Incest Not just a Mother Anymore - Tale

[nivithenaughty]

Hi Naughties,

This is my second story for this website and also in my life from the learnings of my previous story i'm writing this story hope u guys like it. 

I will be writing both stories in parallel based on the readers interest and comments i will prioritize which one to focus more. 

Read My Other Story : Nivetha (Nivi) - Power and Submissions of working wife 

Hope you guys support both of my stories stories.


--------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: 
As u read the title of the story this story involves strong incest theme. This story will be a slow burn erotica dont expect sex scenes early. but i will make sure this feels erotic as much as possible. 

--------------------------------------------------

Not just a Mother Anymore 

The bedroom was the only room with air-conditioning, a small mercy Rajan had installed two years ago when his promotion came through. 


The unit hummed steadily above the wardrobe, keeping the temperature just low enough that the night didn't feel like punishment. 


Two double beds were pushed together in the centre, covered by a single thin cotton bedsheet that everyone fought over in their sleep. 


Indhu lay on her back in a modest, full-sleeved, ankle-length nightie of soft peach cotton. 


It had small pink flowers printed along the border and a high neckline, exactly the kind Rajan approved of. 


The sleeves ended at her wrists, the hem brushed her ankles even when she stretched, and there was no danger of anything showing that shouldn't. 


She had bought six of them in different pastel shades the day he told her, “Wear decent ones at home also, Indhu. 


People talk.” She had smiled, nodded, and worn them ever since. 


Still, the fabric was the thinnest cotton she could find, almost weightless, and in the cool air from the AC it clung softly to the curve of her waist, the gentle rise of her breasts, the long line of her thighs. 


Rajan never noticed the difference. 


He only saw sleeves and length. 


Karthik slept facing her, one arm dbangd across her stomach exactly the way he had done since childhood. 


The weight of his forearm was heavier now, muscle and bone instead of little-boy softness, but the gesture was the same. 


Indhu never moved it away. 


She liked the innocent way he still searched for her in his sleep. 


On Karthik's far side, Rajan breathed slow and even. 


He had come home at eight-forty, greeted the neighbours politely, helped an old lady carry her provisions to the lift, then sat with the children and asked about their day in his calm, courteous voice. 


Outside these walls he was still the same Rajan everyone respected: responsible, soft-spoken, quick to help. 


Only inside this bedroom, when the lights went out, did the quiet fear show itself. 


He had tried to pull her close earlier, a hesitant hand on her shoulder, a murmured “Indhu…”. 


She had shifted away without anger, and he had let it go with the small, wounded silence she now knew by heart. 


Age had stolen his confidence between the sheets, and the loss had slowly turned into suspicion: Why did she take such care of her skin? Why did the new nighties, however modest, fit her so well? Indhu understood. 


She no longer fought it. 


She simply wore what he allowed and kept the small rebellions no one could see: the trimmed hair beneath the cotton, the faint jasmine oil she rubbed into her skin after every bath, the secret pride when the mirror showed her a woman who still turned heads at thirty-six. 


Leka slept curled on the far edge, facing the wall, her own full-length nightie twisted slightly at the waist. 


She and Karthik had bickered again over dinner: something trivial, something loud. 


Indhu had scolded them both, told them to behave like adults, and they had fallen into sulky silence. 


The AC clicked softly, blowing cool air across Indhu's covered arms. 


Karthik moved closer in his sleep, forehead brushing the high neckline of her nightie, breath warm against the hollow of her throat. 


The contact was familiar, innocent, comforting. 


Tomorrow morning Rajan would leave for Madurai: three nights, possibly four. 


One less body in the bed. 


One less pair of eyes watching what she wore, how she moved, how carefully she smiled. 


Indhu let her eyes drift shut. 


The room stayed quiet except for the steady hum of the AC and the soft, even breathing of the son who still held her like she was the safest place in the world. 


Just another June night. 


Nothing, yet, felt different.

[nivithenaughty]

The auto's horn faded down the street and the house settled into a sudden, delicious quiet.



Indhu locked the bathroom door, reached to the back of the top shelf, and pulled out the hidden cover. Coffee-brown satin slid over her skin like cool water: knee-length, tiny cap sleeves, neckline dipping just enough to show the soft beginning of her breasts. She turned once in front of the foggy mirror, watched the fabric catch the light on her hips and thighs, and felt something flutter low in her stomach that had nothing to do with breakfast.


When she stepped into the kitchen the smell of dosa batter was already rising.


Leka shuffled in first, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and stopped like she had walked into a wall.


“Amma… what is that?”


Indhu kept her voice calm, turning the dosa with the steel spatula. “New nightie only.”


“It's satin! And so short!” Leka's eyes were wide, half envy, half accusation. “When did you even buy this?”


“Last week. Varsha took me to Express Avenue. She said I should wear something nice when your father is not home.” Indhu's tone was light, almost playful.


“That's not fair,” Leka hissed. “You and Appa force me to wear those full-length churidars with dupatta pinned up to my neck every single day. My college has no dress code! My friends wear jeans, crop tops, whatever they want. But if I try to leave without dupatta you both shout at me like I'm going to bring boys home!”


Indhu sighed. “Leka, we have told you why. Last time you were talking to that auto driver boy at midnight—”


“That was two years ago! I'm nineteen now!”


Before Indhu could answer, Karthik appeared in the doorway wearing only his boxer shorts, hair wild from sleep. He blinked twice at his mother, and his mouth actually opened a little.


“Amma…” The word came out softer than he meant. His eyes traced the satin clinging to her waist, the smooth bare knees, the soft skin of her lower thighs he had never seen so much of before. Heat rushed to his face. “You look… really beautiful.”


Leka spun toward him. “Of course you take her side! Mummy's little prince!”


Karthik recovered, grinning. “I'm just saying the truth. Amma looks like a film heroine. And you look like you're going to plus-two tuition.”


“Shut up!” Leka's voice cracked. “At least I'm not a twelfth-standard kid who still cuddles his mother all night!”


Indhu brought the steel tumbler down on the counter with a sharp clang. “Both of you, stop it right now. Karthik, go bathe. You'll miss the college van. Leka, if you want shorter kurtis we'll talk when your father is back and calm. Until then, wear what makes the house peaceful.”


Karthik stole one last look (the way the satin moved when his mother reached up to the shelf, the soft outline of her body beneath it) then disappeared toward the bathroom.


Leka stormed off muttering, “Always the same rules for me, never for anyone else.”


Indhu turned back to the stove, lips curving into a small, secret smile as the cool satin brushed her thighs with every movement.


Three nights.


The house already felt wider, cooler, and just a little bit dangerous.

------------------


Indhu finished the last dosa, stacked them on a steel plate, and wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. The satin nightie still felt foreign in the best way: cool, slippery, forbidden. She caught her reflection in the stainless-steel tiffin box: the soft curve of her breasts under the thin fabric, the way the hem fluttered high on her thighs when she moved. A small, guilty smile tugged at her lips.


“Leka! Come eat!” she called.


No answer. Only a muffled sniff from the bedroom.


Indhu sighed and walked in. Leka was face-down on the bed, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.


“Dei, what happened now?” Indhu sat on the edge, placed a gentle hand on her daughter's back.


Leka turned, eyes red. “My friends keep teasing me, Amma. ‘Why you dress like a college ma'am?' ‘Are you from convent?' I feel so small. I'm nineteen and I still look like a child because of these rules.”


Indhu's heart softened. She pulled Leka into her arms, rocking her the way she used to when she was little. “I know, kanna. I know how it feels to be locked up. I was younger than you when I got married. I never got to choose anything.”


Leka cried harder against her shoulder.


Indhu lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “Listen. When your father is not home, you can wear whatever you want: leggings, short kurtis, anything decent. But you have to promise me complete honesty. Every day you come home, you tell me everything: who you spoke to, where you went, everything. No secrets. Can you promise that?”


Leka pulled back, eyes wide. “Really, Amma?”


Indhu nodded. “And one more thing. You and I have the same body. These curves attract attention very fast. Be careful. Dress modern, but dress smart. No silly risks. Promise?”


“I promise! I promise!” Leka threw her arms around Indhu's neck, laughing through the tears.


“Go take bath in the other bathroom. Wear my new black leggings and that peach kurti I keep aside. It'll fit you perfectly.”


Leka practically flew out of the room.


Indhu stood alone for a moment, looked down at her satin nightie, and decided to keep it on a little longer.


Half an hour later Leka walked into the dining area looking like a different girl: black leggings hugging her legs, peach kurti ending mid-thigh, hair left loose and shining. She spun once, beaming.


Karthik was already at the table finishing his third dosa. He looked up and his spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.


“Wow, Leka… you look…” He swallowed. “Good.”


Leka stuck her tongue out. “Better than your boring college uniform, right?”


Indhu joined them, pulling a chair. Karthik turned to her, curious. “Amma, why sudden permission? Yesterday only you were scolding her about dupatta.”


Indhu served herself a dosa, thoughtful. “If we keep restricting more and more, people start hiding things. Your father doesn't understand that. When a woman gets a little freedom, she becomes bold, not spoiled. She learns to protect herself instead of sneaking around.”


She paused, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “Both of us have been caged too long in this house. A little air won't kill us.”


Silence fell like a soft blanket. Leka stared at her plate. Karthik's eyes flicked to his mother's face, then down to the satin stretching across her chest when she breathed.


Indhu realised what she had just admitted out loud. Heat rose to her cheeks. She busied herself with the chutney.


Karthik cleared his throat, stood up quickly. “Okay, I'm late.” He grabbed his bag, ruffled Leka's hair on the way out (she swatted at him and missed), then paused at his mother. For a second his gaze lingered on the soft skin of her neck above the satin neckline. “Bye, Amma. You… you look really nice today.”


He left before she could answer.


Leka finished her breakfast, grabbed her bag, and hugged Indhu tight at the door. “Thank you, Amma. I love you.”


Indhu kissed her forehead. “Be careful with the boys, okay? Those leggings show everything. Walk like you own the world, but keep your eyes open.”


Leka grinned, waved, and stepped out into the bright June sunlight looking taller, freer, happier.


Indhu closed the door, leaned back against it, and let out a long, shaky breath. The house was empty. The satin nightie slid coolly against her skin. For the first time in years, the silence didn't feel heavy.


It felt like possibility.




--------------------


The house was finally still.


Indhu moved through her chores on quiet feet: sweeping the hall, folding yesterday's dried clothes, wiping down the kitchen counter until it gleamed. The satin nightie swished softly around her thighs with every bend and stretch, a secret luxury she still couldn't quite believe she was allowing herself. When she reached up to the top shelf for the detergent, the hem rose dangerously high; cool air kissed the backs of her thighs and she shivered, half guilt, half pleasure.


The phone rang at eleven-thirty. Her mother's name flashed on the screen.


“Indhu, how is the heat there? Here in the village it's killing us,” her mother launched straight into gossip without greeting: who was getting married, whose son failed engineering, whose daughter ran away with a city boy. Indhu made the right sounds (shock, sympathy, laughter) while her eyes drifted to her reflection in the balcony door. The satin caught the light like spilled coffee and cream. She looked young. She felt young.


After twenty minutes she gently ended the call, promising to visit soon, and dialled Varsha.


“Tell me, how does it feel?” Varsha's voice was pure mischief the moment she picked up.


Indhu laughed, low and surprised at herself. “Like silk on my skin. Cool. Light. I keep forgetting I'm wearing anything at all.”


“That's the whole point, da. You're thirty-six, not sixty. Wear it, enjoy it. Rajan is not there to security officer you for four days.”


They talked the way old friends do: children, prices, husbands who don't understand anything, new parlour discounts. When Varsha asked if she planned to buy more, Indhu's answer came out before she could think: “Maybe one in black. And one in wine red.” She bit her lip, shocked at her own boldness, and Varsha whooped in delight.


Lunch was simple: curd rice with mango pickle eaten straight from the steel tin, standing at the counter because sitting felt like wasting the quiet. The satin slid against the edge of the counter when she leaned over to rinse the plate, and she caught herself smiling at nothing.


Across the city, in a stuffy twelfth-standard classroom, Karthik stared at the blackboard without seeing it.


The teacher was explaining vectors, but the words floated past him like smoke. All he could hear was his mother's quiet, bitter confession at the breakfast table.


Both of us have been caged too long in this house.


He had never thought of it that way before. To him, Amma was the centre of everything: warm, smiling, always there with food and hugs and scoldings wrapped in love. He had never noticed the tightness around her eyes when Appa spoke, the way her shoulders dropped the moment the door closed behind his father.


And that nightie. God, that nightie. The memory of coffee-brown satin clinging to her body kept flashing behind his eyelids: the soft shape of her breasts when she breathed, the smooth length of her thighs he had never properly seen before, the way she had looked… free. Radiant. Like someone he suddenly wanted to protect from the whole world, especially from the man who was supposed to love her.


The bell rang for lunch break. His friends shouted for him to join them under the tree, but he stayed at his desk, forehead pressed to his folded arms.


What could an eighteen-year-old boy do? He had no money, no power. But the thought of his mother feeling trapped in the same house where he felt safest made something ache inside his chest, fierce and helpless.


He pulled out his phone under the desk and opened a new chat with the only person he wanted to talk to right now.


Karthik (12:47 pm):

Amma, you okay?


The message showed delivered. Three dots appeared almost instantly.


Amma ❤️ (12:48 pm):

I'm good, kanna. Why? Everything alright in college?


Karthik (12:48 pm):

Just miss you.


He hesitated, thumbs hovering.


Karthik (12:49 pm):

You looked really happy this morning. I like it when you're happy.


The dots appeared, vanished, appeared again.


Amma ❤️ (12:51 pm):

You're making me blush in the kitchen, dei ❤️


Study well. Come home soon.


He stared at the heart she sent until the screen went dark, then pressed the phone to his chest like it could hold the feeling a second longer.


In the quiet house, Indhu read the messages twice, felt warmth bloom under the satin, and set the phone down with trembling fingers.


The afternoon stretched ahead, empty and golden and theirs alone.

[readersp]

Amazingly well written!!! Keep going!!!

[Rocky@handsome]

Nice Start!!
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[xfirefox]

nice, really Nice!
loved the narration and delivery, everything to the point, nothing absurd and over the top, so far.

[xfirefox]

looking forward to how it all unfolds, take your time, maintain the pace with slow buildup, but no compromise on quality of the content.
good work!

[Mom.ridhima]

Nice story pls post the next update soon and build the mom son relationship strong and I think son should be incest and cuck

[nivithenaughty]

After lunch Indhu drew the curtains, dimmed the bedroom lights, and lay down on the big bed that suddenly felt too wide with only her in it. The satin nightie slid coolly against the sheet. She reached for the small steel bowl on the side table: fresh curd mixed with a spoon of turmeric and a little besan. She spread the pale paste over her face and throat, careful around the eyes, then rubbed the last bit down her arms and the tops of her breasts where the neckline allowed. The cool mixture tightened gently on her skin. She set the alarm for four, closed her eyes, and let the quiet take her under.



She woke to the soft chime, the curd mask now dry and flaky. In the bathroom she splashed cool water, watching the yellow streaks swirl away, revealing skin that looked brighter, softer, almost glowing. She smoothed fresh aloe gel from the plant on the balcony across her cheeks and collarbones, then ran her fingers through her loose hair. The mirror gave her back a woman who looked twenty-eight instead of thirty-six. She smiled at the reflection and felt the smile stay.


In the kitchen she made Karthik's favourite: soft murukku from the new batch of rice flour and a tall glass of rose milk. The clock showed 4:25. She was spooning the pink liquid into a steel tumbler when the front door rattled.


“Amma!” His voice carried all the way from the gate.


She hurried to open it, barefoot, the satin hem brushing her knees. Karthik's face lit up the moment he saw her, college bag sliding off his shoulder as he stepped in.


“Missed you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He dropped the bag and followed her straight to the kitchen like a magnet.


The murukku disappeared in handfuls while he talked between bites: cricket scores, the new physics sir who shouted too much, how Vignesh got caught with a phone again. Indhu listened with the usual half-smile until she noticed the phone-shaped bulge in his pocket.


“Karthik,” she said gently, “you know the college rule. Phones only for emergency. If they catch you once more they'll call your father.”


He went quiet instantly, cheeks colouring.


“I… I couldn't concentrate after this morning,” he mumbled, staring at the plate. “What you said at breakfast… that you feel caged here… I never saw it before. I feel so stupid.” His voice cracked. “I'm sorry, Amma.”


The tears came sudden and hot. He tried to blink them away and failed.


Indhu's heart twisted. She rounded the counter in two quick steps and pulled him into her arms without thinking. He was taller than her now; she had to reach up, but he bent instantly, burying his face in her shoulder the way he used to when he was six and the world was too big.


“Shh, kanna, no sorry,” she whispered, kissing his damp cheek, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes with her thumbs. “I didn't say it to hurt you. I'm happy you understand. That's all I ever wanted.”


His arms tightened around her waist, strong and careful at the same time. The satin was thin; she felt every inch of his chest against hers, the heat of his skin, the slight tremble in his breathing. Something shifted inside her chest, warm and unfamiliar. This was her little boy, yet the shoulders under her palms were a man's, the arms holding her were steady and sure. For the first time in her life a man was choosing to stand between her and the hurt, and that man was the one she had carried inside her body.


Karthik felt it too: the way her body fitted against his, softer than he remembered, the satin sliding under his forearms, the faint scent of curd and aloe and something that was only Amma. His heart pounded so hard he was sure she could feel it.


They stayed like that longer than either expected.


Finally Indhu loosened her hold, cupped his wet face. “Go freshen up. Uniform smells of sweat.”


He nodded, still dazed, and walked toward the bedroom. At the doorway he turned back. “I meant it, Amma. If Appa says anything again, I'm on your side. Always.”


She believed him completely.


When the bathroom door closed, Indhu leaned against the counter, hands pressed to her chest as if to quiet the sudden wild beat beneath the satin. Calm, happiness, and something deeper, something she had no name for yet, washed over her in slow waves.


She made a fresh batch of murukku for Leka, carried the plate to the hall, and switched on the TV just for the sound of other voices. Sunlight slanted gold across the room. The house felt different: lighter, fuller, humming with a promise neither of them had spoken aloud.


Outside, the June evening waited, thick and sweet.



The front door clicked at 6:47 p.m. Leka's college bag hit the floor with a dramatic thud.


“Amma, I'm home!”


Indhu was curled on the three-seater sofa, legs tucked under her, remote in hand. Karthik sat on the floor in front, leaning back against the sofa edge, close enough that his head occasionally brushed his mother's knee. Some old Vijay movie was playing; neither was really watching.


Indhu's face lit up. “Come, kanna. Murukku and rose milk still there. Heat it two minutes if you want.”


Leka bounced in, still in the peach kurti and black leggings, hair loose and a little frizzy from the bus ride. She looked brighter than she had in months.


“Amma, you won't believe today!” She dropped beside Indhu, stole a piece of murukku from Karthik's plate, and spoke with her mouth half-full. “Everyone noticed! My friends screamed the moment I got down from the bus. ‘Leka, finally you look like a college girl!' Even the seniors were staring.”


Indhu raised an eyebrow, half amused, half cautious. “Boys also stared?”


Leka rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile. “A lot. Like I suddenly became Miss Chennai. But I didn't talk to anyone extra. I just walked straight, head up, like you told me. Felt… powerful.”


Indhu reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand. “That's my girl. You looked beautiful this morning. Today you felt beautiful too, right?”


Leka nodded hard. “If only I could dress like this every day…”


“Soon,” Indhu said softly. “We'll make your father understand. Slowly. Today Karthik understood how we feel. One day Appa will also see.”


Leka turned to her brother, eyes narrowed in surprise. “You understood?”


Karthik shrugged, a little shy. “I heard Amma this morning. She's right. We've been blind. I'm with both of you. Whatever happens.”


Leka studied him for a second, then gave a small, genuine smile. “We'll see, thambi. Let's see.”




Dinner was simple: leftover sambar, rice, and potato fry. They ate at the small dining table, talking about nothing and everything. Leka described every compliment she got; Karthik teased her about the boys; Indhu laughed more than she had in weeks.




Dinner ended with the usual clatter of steel plates. The three of them moved around the small kitchen in easy rhythm, Leka washing, Karthik drying, Indhu putting away. No one spoke about tomorrow or about rules; they didn't need to. The air itself felt looser.


By nine-thirty the lights were dimmed.


Indhu slipped into the second bedroom (the one filled with stacked clothes and old suitcases), locked the door, and began her quiet night ritual.


She lifted the satin nightie over her head and folded it carefully on the stool; it was still the only modern one she owned, the single secret piece in a wardrobe full of high-neck, full-sleeve, ankle-length cotton nighties. The rest were pastel florals and tiny checks Rajan had approved years ago.


Standing in just her simple beige cotton bra and panty, she sat on the low wooden stool in front of the small mirror. First the cleanser, then rose toner on a cotton pad. After that she took the precious bottle Varsha had given her: the vitamin-C body lotion for friction-darkened skin.


She poured a thick ribbon into her palm and started the slow, familiar circuit. Calves, backs of knees, the faint dark patches on her shins from years of tight petticoats. Higher: the sensitive inner thighs that had turned almost black in places from constant rubbing, the sides of her hips and buttocks where elastic marks used to dig in. She worked the lotion in gentle circles, watching the skin drink it up. One month of this every night and the difference was real: the darkness was fading, the texture turning silky, the old marks softening like someone was erasing years of neglect.


When she finished she slipped the same bra and panty back on (they were the only set she wore under the satin; everything else felt too matronly), then let the coffee-brown nightie fall over her body again. It settled against the freshly lotioned skin like it belonged there.


In the bedroom Leka was already under the sheet in one of her usual long, modest nighties (pale yellow with tiny roses). Karthik lay on the far edge in his boxer shorts, scrolling on Indhu's phone because his own was charging.


Indhu slid into the middle, the sheet cool against her calves. She propped the phone against a pillow and opened YouTube: old Vadivelu comedy clips, the ones that never failed.


Leka shifted closer on the left, resting her head lightly on Indhu's upper arm. Karthik mirrored on the right, shoulder brushing his mother's, the satin cool under his bare skin. They laughed at the same moments, the sound soft and sleepy in the air-conditioned room.


One by one the giggles slowed. Leka's breathing deepened first, her hand curled loosely near Indhu's waist. Karthik held out longest, but eventually the phone slipped from his fingers and his head settled on the pillow facing his mother, one arm flung across the sheet in unconscious habit.


Indhu killed the screen, plunged the room into darkness, and lay very still for a moment, feeling the gentle weight of both children against her sides.


The AC hummed. The satin whispered when she breathed.


For the first time in years, the big bed did not feel like a cage.


It felt like home.





The first pale gold of dawn slipped through the gap in the curtains and painted thin stripes across the bed. The AC had clicked off sometime after four; the room was cool but not cold. Leka breathed softly on the far left, one arm flung over her face. Karthik woke with a full bladder and the fuzzy confusion of deep sleep.


He sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and turned to slide off the bed. That was when he saw her.


Indhu lay on her back, head turned toward him, lips slightly parted. The satin nightie (her only one) had twisted and ridden high in the night. The hem was bunched almost at her hips. The soft coffee-brown fabric framed a triangle of simple beige cotton panty and miles of smooth, lotioned thigh that caught the early light like warm marble. The skin there was flawless now, the dark friction patches faded to a faint memory. One knee was bent outward; the gentle curve where thigh met hip glowed golden in the half-dark.


Karthik froze.


He had seen his mother's legs before, of course, always hidden under long nighties or sarees. Never like this. Never bare, glowing, impossibly soft-looking. The sight punched the air out of his lungs. For three full heartbeats he simply stared, throat dry, a sudden hot pulse low in his stomach that felt both thrilling and wrong.


Then reality slammed into him.


It's Amma.


Guilt flooded in behind the excitement like ice water. He forced his eyes up to her sleeping face: messy hair across the pillow, the faint smile that lingered even in sleep, the tiny mole just above her upper lip he had kissed a thousand times as a child. Beautiful. His mother. His safe place.


He wanted to pull the sheet over her, fix the nightie, protect her from anyone seeing her like this, especially himself. But if he touched the fabric and she woke…? What would she think? That her son was some pervert staring at her in the dark?


He swallowed hard, stood up on shaky legs, and padded silently to the attached bathroom. The click of the latch sounded deafening.


The soft sound woke Indhu instantly.


She opened her eyes to the pale room and felt cool air on skin that should have been covered. Her hand flew down. Satin bunched high, panty on display, thighs completely exposed. Her heart stopped.


Karthik's side of the bed was empty.


He saw. Oh God, he saw me like this.


Shame burned through her so fast she felt dizzy. One stupid nightie, one moment of selfish vanity, and now her own son had seen her half-naked while she slept. What kind of mother was she? She should have changed back into a proper nightie before sleeping. She should have known the fabric would ride up. She sat up quickly, yanked the nightie down to her knees, and pressed both hands to her flaming cheeks.


The toilet flushed. Footsteps. She couldn't face him yet.


She slipped out of bed, hurried to the main door on silent feet, brought in the milk packets from the delivery box, and went straight to the kitchen. Routine. Normal. Pretend nothing happened. She put water to boil, measured tea leaves with trembling fingers, added extra elaichi because Karthik liked it that way.


By the time the tea was ready she had calmed her breathing, but her stomach still twisted.


She carried two steel glasses back to the bedroom. Karthik was sitting on the edge of the bed, pretending to check his phone, face carefully blank.


“Tea,” she said, voice a little too bright.


He looked up, cheeks pink. “Thank you, Amma.”


They sipped in complete silence. The air between them felt thick, charged, both terrified the other would mention what had just happened. Neither did.


Leka stirred, yawned, sat up. “Tea for me also?”


Indhu handed her the second glass with relief. Normal morning sounds filled the room: Leka complaining about college, Karthik reminding her to take the assignment printout, the usual bickering.


Indhu escaped to the bathroom the moment she finished her tea. She showered fast, scrubbed away the last of the lotion scent, and changed into one of her regular boring nighties (long sleeves, tiny blue checks, hem brushing her ankles). Safe. Respectable. The satin nightie went to the bottom of the pile, buried under old sarees.


Leka chose another set from Indhu's small secret collection: dark grey leggings and a modest maroon kurti that still felt like freedom. She twirled once in front of the mirror, kissed Indhu's cheek, and left for the college bus.


Karthik shouldered his bag at the door. He hesitated, then stepped close and hugged his mother quickly, carefully, the way he always did. But his arms lingered half a second longer, his cheek brushed her hair.


“Bye, Amma,” he mumbled into her shoulder.


“Study well,” she answered, voice steady only because she forced it.


The door closed behind him.


Indhu stood alone in the quiet house, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat slow to something almost peaceful.


Nothing had been said.


Everything had changed.

[xfirefox]

sweet and calm update, well articulated and no rushing .. thank god.

[Rocky@handsome]

Commendable!!❤️❤️
Keep Coming!! Loving every moment!!❤️❤️