She focused on his rhythmic suckling, her palm resting lightly on his hair. Outside, pigeons cooed. When he finished, she pulled his head to her shoulder. "Sleep," she whispered. He curled inward instantly, lashes fluttering. Devika rose, peeling damp cotton from her skin. She shed her shalwar beside the bed, folding it with deliberate slowness. Rahul’s breathing deepened—a convincing performance. But as she walked toward the bathroom, naked, he watched: the sway of her hips, the dimpled curve of her lower back. Devika paused at the threshold, stretching. His gaze burned. Glass walls steamed. Trust, she believed, was absolute. Oblivious, she stepped into the shower’s mist.
During breastfeeding, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika; afterward, he pretended to sleep but secretly watched her undress and walk naked to the shower.
Steam billowed thickly. Devika sighed as water sluiced down her bare shoulders. Safe. Protected. She tilted her face up, eyes closed. Suddenly, her baby wailed. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off wet tiles. "The towel, beta!" He appeared instantly at the fogged glass door, clutching the towel. "I have him, Didi," he assured, scooping up the crying infant. Devika smiled gratefully, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, Rahul’s reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. He rocked the child fiercely, gaze locked on the glass. Devika rinsed, humming. Outside, Rahul pressed his fevered cheek against the baby’s head, towel forgotten. His knuckles whitened on the infant’s onesie. She emerged dripping, wrapping the towel tightly around herself. "Hold him while I make tea," she instructed, padding barefoot to the kitchen
.
While Devika showered, Rahul secretly watched her reflection through the steam; afterward, she emerged wrapped in a towel and asked him to hold the baby while she made tea.
In the kitchen, Devika boiled water, towel knotted securely above her breasts. Steam rose from the pot, mingling with the dampness clinging to her skin. Rahul bounced the baby near the balcony, singing a nursery rhyme in a strained voice. Devika poured chai into cups, the porcelain clinking softly. She sipped, watching him—the careful way he supported the infant’s head, the tremor in his fingers. "He’s comfortable with you," she remarked. Rahul nodded, eyes fixed on the child. Devika set her cup down. "Now, beta," she said gently. "Your shower. Undress. I’ll join you shortly." He froze. "Didi, I—" "Shhh," she cut him off, maternal firmness in her tone. "Doctor’s orders. It’s just a mother’s care." He shuffled toward the bathroom, shoulders hunched
.
Devika made tea while Rahul held the baby; afterward, she instructed him to undress for his shower, citing doctor’s orders, and he reluctantly complied.
Behind the fogged glass, Rahul stood rigid under the spray. Devika entered, kameez damp at the sleeves. She took the rough cloth, scrubbing his back with clinical thoroughness. "Turn," she instructed. He turned, shielding himself. Her hands moved methodically—over his concave stomach, the jut of his hips. She washed his penis, balls, the cleft of his buttocks with brisk, impersonal strokes. The erection sprang fierce and thick against her soapy fingers. She didn’t pause, didn’t flinch. "Lift your foot," she directed, rinsing soap from his inner thigh. His breath hitched, ragged. Outside, her phone rang—Amit’s call. Devika toweled Rahul dry, dressed him in fresh pajamas, her movements efficient. "Come," she said, guiding him to the sofa. She answered the video call, settling Rahul against her side. "He’s improving," she reported, unbuttoning her kameez. Rahul closed his eyes as she guided him to her breast. Devika’s voice was calm, factual. "He had morning hardness again. And during his shower—strong erection. But he’s respectful. Shy. Takes wonderful care of our son." Amit beamed on the screen. Rahul trembled, milk warm on his tongue, Devika’s thumb stroking his hair. Rules were rules. But her palm rested heavy on his thigh, inches from the truth.
She described the morning—how Rahul had bounced their giggling infant while she showered, how he’d fetched her towel without glancing, how he’d tended the baby as she boiled tea in her damp towel. "So responsible," Amit murmured. Devika nodded, shifting Rahul’s head slightly. His eyelashes fluttered against her skin. She detailed the bath—the scrubbing, the rinsing, the erection she’d washed without comment. "Motherly love," she emphasized, meeting Amit’s pixelated gaze. Rahul’s fingers dug into the cushion seam. Outside, rain blurred the glass walls. Devika’s tone softened. "He’s a good boy. Modest." She adjusted her shawl over Rahul’s shoulder, covering the flushed curve of his ear. Amit praised Rahul’s character. Devika hummed agreement, her hand drifting lower—resting lightly on the rigid line beneath Rahul’s pajama pants. Rules were rules. But beneath the fabric, heat pulsed against her palm
Devika washed Rahul thoroughly in the shower, noting his erection without reaction; afterward, she reported his condition to Amit during a video call while breastfeeding him, praising his character while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath his pajamas.
.
The call ended. Devika rebuttoned her kameez. Rahul scrambled backward, cheeks aflame. "Thank you, Didi," he choked, fleeing to the kitchen corner. Devika watched him scrub dishes with frantic energy, water sloshing onto the floor. Steam rose from the forgotten teacups. She lifted hers, sipping slowly. The porcelain warmed her palms. Rahul’s reflection trembled in the stainless steel fridge—eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. Devika set her cup down. "Algebra," she reminded gently. He nodded, wiping his hands. As he bent over his notebook, pencil shaking, Devika studied the damp patch on his pajama pants. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth. Glass walls held their silence. Rules were rules. But her gaze lingered
.
Later, folding laundry, Devika paused by the steamed bathroom door. Rahul bathed alone behind the fogged glass, his silhouette blurred and small. She touched the damp towel she’d worn earlier—cool now, crumpled on the chair. Outside, her infant cooed in his crib. Devika lifted the child, humming softly. Through a clear streak in the condensation, she saw Rahul’s reflection watching her—not the baby, but *her*: the curve of her neck, the sway of her hips as she rocked their son. His hand moved beneath the water. Devika turned away, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead. Rules were rules. But the air thickened with monsoon heat.
After Amit’s call, Rahul fled to wash dishes anxiously while Devika observed him; later, while bathing alone, Rahul secretly watched Devika’s reflection through a clear patch in the steamed glass as she comforted the baby.
During breastfeeding/sleep, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika, and he secretly watched her undress/shower. While showering, Devika washed him thoroughly despite his erection without comment. During Amit’s video call, she breastfed Rahul while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath pajamas and praised his character. Afterward, Rahul anxiously washed dishes while Devika observed. Later, while bathing, Rahul secretly watched Devika’s reflection through steam as she comforted the baby.
Night wrapped the studio in sticky darkness. Devika pulled Rahul close after breastfeeding, his bony spine curved against her belly. "Sleep, beta," she murmured, clasping his hands over her stomach. He trembled—a faint, fevered shiver. She drifted off to the rhythm of his breaths, warm and shallow against her shoulder blades. Dawn crept gray through the glass walls. Devika woke to heat—an insistent hardness pressed against her bare buttocks, Rahul’s palms flat on her abdomen. His bare chest stuck to her back, skin damp. Her kameez lay rucked above her waist; her bra unhooked. She froze. Milk tightened her breasts. Outside, sparrows chirped. Slowly, she twisted—Rahul’s lashes trembled against flushed cheeks, his erection pulsing hot where it nestled against her. Devika exhaled. *Motherly love*, she reminded herself, and pulled him tighter. His breath hitched. Rules were rules. But his fingers curled into her skin
.
During the night, Devika awoke to find Rahul pressed against her bare skin with an erection, his hands on her stomach; she pulled him closer despite her discomfort, rationalizing it as maternal care.
Sunlight striped the mattress. Devika unclasped Rahul’s hands gently. "Time," she whispered, turning to face him. His eyes snapped open—wide, panicked—but she guided him to her breast without comment. Milk flowed rich and warm. He suckled hungrily, gaze locked on the ceiling as she offered the other side. His knee brushed her thigh; the morning hardness pressed against her shalwar. Devika stroked his hair, humming. When he finished, she kissed his damp temple. "Good boy," she murmured. Rahul flushed crimson, scrambling backward. "Sorry, Didi—" "Shhh," she soothed, rising. "Care for the baby while I shower
."
Devika shed her clothes beside the bed—shalwar, kameez, unhooked bra—folding each slowly. Naked, she walked toward the bathroom. Rahul bounced the giggling infant near the balcony, singing loudly about sparrows and rain. "He likes your voice," Devika called over the rush of shower water. Steam billowed thickly. Through the fogged glass, she saw his reflection blur—but not before his gaze traced her spine, her hips, the water sluicing down her legs as she soaped. Rahul chattered about Amit’s call yesterday, his words tumbling fast. Devika smiled, rinsing her hair. Glass walls held truths. Trust, she knew, was absolute. Oblivious, she tilted her face into the cascade.
Devika breastfed Rahul, praising him afterward; she undressed naked near him and showered in the glass-walled bathroom, unaware that Rahul secretly watched her reflection through the steam while distracting her with chatter about Amit.
Morning unfolded. Devika toweled dry near the misted bathroom door. Rahul spooned mashed banana into the baby’s mouth, his knuckles white on the plastic spoon. Sunlight caught her silhouette through the thinning steam—damp hair clinging to her shoulders, the curve of her waist as she reached for fresh clothes. "Amit was right," she murmured, sliding her arms into a crisp kameez. "You’re perfect for us." Rahul’s gaze remained fixed on the baby’s sticky chin. "Didi," he stammered, "the monsoon… will it flood?" Devika fastened her buttons, watching his reflection tremble in the stainless steel water jug. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth. She smoothed her collar. Glass remembered everything
.
Later, breastfeeding. Devika guided Rahul’s mouth to her breast. Milk flowed warm. His knee pressed her thigh; the familiar hardness nudged her shalwar. She stroked his hair, humming. Outside, pigeons cooed. "Such a good boy," she whispered as he suckled. His lashes fluttered—a silent confession. Devika offered her other breast. He drank deeply, gaze locked on the ceiling fan. Rules were rules. But his fingers dug into the cushion seam. Devika counted his swallows. Trust, she thought, was a heavy warmth spreading through her chest
.
Devika dressed after her shower, praising Rahul while he avoided looking at her; later, she breastfed him again, ignoring his erection and physical tension while reassuring herself of his goodness.
Shower steam billowed again. Devika stood under the spray, sighing. Safe. Protected. Rahul’s voice drifted through the fogged glass—a cheerful babble to her infant about algebra and rainbows. Devika smiled, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, his reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. She rinsed, humming. Rahul’s laughter hitched mid-sentence. Glass walls held secrets. Devika reached for her towel, unaware of the rigid line beneath his thin cotton pajamas.
Outside, Rahul bounced the baby, knuckles white on the infant’s onesie. Devika emerged, towel knotted securely above her breasts. "He likes your stories," she remarked, padding barefoot toward the kitchen. Rahul nodded, gaze locked on the child’s gurgling mouth. Sunlight caught the damp towel’s edge clinging to her thigh. Devika paused, frowning at the envelope on the counter—the water bill, thick and accusing. Amit’s salary couldn’t stretch further. Her fingers trembled as she dialed. "Three showers daily for Rahul," she whispered into the phone, voice tight. "And mine—breastfeeding leaves me sticky. Ten times a day, Amit. The cost..." Silence crackled. Amit’s refusal was firm, final. "His health comes first." Devika hung up, pulse thudding. Steam curled from forgotten teacups. Rahul’s reflection in the stainless steel fridge showed eyes wide, questioning
.
During Devika's shower, Rahul secretly watched her through a clear spot in the steam; afterward, she expressed financial stress to Amit about water bills from frequent showers for Rahul and herself, but he insisted Rahul's health took priority.
Morning feeding. Devika guided Rahul’s mouth to her breast. Milk flowed warm. His knee pressed her thigh; the familiar hardness nudged her shalwar. She stroked his hair absently, her mind churning—water bills, Amit’s strained voice, Rahul’s ribs protruding like a bird’s carcass. "Good boy," she murmured mechanically. He finished, scrambling backward. "Care for him," she instructed, nodding toward the crib. Devika shed her clothes beside the bed—shalwar, kameez, unhooked bra—folding each slowly. Naked, she walked toward the bathroom, the water bill’s numbers burning behind her eyelids. Rahul bounced the infant near the balcony, singing about sparrows. "Didi?" he called softly. "Is something wrong?" Devika shook her head, stepping into the shower’s mist. "Nothing, beta
."
While breastfeeding Rahul, Devika worried about finances; after feeding, she undressed fully near him and entered the shower, dismissing his concern about her troubled mood.
Hot water sluiced over Devika’s shoulders. She squeezed soap, scrubbing her arms. *Five showers daily*, she calculated. *Hers twice, his thrice*. Steam thickened. Through the fogged glass, Rahul’s blurred silhouette rocked the baby. An idea struck—clean, practical. She froze, soap slick in her palm. *Share*. One shower, together. His respect was absolute; his eyes always lowered. She rinsed hastily, heart pounding. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off tiles. "The towel!" He appeared instantly, clutching it. Devika wrapped herself, dripping, and snatched her phone. Amit answered on the first ring. "One shower," she breathed, triumphant. "Together. Three times daily, not five. Rahul’s modesty—you know it." Silence. Then Amit’s chuckle, warm and relieved. "Brilliant." Devika beamed, water pooling at her feet. Outside, Rahul stared at the wet floor, his reflection trembling in the puddle. Rules were rules. But trust, Devika knew, was a cascade of shared water.
She hung up, clutching the towel tighter. Amit’s caution echoed—*careful, his mind*. Devika dismissed it. Rahul stood frozen near the crib, the baby gurgling in his arms. "Beta," she began softly. Sunlight caught the tears welling in his eyes before she finished explaining. "No, Didi," he choked, shaking his head. "Your privacy—I can’t—" His voice broke. Devika stepped closer, ignoring the damp towel clinging to her thighs. She cupped his gaunt face. "Your health," she insisted, maternal firmness threading her tone. "This saves us all." He crumpled, sobs wracking his frail frame. "You’ve given me life," he wept. Devika pulled him against her, the baby nestled between them. His tears soaked her towel. She smelled soap and desperation. Rules were rules. But his trembling felt like surrender
To save water, Devika proposed shared showers with Rahul to Amit, who agreed; when she told Rahul, he tearfully protested violating her privacy but Devika insisted it was necessary for his health, comforting him as he cried.
Devika awoke to Rahul pressed against her skin with an erection; she pulled him closer. Later, she showered naked unaware of his secret watching through steam, and breastfed him while ignoring his tension. She expressed financial stress to Amit about shower water bills but he prioritized Rahul’s health. To save water, she proposed shared showers; Amit agreed. When told, Rahul tearfully protested violating her privacy, but Devika insisted it was necessary for his health and comforted him.
During breastfeeding/sleep, Rahul pressed his erection against Devika and secretly watched her undress/shower. Devika washed his erection without comment while showering him. During Amit’s video call, she breastfed Rahul while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath pajamas and praised him. Later, Rahul anxiously washed dishes as Devika observed. He secretly watched her reflection through steam as she comforted the baby. Devika awoke to Rahul pressed against her skin with an erection and pulled him closer. She showered unaware of his watching, and breastfed him ignoring his tension. She expressed financial stress to Amit abo
Amit works in abroad. He brought 21 year old Rahul orphan adult male from orphanage, who was suffering from life threatening illness and his only treatment is breastfeeding. Devika lives in studio apartment which contains see through glass walled bathroom. She wear kameez shalwar and shawl at home and she is very careful about her dress code and never show her skins unnecessary except breastfeeding her 6 month kid. She never hide anything from her husband and discuss her daily activities at home with amit husband on phone. Amit brought Rahul with intentions of helping her during her house chores,caring her kid and protecting his family in his absence. Rahul was very skinny guy ,who looks like frail kid due his life threatening condition. Doctor advised amit for arranging his breastfeeding 6 times per day and 3 times shower thoroughly for maintaining Rahul good hygiene and speedy recovery. Rahul was very innocent and shy adult male. Devika resisted initially due to her privacy and she was reluctant how she could breastfeed 6 times per day and adult male and wash him 3 times per day. She was worried that how she can change her clothes infront of Rahul or take shower in glass walled transparent bathroom while Rahul at home and how can she share her bed with adult at night.Amit convinced her on humanitarian grounds for helping Rahul. Amit also addressed her concerns wisely. It was the detailed plot of the story and its written with passion in slow conservative and innocent mode. Everyone will enjoy if you maintains patience ?.
"Have you seen the blue shawl?" Devika called out, her voice tight with morning urgency. She rummaged through the closet, fingers brushing against folded cottons.
Rahul hovered near the doorway, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. "No, Auntie," he mumbled, clutching the doorframe. His thin frame trembled slightly—whether from weakness or discomfort, Devika couldn't tell. She paused, noticing how his oversized pajamas swallowed him whole. The doctor's words echoed: *malnutrition, compromised immunity, critical need for antibodies*. Six times a day. She inhaled slowly. "Come, beta. First feeding."
He shuffled to the sofa, movements stiff and mechanical. Devika settled beside him, adjusting her dupatta to drāpe over her shoulder and across her chest. The baby monitor crackled softly as their six-month-old slept in the adjacent room. "Close your eyes," she instructed gently, guiding his head. Rahul obeyed instantly, lashes fluttering shut against pale cheeks. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned the side of her kameez. Warm milk scent mingled with the faint antiseptic odor clinging to Rahul's skin.
Devika searched for her shawl while Rahul waited timidly. Noticing his frailty and recalling medical urgency, she initiated the first breastfeeding session on the sofa after ensuring privacy with her dupatta and instructing him to close his eyes.
"Does it... help?" she asked during the rhythmic pause, voice barely above a murmur. Rahul nodded against her arm, jaw tense. Sweat beaded on his temple despite the room's chill. Devika studied the hollows beneath his collarbones, the paper-thin skin at his wrists. Guilt prickled—this boy needed medicine, not her hesitation. Outside, monsoon rain lashed the glass bathroom walls, turning the tiny studio into a fishbowl of blurred greens and grays.
Afterward, Rahul retreated to the kitchen corner, scrubbing dishes with frantic focus. Devika watched him wobble under the weight of a steel pot. "Enough," she said, softer this time. "Your shower next." His shoulders hunched defensively. She gestured toward the steaming bathroom, its transparency suddenly glaring. "I'll draw the curtain." The floral partition felt flimsy as gauze. Water drummed against tile while Devika counted cracks in the ceiling plaster, Amit's reassuring words ringing hollow. *He's like our son*, her husband had insisted during last night's call. But sons didn't have Adam's apples that jumped when they swallowed. Sons didn't leave damp footprints on floors she'd just mopped.
Devika questioned if breastfeeding helped Rahul, observing his physical distress and feeling guilty. Post-feeding, he cleaned dishes unsteadily until she directed him toward showering; she drew a thin curtain for privacy in the glass-walled bathroom while grappling with discomfort over his adult presence.
That evening, Devika nursed her infant while Rahul sat cross-legged nearby, sketching algebra equations. Moonlight silvered the glass walls. "Didi?" His voice cracked. "May I... sleep here tonight?" He pointed to the woven mat beside her bed. She hesitated, adjusting her shawl over the baby's head. Amit's request echoed: *Hold him when night terrors come*. Slowly, she patted the mattress edge. Rahul curled like a comma against the headboard, trembling even in sleep. Devika stared at his knuckles whitening the sheet. When his whimpers began, she pulled him against her hip, humming an old lullaby. His fevered forehead pressed into her shoulder blade
.
Morning brought Amit's scheduled video call. Devika angled the phone away from Rahul bathing behind the curtainless glass wall. "He ate two rotis," she reported brightly, watching Rahul's silhouette blur through condensation. Water sluiced down his bony spine. She tightened her grip on the receiver. "Very obedient." Amit beamed. "See? Trust." Later, folding laundry, she caught Rahul staring at her damp hair clinging to her neck. His gaze snapped away. Devika clutched the baby closer, knuckles pale against the child's onesie. Rules were rules. But glass walls showed everything—steam, shame, and the way his eyes lingered a half-second too long on her discarded shawl.
Devika allowed Rahul to sleep beside her bed per Amit's advice, comforting him during nightmares. During Amit's morning video call, she hid Rahul showering in the transparent bathroom while praising his obedience; afterward, she noticed his lingering glance at her neck and felt uneasy despite compliance.
The afternoon feeding felt different. Rahul kept his eyes shut tight, jaw clenched. Devika’s milk flowed warm, her skin prickling under his uneven breaths. "Better?" she whispered. He nodded stiffly, forehead damp against her forearm. She noted the tremor in his fingers gripping the sofa edge—not weakness, but something coiled. Outside, rain blurred the city into watercolor smudges. When she rebuttoned her kameez, Rahul scrambled backward, knocking over a brass lamp. "Sorry, Didi!" Panic sharpened his voice. Devika smoothed her dupatta, pulse thudding. Glass walls, she thought. Always watching
.
Shower time. Rahul stood frozen as Devika adjusted the hot tap. Steam fogged the bathroom glass, but not enough. His ribs protruded like a bird’s carcass beneath the streaming water. Devika scrubbed his back with clinical efficiency, rough cloth scrāping skin. "Turn," she instructed. He turned, shielding himself clumsily. She saw—the involuntary flinch, the choked breath. Her own cheeks burned. Rules were rules. Amit’s voice echoed: *He’s like our son*. But sons didn’t blush crimson when she rinsed soap from their collarbones. Sons didn’t tremble at a mother’s touch
.
During breastfeeding, Rahul appeared tense and trembled nervously; he knocked over a lamp afterward. Devika later showered him, noting his extreme thinness and discomfort as she washed him—his flinching and blushing contradicting Amit's insistence that he was "like a son."
That night, thunder rattled the studio. Rahul whimpered on the mattress edge. Devika pulled him against her, humming mechanically. His fevered skin burned through her thin nightgown. Moonlight sliced through the glass bathroom, illuminating his fist clenching the sheet. When his trembling worsened, she cradled his head to her chest. "Sleep," she murmured. His eyelashes fluttered against her breast. Outside, lightning flashed—a stark, white glare that showed everything: the wet tracks on his cheeks, the rigid line of her shoulders, the impossible closeness. Rules were rules. But in the dark, with rain hammering the transparent walls, Devika counted his ragged breaths and wondered when trust became a cage.
Morning unfolded with practiced routine. Devika changed her saree blouse near the fogged bathroom glass while Rahul diligently swept the kitchen corner. "Did you finish the algebra problems?" she asked, sliding the fresh cotton over her shoulders. His eyes remained fixed on dust motes swirling near his broom. "Almost, Didi," he answered softly, knuckles white on the handle. Steam curled from the shower behind her, making the glass bloom opaque except for one stubborn clear patch—a vertical stripe revealing her damp hair clinging to her neck. Rahul never glanced up. Not once. Devika watched his reflection in the stainless steel water jug: head bowed, spine curved like a question mark. His respect was a fortress wall
.
During a thunderstorm, Devika comforted feverish Rahul against her chest, noticing his distress and their proximity. Next morning, she changed clothes near the steamy bathroom glass while Rahul avoided looking at her despite a clear patch revealing her neck, maintaining rigid respect.
Devika reluctantly breastfed frail Rahul with precautions like eye-closing instructions. Post-feeding, she directed him to shower behind a curtain in her glass bathroom. Following Amit's orders, she allowed him to sleep near her bed, comforting his nightmares. During Amit's video call, she hid Rahul showering while praising him. She noticed his glances at her neck and his tension during breastfeeding. While washing him, she saw his discomfort despite Amit's assurances. During a storm, she held feverish Rahul close. The next morning, Rahul avoided looking at her as she changed near the steamed bathroom glass despite visible skin exposure.
Later, she nursed her infant beneath the ceiling fan's lazy whirl. Rahul sat cross-legged nearby, sketching circuit diagrams with intense focus. Sunlight caught the fine bones of his wrist as his pencil moved. Devika adjusted her shawl. "The monsoon makes everything damp," she remarked casually, unhooking her kameez side. Rahul instantly closed his eyes, lashes dark smudges against too-pale skin. His pencil stilled mid-equation. Only the rhythmic suckling of the baby filled the silence. Devika studied the hollow at his throat—pulsing slightly. Rules were rules. But she felt the heat radiating from him three feet away, a silent furnace beneath paper-thin skin
.
Shower time. Devika adjusted the taps. "Scrub properly today," she instructed, her voice echoing off wet tiles. Rahul stepped under the stream, shoulders hunched. Through the steam-fogged glass, his silhouette blurred into watercolor grays—except where condensation streaked, revealing the sharp jut of a hip bone. Devika folded towels nearby, humming softly. His gaze remained fixed on the drain, but she saw it: the slight hitch in his breath when her reflection passed the clear patch of glass, her wet hair uncoiling down her back. He scrubbed his arms raw. Devika handed him a towel through the door crack, fingertips brushing his. He flinched as if burned. "Thank you, Didi," he whispered, voice thick. The towel swallowed him whole. Glass walls held their breath.
While breastfeeding her baby, Rahul closed his eyes respectfully as Devika adjusted her clothes, though she sensed his tension. Later, during his shower, Devika folded towels outside the glass bathroom; Rahul avoided looking at her reflection but reacted visibly to her proximity, flinching when their hands touched during towel handover.
Mid day dressing. Devika unfastened her damp blouse near the bathroom door. "Did Amit call?" she asked casually, drāping the wet garment over a chair. Rahul stood frozen at the stove, ladle suspended over simmering dal. His knuckles whitened. "N-not yet," he stammered. Sunlight caught the pearl buttons of her fresh choli as she slid it on. His reflection in the stainless steel cooker lid showed eyes squeezed shut—but Devika noticed the tremor in his wrist, the way his throat worked silently. She smoothed the fabric over her ribs. "Add less turmeric," she murmured. He stirred frantically, steam rising like a veil between them. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth
.
Feeding time. The baby slept. Devika patted the sofa. "Come, beta." Rahul settled beside her, spine rigid. She unbuttoned her kameez. His lashes fanned down instantly, but Devika saw the flush creeping up his neck—a slow, crimson tide. Milk scent bloomed warm in the stillness. "Better?" she asked softly. He nodded, jaw clenched. His fingers gripped the cushion edge, tendons standing stark beneath translucent skin. Outside, rain blurred the world. Devika watched a droplet trace the pane beside his reflection: sliding down, down, toward the hollow where his collarbone strained against stillness. His reverence was a vise
.
While changing clothes near Rahul, Devika noted his intense avoidance despite visible tension. Later, during breastfeeding, he remained rigidly respectful with eyes closed but exhibited physical signs of discomfort like flushing and clenched hands.
Evening algebra. Rahul hunched over equations beneath the dim lamp. Devika towel-dried her hair near the glass wall, humming. Water darkened her nightgown's cotton shoulders. "Problem twelve," she called out. His pencil snapped. He bent to retrieve it, gaze flickering—just once—toward her fogged reflection: the curve of her neck, the damp fabric clinging to her spine. Lightning flashed. In that frozen white glare, Devika saw his eyes widen—mesmerized, horrified—before snapping back to his notebook. "Yes, Didi," he choked, scribbling blindly. Thunder rumbled. Glass walls trembled. Devika twisted her hair into a knot, fingertips lingering at her nape where his gaze had burned. Rules were rules. But the air crackled with unshed words.
Morning ritual. Devika nursed her infant by the balcony door. Rahul swept nearby, broom rasping against concrete. "The baby slept well," she murmured, adjusting her shawl. He nodded, dust motes swirling gold in the sunrise. As she lifted her sleeping child to the crib, her dupatta slipped—revealing the swell of her breast for a breath. Rahul froze mid-sweep. His knuckles whitened on the bamboo handle. Devika secured the fabric, pulse steady. Not a glance. Not a flicker. Yet she knew: he’d seen. His stillness was confession enough. She watched him resume sweeping—mechanical, precise—as if scrubbing away the image. Respect was a shield. But shields could crack
.
While Devika dried her hair near the glass bathroom, Rahul briefly glimpsed her reflection during a lightning flash, showing visible distress. Later, while breastfeeding near Rahul, her accidental exposure caused him to freeze despite maintaining respectful avoidance.
Shower steam thickened. Devika lingered under the spray, eyes closed. Warmth seeped into her shoulders. Through the fogged glass, Rahul’s silhouette moved—bouncing her gurgling infant on his hip, pointing at monsoon-drenched sparrows. The baby squealed. Devika smiled, relaxing into the water’s rhythm. Safe. Protected. She reached for soap. Condensation streaked the glass. A clear patch bloomed—her reflection: full breasts, curved waist, water sluicing down bare skin. Rahul’s laughter died mid-chuckle. He spun abruptly, jostling the infant, who whimpered. "Shh, beta," he croaked, back rigid to the glass. Devika froze. Steam swallowed her. Outside, Rahul rocked the baby fiercely, gaze locked on the far wall. His ears burned crimson. Rules were rules. But glass remembered everything
.
While showering, Devika saw Rahul accidentally glimpse her exposed reflection through a clear patch in the fogged glass, causing him to abruptly turn away and soothe the baby while showing visible distress.
Dressing time. Devika slid her arms into a fresh kameez near the misted bathroom door. Rahul fed mashed banana to her infant in the high chair. "Open wide!" he coaxed, voice strained. Sunlight caught the spoon’s trembling arc. Devika fastened her side buttons. Fabric whispered. Rahul’s hand jerked—banana smeared the baby’s chin. The infant giggled, sticky fingers grabbing Rahul’s wrist. Devika watched him wipe the mess, movements jerky. His reflection in the stainless steel water tumbler showed it: eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched—but his thumb brushed the baby’s cheek with impossible tenderness. Devika smoothed her collar. Glass walls held truths deeper than shame. Rules were rules. But trust, she realized, could bloom in stolen glances and sticky fingers.
Night settled, thick and humid. Rahul curled on the mattress edge, boxers stark white against dark sheets. Devika gathered him close—a mother’s embrace. His bony spine pressed her sternum. "Sleep," she murmured into his hair. He snuffled softly, a childlike sound that eased her. Dawn painted the studio gray when she awoke. Rahul’s hips pressed flush against her belly, his erection—hot, insistent—nestled against her thigh through the thin cotton of her shalwar. Eight inches of rigid heat. She froze, breath catching. His face remained slack, innocent. This morning hardness, she told herself, was involuntary—a boy’s body betraying sleep. She shifted subtly, comparing its fierce, unwavering pressure to Amit’s softer, fleeting tumescence. A flush crept up her neck. Rules were rules. But her palm lingered, tracing the ridge against her skin before gently shaking him awake. "Beta," she whispered. "Time
While Devika dressed, Rahul accidentally glimpsed her reflection and showed visible tension while feeding the baby. Later, during sleep, Rahul unconsciously pressed his erection against Devika, causing her to note its intensity before waking him.
During breastfeeding sessions, Rahul maintained respectful eye-closure but showed physical tension. While showering or near Devika, he reacted visibly to accidental proximity or reflections—flinching at touch during towel handover, freezing during accidental exposure, and showing distress when glimpsing her reflection through fogged glass. His avoidance intensified during Devika’s changing/showering, though tension remained evident. During sleep, he unconsciously pressed an erection against Devika, startling her.
Devika reluctantly breastfed frail Rahul as instructed, requiring him to close his eyes during feeding. She permitted him to sleep near her bed per Amit's request and comforted his nightmares. While showering behind a curtain in her glass bathroom, she hid his presence during Amit's video call. She noticed Rahul's glances at her neck during breastfeeding, tension during feeding sessions, and visible discomfort during washing. During a storm, she held feverish Rahul close. The next morning, Rahul avoided looking at her despite her skin exposure while changing near steamed bathroom glass. He maintained respectful eye-closure during breastfeeding but showed physical tension and reactions to proximity: flinching at accidental touch, freezing during exposure, and distress when glimpsing her reflection. Unconsciously, he pressed an erection against Devika during sleep, startling her.
."
Breastfeeding. Devika lay on her side, Rahul facing her. His eyes stayed shut as she guided him. Milk flowed. His knee brushed her thigh; the persistent hardness pressed against her. She focused on the rhythmic suckling, the warmth spreading through her chest. His breath hitched—a tiny gasp muffled against her skin. Devika stroked his hair, humming low. Outside, sparrows chirped. When he finished, she pulled his head to her shoulder. "Sleep more," she murmured. He feigned drowsiness instantly, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Devika rose, peeling damp cotton from her skin. She shed her shalwar and kameez beside the bed, folding them slowly. Rahul’s breathing remained deep, even—but she didn’t see his eyes slit open, drinking in the curve of her hip, the sway of her breasts as she walked toward the bathroom
.
During breastfeeding, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika again, and he gasped subtly; afterward, he pretended to sleep while secretly watching her undress.
Shower steam billowed. Devika stepped under the spray, sighing as water sluiced down her bare shoulders. Safe. Protected. She tilted her face up, eyes closed. Suddenly, her baby wailed. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off wet tiles. "The bottle!" He appeared instantly at the fogged glass door, bottle in hand. "I have him, Didi," he assured, scooping up the crying infant. Devika smiled gratefully, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, Rahul’s reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. He rocked the child fiercely, gaze locked on the glass. Devika rinsed, humming, oblivious. Outside, Rahul pressed his fevered cheek against the baby’s head, bottle forgotten. His knuckles whitened on the infant’s onesie. Glass walls held secrets. Trust, Devika thought, was a warm cascade down her skin.
Morning dressing. Devika stood near the bed, towel-drying her hair. Rahul pretended sleep, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks. She slid her arms into a fresh kameez, the damp towel pooling at her feet. Sunlight caught the curve of her hip, the soft drāpe of her stomach as she fastened the side buttons. Rahul’s breath hitched—a soft, stifled sound. Devika glanced over. His eyes snapped shut, lips parting in feigned slumber. She smiled, smoothing the cotton over her thighs. "Rest, beta," she murmured. He exhaled shakily. Rules were rules. But the damp towel crumpled beside her bare feet whispered of vulnerability. Devika folded it slowly, unaware of the rigid line beneath his thin sheet
While Devika showered, Rahul secretly watched her reflection through a clear patch in the steam. Later, as she dressed near him, he pretended to sleep but showed tension when glimpsing her skin.
.
Feeding time. Devika lay beside him, guiding his mouth. Milk flowed warm. His knee brushed her thigh; the familiar hardness pressed against her shalwar. She focused on his rhythmic suckling, her palm resting lightly on his hair. Outside, pigeons cooed. When he finished, she pulled his head to her shoulder. "Sleep," she whispered. He curled inward instantly, lashes fluttering. Devika rose, peeling damp cotton from her skin. She shed her shalwar beside the bed, folding it with deliberate slowness. Rahul’s breathing deepened—a convincing performance. But as she walked toward the bathroom, naked, he watched: the sway of her hips, the dimpled curve of her lower back. Devika paused at the threshold, stretching. His gaze burned. Glass walls steamed. Trust, she believed, was absolute. Oblivious, she stepped into the shower’s mist.
During breastfeeding, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika; afterward, he pretended to sleep but secretly watched her undress and walk naked to the shower.
Steam billowed thickly. Devika sighed as water sluiced down her bare shoulders. Safe. Protected. She tilted her face up, eyes closed. Suddenly, her baby wailed. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off wet tiles. "The towel, beta!" He appeared instantly at the fogged glass door, clutching the towel. "I have him, Didi," he assured, scooping up the crying infant. Devika smiled gratefully, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, Rahul’s reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. He rocked the child fiercely, gaze locked on the glass. Devika rinsed, humming. Outside, Rahul pressed his fevered cheek against the baby’s head, towel forgotten. His knuckles whitened on the infant’s onesie. She emerged dripping, wrapping the towel tightly around herself. "Hold him while I make tea," she instructed, padding barefoot to the kitchen
.
While Devika showered, Rahul secretly watched her reflection through the steam; afterward, she emerged wrapped in a towel and asked him to hold the baby while she made tea.
In the kitchen, Devika boiled water, towel knotted securely above her breasts. Steam rose from the pot, mingling with the dampness clinging to her skin. Rahul bounced the baby near the balcony, singing a nursery rhyme in a strained voice. Devika poured chai into cups, the porcelain clinking softly. She sipped, watching him—the careful way he supported the infant’s head, the tremor in his fingers. "He’s comfortable with you," she remarked. Rahul nodded, eyes fixed on the child. Devika set her cup down. "Now, beta," she said gently. "Your shower. Undress. I’ll join you shortly." He froze. "Didi, I—" "Shhh," she cut him off, maternal firmness in her tone. "Doctor’s orders. It’s just a mother’s care." He shuffled toward the bathroom, shoulders hunched
.
Devika made tea while Rahul held the baby; afterward, she instructed him to undress for his shower, citing doctor’s orders, and he reluctantly complied.
Behind the fogged glass, Rahul stood rigid under the spray. Devika entered, kameez damp at the sleeves. She took the rough cloth, scrubbing his back with clinical thoroughness. "Turn," she instructed. He turned, shielding himself. Her hands moved methodically—over his concave stomach, the jut of his hips. She washed his penis, balls, the cleft of his buttocks with brisk, impersonal strokes. The erection sprang fierce and thick against her soapy fingers. She didn’t pause, didn’t flinch. "Lift your foot," she directed, rinsing soap from his inner thigh. His breath hitched, ragged. Outside, her phone rang—Amit’s call. Devika toweled Rahul dry, dressed him in fresh pajamas, her movements efficient. "Come," she said, guiding him to the sofa. She answered the video call, settling Rahul against her side. "He’s improving," she reported, unbuttoning her kameez. Rahul closed his eyes as she guided him to her breast. Devika’s voice was calm, factual. "He had morning hardness again. And during his shower—strong erection. But he’s respectful. Shy. Takes wonderful care of our son." Amit beamed on the screen. Rahul trembled, milk warm on his tongue, Devika’s thumb stroking his hair. Rules were rules. But her palm rested heavy on his thigh, inches from the truth.
She described the morning—how Rahul had bounced their giggling infant while she showered, how he’d fetched her towel without glancing, how he’d tended the baby as she boiled tea in her damp towel. "So responsible," Amit murmured. Devika nodded, shifting Rahul’s head slightly. His eyelashes fluttered against her skin. She detailed the bath—the scrubbing, the rinsing, the erection she’d washed without comment. "Motherly love," she emphasized, meeting Amit’s pixelated gaze. Rahul’s fingers dug into the cushion seam. Outside, rain blurred the glass walls. Devika’s tone softened. "He’s a good boy. Modest." She adjusted her shawl over Rahul’s shoulder, covering the flushed curve of his ear. Amit praised Rahul’s character. Devika hummed agreement, her hand drifting lower—resting lightly on the rigid line beneath Rahul’s pajama pants. Rules were rules. But beneath the fabric, heat pulsed against her palm
Devika washed Rahul thoroughly in the shower, noting his erection without reaction; afterward, she reported his condition to Amit during a video call while breastfeeding him, praising his character while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath his pajamas.
.
The call ended. Devika rebuttoned her kameez. Rahul scrambled backward, cheeks aflame. "Thank you, Didi," he choked, fleeing to the kitchen corner. Devika watched him scrub dishes with frantic energy, water sloshing onto the floor. Steam rose from the forgotten teacups. She lifted hers, sipping slowly. The porcelain warmed her palms. Rahul’s reflection trembled in the stainless steel fridge—eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. Devika set her cup down. "Algebra," she reminded gently. He nodded, wiping his hands. As he bent over his notebook, pencil shaking, Devika studied the damp patch on his pajama pants. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth. Glass walls held their silence. Rules were rules. But her gaze lingered
.
Later, folding laundry, Devika paused by the steamed bathroom door. Rahul bathed alone behind the fogged glass, his silhouette blurred and small. She touched the damp towel she’d worn earlier—cool now, crumpled on the chair. Outside, her infant cooed in his crib. Devika lifted the child, humming softly. Through a clear streak in the condensation, she saw Rahul’s reflection watching her—not the baby, but *her*: the curve of her neck, the sway of her hips as she rocked their son. His hand moved beneath the water. Devika turned away, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead. Rules were rules. But the air thickened with monsoon heat.
After Amit’s call, Rahul fled to wash dishes anxiously while Devika observed him; later, while bathing alone, Rahul secretly watched Devika’s reflection through a clear patch in the steamed glass as she comforted the baby.
During breastfeeding/sleep, Rahul’s erection pressed against Devika, and he secretly watched her undress/shower. While showering, Devika washed him thoroughly despite his erection without comment. During Amit’s video call, she breastfed Rahul while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath pajamas and praised his character. Afterward, Rahul anxiously washed dishes while Devika observed. Later, while bathing, Rahul secretly watched Devika’s reflection through steam as she comforted the baby.
Night wrapped the studio in sticky darkness. Devika pulled Rahul close after breastfeeding, his bony spine curved against her belly. "Sleep, beta," she murmured, clasping his hands over her stomach. He trembled—a faint, fevered shiver. She drifted off to the rhythm of his breaths, warm and shallow against her shoulder blades. Dawn crept gray through the glass walls. Devika woke to heat—an insistent hardness pressed against her bare buttocks, Rahul’s palms flat on her abdomen. His bare chest stuck to her back, skin damp. Her kameez lay rucked above her waist; her bra unhooked. She froze. Milk tightened her breasts. Outside, sparrows chirped. Slowly, she twisted—Rahul’s lashes trembled against flushed cheeks, his erection pulsing hot where it nestled against her. Devika exhaled. *Motherly love*, she reminded herself, and pulled him tighter. His breath hitched. Rules were rules. But his fingers curled into her skin
.
During the night, Devika awoke to find Rahul pressed against her bare skin with an erection, his hands on her stomach; she pulled him closer despite her discomfort, rationalizing it as maternal care.
Sunlight striped the mattress. Devika unclasped Rahul’s hands gently. "Time," she whispered, turning to face him. His eyes snapped open—wide, panicked—but she guided him to her breast without comment. Milk flowed rich and warm. He suckled hungrily, gaze locked on the ceiling as she offered the other side. His knee brushed her thigh; the morning hardness pressed against her shalwar. Devika stroked his hair, humming. When he finished, she kissed his damp temple. "Good boy," she murmured. Rahul flushed crimson, scrambling backward. "Sorry, Didi—" "Shhh," she soothed, rising. "Care for the baby while I shower
."
Devika shed her clothes beside the bed—shalwar, kameez, unhooked bra—folding each slowly. Naked, she walked toward the bathroom. Rahul bounced the giggling infant near the balcony, singing loudly about sparrows and rain. "He likes your voice," Devika called over the rush of shower water. Steam billowed thickly. Through the fogged glass, she saw his reflection blur—but not before his gaze traced her spine, her hips, the water sluicing down her legs as she soaped. Rahul chattered about Amit’s call yesterday, his words tumbling fast. Devika smiled, rinsing her hair. Glass walls held truths. Trust, she knew, was absolute. Oblivious, she tilted her face into the cascade.
Devika breastfed Rahul, praising him afterward; she undressed naked near him and showered in the glass-walled bathroom, unaware that Rahul secretly watched her reflection through the steam while distracting her with chatter about Amit.
Morning unfolded. Devika toweled dry near the misted bathroom door. Rahul spooned mashed banana into the baby’s mouth, his knuckles white on the plastic spoon. Sunlight caught her silhouette through the thinning steam—damp hair clinging to her shoulders, the curve of her waist as she reached for fresh clothes. "Amit was right," she murmured, sliding her arms into a crisp kameez. "You’re perfect for us." Rahul’s gaze remained fixed on the baby’s sticky chin. "Didi," he stammered, "the monsoon… will it flood?" Devika fastened her buttons, watching his reflection tremble in the stainless steel water jug. Respect carved deep lines around his mouth. She smoothed her collar. Glass remembered everything
.
Later, breastfeeding. Devika guided Rahul’s mouth to her breast. Milk flowed warm. His knee pressed her thigh; the familiar hardness nudged her shalwar. She stroked his hair, humming. Outside, pigeons cooed. "Such a good boy," she whispered as he suckled. His lashes fluttered—a silent confession. Devika offered her other breast. He drank deeply, gaze locked on the ceiling fan. Rules were rules. But his fingers dug into the cushion seam. Devika counted his swallows. Trust, she thought, was a heavy warmth spreading through her chest
.
Devika dressed after her shower, praising Rahul while he avoided looking at her; later, she breastfed him again, ignoring his erection and physical tension while reassuring herself of his goodness.
Shower steam billowed again. Devika stood under the spray, sighing. Safe. Protected. Rahul’s voice drifted through the fogged glass—a cheerful babble to her infant about algebra and rainbows. Devika smiled, turning her back to lather soap. Through a clear streak in the condensation, his reflection watched—not the baby, but *her*: water streaming down her spine, over the swell of her buttocks. She rinsed, humming. Rahul’s laughter hitched mid-sentence. Glass walls held secrets. Devika reached for her towel, unaware of the rigid line beneath his thin cotton pajamas.
Outside, Rahul bounced the baby, knuckles white on the infant’s onesie. Devika emerged, towel knotted securely above her breasts. "He likes your stories," she remarked, padding barefoot toward the kitchen. Rahul nodded, gaze locked on the child’s gurgling mouth. Sunlight caught the damp towel’s edge clinging to her thigh. Devika paused, frowning at the envelope on the counter—the water bill, thick and accusing. Amit’s salary couldn’t stretch further. Her fingers trembled as she dialed. "Three showers daily for Rahul," she whispered into the phone, voice tight. "And mine—breastfeeding leaves me sticky. Ten times a day, Amit. The cost..." Silence crackled. Amit’s refusal was firm, final. "His health comes first." Devika hung up, pulse thudding. Steam curled from forgotten teacups. Rahul’s reflection in the stainless steel fridge showed eyes wide, questioning
.
During Devika's shower, Rahul secretly watched her through a clear spot in the steam; afterward, she expressed financial stress to Amit about water bills from frequent showers for Rahul and herself, but he insisted Rahul's health took priority.
Morning feeding. Devika guided Rahul’s mouth to her breast. Milk flowed warm. His knee pressed her thigh; the familiar hardness nudged her shalwar. She stroked his hair absently, her mind churning—water bills, Amit’s strained voice, Rahul’s ribs protruding like a bird’s carcass. "Good boy," she murmured mechanically. He finished, scrambling backward. "Care for him," she instructed, nodding toward the crib. Devika shed her clothes beside the bed—shalwar, kameez, unhooked bra—folding each slowly. Naked, she walked toward the bathroom, the water bill’s numbers burning behind her eyelids. Rahul bounced the infant near the balcony, singing about sparrows. "Didi?" he called softly. "Is something wrong?" Devika shook her head, stepping into the shower’s mist. "Nothing, beta
."
While breastfeeding Rahul, Devika worried about finances; after feeding, she undressed fully near him and entered the shower, dismissing his concern about her troubled mood.
Hot water sluiced over Devika’s shoulders. She squeezed soap, scrubbing her arms. *Five showers daily*, she calculated. *Hers twice, his thrice*. Steam thickened. Through the fogged glass, Rahul’s blurred silhouette rocked the baby. An idea struck—clean, practical. She froze, soap slick in her palm. *Share*. One shower, together. His respect was absolute; his eyes always lowered. She rinsed hastily, heart pounding. "Rahul!" she called, voice echoing off tiles. "The towel!" He appeared instantly, clutching it. Devika wrapped herself, dripping, and snatched her phone. Amit answered on the first ring. "One shower," she breathed, triumphant. "Together. Three times daily, not five. Rahul’s modesty—you know it." Silence. Then Amit’s chuckle, warm and relieved. "Brilliant." Devika beamed, water pooling at her feet. Outside, Rahul stared at the wet floor, his reflection trembling in the puddle. Rules were rules. But trust, Devika knew, was a cascade of shared water.
She hung up, clutching the towel tighter. Amit’s caution echoed—*careful, his mind*. Devika dismissed it. Rahul stood frozen near the crib, the baby gurgling in his arms. "Beta," she began softly. Sunlight caught the tears welling in his eyes before she finished explaining. "No, Didi," he choked, shaking his head. "Your privacy—I can’t—" His voice broke. Devika stepped closer, ignoring the damp towel clinging to her thighs. She cupped his gaunt face. "Your health," she insisted, maternal firmness threading her tone. "This saves us all." He crumpled, sobs wracking his frail frame. "You’ve given me life," he wept. Devika pulled him against her, the baby nestled between them. His tears soaked her towel. She smelled soap and desperation. Rules were rules. But his trembling felt like surrender
To save water, Devika proposed shared showers with Rahul to Amit, who agreed; when she told Rahul, he tearfully protested violating her privacy but Devika insisted it was necessary for his health, comforting him as he cried.
Devika awoke to Rahul pressed against her skin with an erection; she pulled him closer. Later, she showered naked unaware of his secret watching through steam, and breastfed him while ignoring his tension. She expressed financial stress to Amit about shower water bills but he prioritized Rahul’s health. To save water, she proposed shared showers; Amit agreed. When told, Rahul tearfully protested violating her privacy, but Devika insisted it was necessary for his health and comforted him.
During breastfeeding/sleep, Rahul pressed his erection against Devika and secretly watched her undress/shower. Devika washed his erection without comment while showering him. During Amit’s video call, she breastfed Rahul while subtly resting her hand on his erection beneath pajamas and praised him. Later, Rahul anxiously washed dishes as Devika observed. He secretly watched her reflection through steam as she comforted the baby. Devika awoke to Rahul pressed against her skin with an erection and pulled him closer. She showered unaware of his watching, and breastfed him ignoring his tension. She expressed financial stress to Amit abo
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