26-12-2025, 04:10 PM
Alia - My Girlfriend
Alia strolled through the bustling market, the vibrant colors of the stalls enveloping her like a canvas. With each step, her body-hugging salwar kameez accentuated her curves, while her dupatta danced playfully in the air, catching the light as it flowed behind her. Varun’s gaze lingered, drawn not just by her beauty but the way people around them couldn’t help but steal glances, some openly admiring, others discreetly envious.
As they paused by a stall overflowing with vibrant bangles, Varun leaned in, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You know, if you wear that this weekend when I introduce you to my friends, they might not be able to focus on anything else. It’s too stunning not to get noticed.”
Alia’s cheeks grew warm. She dropped her gaze, feigning sudden interest in the glass display, the shimmering bands of color blending into a blur. “It’s just an outfit,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She twisted the end of her dupatta between her fingers, searching for a safe topic, some way to steer the conversation away from herself. “They have so many designs here. Maybe you should pick some for your sister,” she tried.
But Varun was relentless, his amusement obvious. “No, really. You should come as you are. You have no idea how these guys get—they’ll start making up poetry on the spot. At least let me have the bragging rights for a day.” The pride in his voice made her bristle, not for lack of affection, but for the spectacle he seemed to crave.
She shot him a pointed look, annoyed at how easily he seemed to ignore her discomfort. “I don’t think I want togo to your friends’ party if they’re only going to talk about my—” She hesitated, flushing, unable to say the word she knew Varun was thinking. Figure? Looks? She hated how, with him, the whole of her seemed to shrink to just the outline of her body.
Varun scratched his jaw, eyes darting across her face, then to the racks of bangles as if searching for something to say. “You don’t know them. They’re not like that. I mean, they’ll probably joke around, but it’s nothing bad. Just boys being stupid, it’s no harm they looking at your body”
Alia shocked “ what”
Yeah that’s ok even im getting excited for that.
for what, your friend ogling my body, you going to get excited. Sexually? alia asks
I dont know. I just felt excited when that guy passes by looks at your boobs when your dupatta flying in air
The shopkeeper, a mustached man with a thinning patch of hair, gave Alia a glance that stuck to her like sweat. His smile stretched wide, teeth stained by paan, and when she leaned in to inspect the bangles, his gaze dropped, then climbed, flickering up and down her torso in a pattern as practiced as his sales pitch. He pretended to busy his hands untangling a stack of glass bangles, but she could feel the heat of his attention, the way it made her skin prickle beneath the fabric.
Varun, oblivious or pretending to be, kept up a steady stream of commentary about which colors would match, what his mother might think, how his friends would absolutely lose it if she wore “that green one, the one like emeralds.” Alia managed tight nods, letting the shopkeeper slip a blue set over her wrist, his thumb brushing too long against her pulse. She didn’t pull away. A strange current charged
As Varun slipped the box of bangles into a paper bag, Alia edged closer to the counter, acutely aware of the shopkeeper’s lingering stare. It wasn’t subtle. His gaze crawled the length of her arm, trailed over the curve at her boobs, then darted away only when she met his eyes in the scratched glass. No apology. Just a quick, greedy flicker. Heat bloomed ugly and bright in her chest. One part of her wanted to grab Varun’s arm and drag him out, but another, meaner part almost relished the man’s reaction, the power in how a simple flicker of fabric could make even a stranger forget himself.
When they finally stepped away from the stall, Alia's mind buzzed. The shopkeeper's eyes had been on her the entire time, drinking her in like she was something to be consumed. Not just a passing glance like the others in the market—this had been deliberate, lingering, hungry. She could still feel the ghost of his thumb on her boobs
They walked in silence for a few paces before Alia tugged Varun toward a quieter corner near a closed tea stall, away from the crowd's ears.
"Did you see that?" she asked, her voice tight but curious. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Varun's lips curled into a knowing smile. "The shopkeeper? Yeah. He couldn't take his eyes off you. Kept staring at your boobs when you bent forward."
Alia's breath caught. She pressed a palm to her stomach, feeling the warmth there intensify. "I thought I was imagining it. But he was... he was really looking, na?"
"Alia." Varun stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Everyone looks. You just never notice. That guy practically forgot how to count money when you were standing there."
She bit her lower lip, processing this. All these years she had dressed modestly, kept her head down, convinced herself she was ordinary. But today—the man on the street, the shopkeeper with his paan-stained grin, even the way Varun was watching her now with that hunger barely concealed—it painted a different picture.
"That shopkeeper... he was old enough to be my father," she murmured, but there was no disgust in her voice, only wonder. "And still he couldn't keep his eyes off my body."
"Nobody can," Varun said. His hand found the small of her back, warm through the thin fabric. "Now you understand what I've been saying. When we go to that party, every single one of my friends is going to be looking at you exactly like that. Maybe worse."
"So I'm..." She trailed off, unable to finish.
"Hot," Varun supplied, his voice rough. "You're incredibly hot. And when men see you, they can't help themselves. Their eyes just go to your body. Your curves. The way this kameez hugs everything."
Alia swallowed hard. A strange thrill ran down her spine, mingling with the embarrassment she expected to feel but somehow didn't. "And you like that? You like when they stare at me?"
Varun's jaw tightened. He nodded slowly. "I don't know why, but yes. Seeing that shopkeeper undressing you with his eyes... it did something to me."
Alia swallowed hard. The warmth spreading through her belly wasn't entirely unpleasant. "And you... you really like this? Knowing other men are looking at me like that?"And that excites you? Truly?"
Varun's eyes darkened, and he nodded again, slower this time. "Yes. Truly."
Alia let out a shaky breath, her mind racing. The confession hung between them, heavy and electric. She understood now—what he wanted, what stirred something primal in him. But understanding didn't mean agreeing.
"I'm not wearing this to meet your friends," she said, her voice firmer than she expected.
Varun blinked, the hungry look in his eyes flickering into confusion. "What? But you just—"
"That shopkeeper was a stranger, Varun." She crossed her arms over her boobs, suddenly aware of how the fabric stretched across her breasts. "I'll never see him again. Your friends? They know you. They know me. It's different."
"How is it different?" He stepped closer, frustration creeping into his tone. "You felt it just now. You liked it when he looked at you."
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she held her ground. "That doesn't mean I want your friends staring at my body every time we meet. They'll talk. They'll remember. Every gathering after this, they'll be looking at me like... like..."
"Like you're beautiful?" Varun offered, his voice softening.
"Like I'm something to ogle." She shook her head, the dupatta sliding off one shoulder. She yanked it back into place. "There's a difference."
Varun exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Alia, listen. These are my closest friends. They're not going to disrespect you. A few looks"
"Few looks?" She laughed, "You just told me watching that old shopkeeper undress me with his eyes excited you. And now you want your friends to do the same thing? While you sit there getting... getting aroused?"
"No. That's not—" He stopped, frustration bleeding into his features. "Alia, please. Just this once. You don't have to wear anything revealing. Just... this. What you're wearing now. That's all I'm asking."
She looked down at herself—the way the kameez clung to her waist, how the fabric outlined her boobs in a more hot way and the swell of her hips. It wasn't revealing by any standard but still hot. After what had just happened, after feeling those eyes on her, she knew exactly what this outfit could do.
"Your friends aren't strangers," she repeated, quieter now. "I have to face them again and again. I can't just—"
"You're overthinking this." Varun stepped closer, his hand reaching for her elbow. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either. "They're my friends. Good guys. They won't be creepy about it."
"You won't have to do anything," Varun interrupted, his hand finding hers. His thumb traced circles on her palm, gentle, coaxing. "Just be yourself. Just wear this. If it happens to be this that day, then... then let it happen. You don't have to perform. Just exist."
Alia's resolve wavered. His touch was warm, familiar, and the earnestness in his voice tugged at something deep inside her. She wanted to please him. She always had. But this...
She searched his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this was just a game to him. All she found was that same hungry devotion, that desperate need for her to understand, to participate in whatever fantasy was unfolding in his mind.
"Fine," she heard herself say, and immediately regretted it.
Varun's face lit up. "Really? You'll—"
"I said fine." She pulled her hand from his, wrapping both arms around herself. "But I'm not okay with this, Varun. I want you to know that. I'm doing this for you, not because I want a bunch of men staring at my body."
"Maybe." His thumb traced small circles on her arm. "But isn't that... doesn't part of you like it? Even a little? The way that shopkeeper couldn't stop himself?"
Alia's stomach twisted. That was the problem, wasn't it? Some treacherous part of her had liked it—the power, the attention, the proof that she wasn't as invisible as she'd always believed. But this was different.
“No, I was just lost in thoughts” She said
"A stranger's eyes don't follow me home," she said quietly. "Your friends will. Every time we meet, I'll feel what they might thinking. What they've seen. What they might imagine."
"It's okay if you did." His voice dropped, intimate. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying attention. With feeling desirable. Why should that only happen with strangers? Why can't you feel that way around people who actually matter?"
Her face flamed. "That's not—I didn't—"
Alia nodded stiffly, her stomach churned. She wasn't okay. Not even close. The thought of walking into a room full of Varun's friends, knowing what he wanted, knowing they would be looking at her the way that shopkeeper had looked—it
Varun was silent for a moment. Then he tried again, his voice softer now. "What if I promised to stay right beside you the whole time? Make sure no one crosses a line?"
"That's not the point," She pulled her arm free, hugging herself. "I'll know, Varun. I'll know they're looking at me like... like I'm something to be looked at. Not your girlfriend. Not a person. Just a body in a tight outfit."
"You are a person. The most beautiful person I know." He cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "And maybe I want them to see that. To see what I have. Is that so wrong?"
Alia searched his eyes, looking for something—reassurance, maybe, or understanding. She found only that hungry gleam she'd seen earlier.
"I'm not okay with this," she whispered. "I'm really not."
Varun's expression faltered. "Alia—"
"I'll come to the party. But I'm wearing something else. Something loose. Something that doesn't make me feel like I'm on display." Her voice trembled but held firm. "If you can't accept that, then maybe I shouldn't come at all."
The words hung between them, heavy as the humid market air. Alia's pulse pounded in her throat. She could see Varun calculating, weighing his disappointment against her discomfort, and she hated that he even had to think about it.
Finally, he exhaled. "Okay. Whatever you want to wear. I just... I thought you might enjoy it."
"I don't." The lie burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Whatever confused thrill she'd felt with the shopkeeper, she wasn't ready to explore it with people who would remember her face. "Not like this. Not with them."
Alia knew this conversation wasn't over. The seed had been planted, and no matter how firmly she refused, some part of her would keep turning it over in her mind, wondering what it would feel like to walk into that room and let herself be seen. just a thought.
And yet, as they made their way back through the crowded market, Alia caught herself noticing every glance that came her way—the vegetable seller whose eyes lingered too long, the young man on his scooter who nearly crashed into a cart while staring. Each look felt like a small fire lit beneath her skin, and she couldn't tell anymore if she wanted to douse the flames or let them spread.
Varun isn’t noticing anyone, his mind is full of alia, stops walking. His hand catches her wrist, gentle but insistent, and when Alia turns to face him, something in his expression has shifted. The hunger is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it's tempered now by something softer. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
"Alia." His voice is quiet, almost lost beneath the din of haggling vendors and honking scooters. "I'm sorry."
She blinks, caught off guard. "What?"
"I pushed too hard." He releases her wrist, shoving his hands into his pockets like he doesn't trust them. "I got caught up in... I don't know. The idea of it. But I didn't think about how it made you feel. That was wrong."
The words settle over her like a cool breeze cutting through the market's oppressive heat. She hadn't expected an apology—not really. Varun isn't the type to back down easily, to admit when he's crossed a line. Yet here he is, shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding her eyes the way he does when he knows he's messed up.
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he continues, his voice rough. "Not for me. Not for anyone. If you want to wear something normal to the party, wear something normal. I'll still be the luckiest guy in the room."
Alia feels something loosen in her chest, a knot she hadn't realized had formed. "You mean that?"
"I mean it." He finally meets her gaze, and there's sincerity there, raw and unguarded. "We'll figure this out together, okay? Find something you actually feel good in. Something that's... I don't know... balanced? Hot enough that I can still brag a little, but comfortable enough that you're not spending the whole night wanting to disappear."
A small laugh escapes her, surprising them both. "Hot enough to brag about? That's your compromise?"
Varun grins, the tension between them dissolving like sugar in chai. "I'm still me, Alia. Can't expect miracles."
She shakes her head, but she's smiling now, the weight of the argument lifting from her shoulders. "Fine. We'll find a balance. But I get final say."
"Obviously." He reaches for her hand again, and this time she lets him take it. "You always do."
They resume walking, their fingers intertwined, and the market seems less suffocating now. The colors are brighter, the chaos more manageable. Alia feels something settle between them—not resolution, exactly, but a truce. A promise to navigate this strange territory together.
But as they round the corner toward the market's exit. alia feels a shock
The bangle stall.
They have to pass right by it. There's no other way out, not without backtracking through the entire maze of vendors. She can already see the shopkeeper, His mustache twitches as he spots them approaching, and that same calculating smile spreads across his face.
Varun notices too. She feels his grip tighten on her hand, and when she glances up, there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes her immediately suspicious.
"Don't," she warns.
"Don't what?" His voice is too innocent. Far too innocent.
"Whatever you're thinking. Don't."
But they're already close enough that the shopkeeper has straightened up, his paan-stained grin widening as his gaze lands on Alia. She can feel it like a physical touch—the way his eyes trace the line of her hips, linger on her chest, climb back up to her face with absolutely no shame.
"Arre, madam! You came back!" His voice carries across the narrow lane. "Changed your mind about more bangles? I have new stock—pink glass, very delicate"
Alia keeps walking, but Varun slows their pace just enough to be annoying. "Actually, uncle," he calls out, his voice friendly, conversational, "she was just saying how much she enjoyed your shop earlier."
Alia digs her nails into his palm. He doesn't even flinch.
"Is it?" The shopkeeper's smile turns oily. "Madam has good taste. Very sophisticated. Not like these other girls who don't know quality." His eyes drop again, and Alia feels her skin crawl and flush simultaneously. "You come anytime, madam. I give you special discount. Family price."
"So generous, uncle," Varun says, and Alia wants to strangle him. "She might take you up on that. She was very impressed with your... selection."
"Varun," she hisses under her breath.
He leans closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Uncle really liked you, na? Look at him. He's practically drooling."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." His thumb strokes the back of her hand, a gentle counterpoint to his teasing. "You're blushing."
She is. She can feel the heat spreading across her cheeks, down her neck, and she hates that he's right. Hates that some treacherous part of her is responding to this—to the shopkeeper's hungry gaze, to Varun's whispered commentary, to the strange power of being wanted so openly.
"Uncle's probably going to dream about you tonight," Varun murmurs, still low enough that only she can hear. "That tight kameez. The way your dupatta kept slipping. He's definitely going to remember."
"You're terrible." But her voice lacks conviction.
The shopkeeper waves as they pass, his eyes following Alia until they round the next corner. She can still feel the weight of his gaze, sticky and warm against her skin.
"See?" Varun says, pulling her closer as they finally escape into a quieter lane. "That's what I mean. You don't even have to try. Men just... react to you."
Alia doesn't respond. She's too busy wrestling with the chaos inside her—the disgust and the thrill, the shame and the secret satisfaction. The shopkeeper was old, crude, everything she should find repulsive. And yet.
And yet.
"You're thinking about it," Varun says softly.
"I'm thinking about how I'm going to murder you in your sleep." alia says
“Oh, come on!” Varun laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know there’s a part of you that’s curious about it. The thrill of being seen, of being desired. It’s like a secret superpower.”
Alia rolled her eyes, but her heart raced at the thought. “That’s not what I want! I want to be respected, not just looked at like... like a piece of meat.”
“Respect? Sure,” Varun said, raising an eyebrow. “But what if you could embrace the attention without losing yourself? What if you could own it? You know, like an exhibitionist. Let everyone appreciate the view.”
“Exhibitionist? Are you serious?” Alia scoffed, but she felt her pulse quicken at the idea. “That’s not me!”
“Maybe not yet,” he shot back, his teasing tone turning more serious. “But don’t you feel that thrill? The idea of being on display, of knowing someone is captivated by you? You could make them squirm without even trying.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” she stammered, trying to mask the flutter of intrigue in her stomach. “I don’t want to be that person.”
“Why not? It could be fun!” Varun leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Imagine the adrenaline rush, the way your heart races. You could walk past that shopkeeper and watch him choke on his words as you strut by.”
Her cheeks heated at the thought, the image igniting something within her. “You think that’s fun?”
“Absolutely! You’d be in control,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Every lingering glance, every distracted moment would be yours to command. Just picture it—you owning the room, making it clear that you’re not just a pretty face. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
Alia felt a mix of thrill and anxiety swirling inside her. “You’re just trying to get me worked up,” she said, but the playful challenge in his eyes made her pulse race.
“Maybe I am,” Varun said, smirking. “But I think you secretly love it. The idea of pushing boundaries, of being bold. It’s hot, Alia. We both know it.”
“Hot? Is that what you call it?” she shot back, half-sarcastic but undeniably intrigued.
“Exactly,” he replied, unabashed. “And if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just think about it—being the woman everyone wants but can’t have. How empowering is that?”
Alia swallowed hard, the tension between them crackling. “You’re really pushing it, you know.”
“Good,” he said, leaning even closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Because I think it’s time you explore that side of yourself. Open up to the idea of being wanted, of being seen—not just by me, but by everyone.”
As his words hung in the air, Alia felt a rush of conflicting emotions. The thrill of the idea combined with the uncertainty of how far she was willing to go ignited a fire within her. Maybe, just maybe, Varun was onto something.
The playful banter continued, but the stakes had shifted. Now, the conversation was no longer just about teasing; it was about touching on desires that had remained unspoken, simmering just below the surface.
Alia felt her heart race at his words, the tension thickening as Varun leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s the worst that could happen? A few whispers? You handle those like a champ. Besides, you’d have me right there to fend off any unwanted attention.”
“Fend off? You mean you’ll be right there enjoying the show,” she retorted, crossing her arms but unable to hide her smile.
“Can you blame me?” he said, feigning innocence. “You strutting in that outfit would drive any man mad. I’d be the proud boyfriend, soaking in all the envy.”
“Envy? Or embarrassment?” Alia shot back, a teasing tone in her voice. “I’ll be the one turning fifty shades of red.”
“Red looks good on you,” he replied, his gaze warm and unyielding. “Imagine them all watching as you enter. The way your dupatta floats behind you, the way the fabric clings just enough to highlight your curves. It’s like you’d be the main act, and everyone else would be the supporting cast.”
“Varun!” Alia laughed, her cheeks flushing at the thought. “You’re making it sound like I’d be walking onto a catwalk!”
“Why not? You’ve got the confidence for it! Just think how liberating it would feel to step into that spotlight, even if just for a moment. To let go of all the inhibitions and just embrace it.”
“Liberating? More like terrifying,” she replied, her heart racing at the thought. “What if I trip? Or worse, what if I get too much attention?”
Varun leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Then you’ll handle it like the queen you are. You’ll own that moment, and everyone will remember it. I’d be right there, cheering for you, ready to remind anyone who looks too long that you’re taken.”
Alia’s breath hitched at his words, the heat between them igniting something deeper. “You really think I could do that?”
“Absolutely. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers. “And don’t forget, there’s an undeniable thrill in being desired. It’s powerful.”
The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, a swirl of excitement and apprehension. “What if I don’t want to be desired by everyone?” she asked, her voice softer now.
“Then let them desire you in a way that doesn’t compromise who you are,” he replied, tenderness creeping into his tone. “You define the narrative. You get to choose how much or how little you want to reveal. Just a little taste can leave them wanting more without giving it all away.”
Alia took a deep breath, the idea swirling in her mind. “And what if I like it? What if I enjoy the attention too much?”
“Then we’ll both have to navigate that together,” Varun said, a playful smirk returning to his lips. “I wouldn’t mind sharing the spotlight with you. Just imagine the stories we could tell.”
“Stories, huh?” she mused, her heart racing at the thought. “What kind of stories would they be? The girl who made all the boys lose their minds?”
“Exactly!” he laughed, his enthusiasm infectious. “You could even have a fan club. You’d be the talk of the town. Imagine the power of that kind of attention!”
The teasing tone of their conversation ignited a fire within Alia. “Okay, okay. Maybe I could entertain the idea,” she said, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “But if I do this, you have to promise to keep your friends in line. I don’t want them thinking they can touch me or anything stupid like that.”
“Scout’s honor,” Varun declared, raising his hand in mock salute. “I’ll be your personal bodyguard, ready to swoop in if anyone gets out of line. But let’s be real—you can handle yourself. You’re a force of nature.”
“Just don’t get too distracted by the ‘show,’” she warned, laughter bubbling in her voice. “I’m serious about drawing the line!”
“No promises,” he replied cheekily, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “I might be tempted to enjoy the view.”
Alia shook her head, laughter spilling from her. “You are impossible!”
“Maybe I’m just trying to coax out your inner exhibitionist,” he said, a glint in his eye. “The world deserves to see you shine, Alia. Just think about it: a little bit of fun, a little bit of risk. What could go wrong?”
“Only everything,” Alia said, though a smile broke through the feigned seriousness in her voice. “But maybe... just maybe, I could give it a shot.”
“Now that’s the spirit! Let’s go find you that outfit and unleash your inner goddess.”
With renewed excitement, they turned back toward the market, ready to explore the possibilities that lay ahead, tension simmering deliciously between them as they navigated their playful dance of desire and self-discovery.
Alia strolled through the bustling market, the vibrant colors of the stalls enveloping her like a canvas. With each step, her body-hugging salwar kameez accentuated her curves, while her dupatta danced playfully in the air, catching the light as it flowed behind her. Varun’s gaze lingered, drawn not just by her beauty but the way people around them couldn’t help but steal glances, some openly admiring, others discreetly envious.
As they paused by a stall overflowing with vibrant bangles, Varun leaned in, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You know, if you wear that this weekend when I introduce you to my friends, they might not be able to focus on anything else. It’s too stunning not to get noticed.”
Alia’s cheeks grew warm. She dropped her gaze, feigning sudden interest in the glass display, the shimmering bands of color blending into a blur. “It’s just an outfit,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She twisted the end of her dupatta between her fingers, searching for a safe topic, some way to steer the conversation away from herself. “They have so many designs here. Maybe you should pick some for your sister,” she tried.
But Varun was relentless, his amusement obvious. “No, really. You should come as you are. You have no idea how these guys get—they’ll start making up poetry on the spot. At least let me have the bragging rights for a day.” The pride in his voice made her bristle, not for lack of affection, but for the spectacle he seemed to crave.
She shot him a pointed look, annoyed at how easily he seemed to ignore her discomfort. “I don’t think I want togo to your friends’ party if they’re only going to talk about my—” She hesitated, flushing, unable to say the word she knew Varun was thinking. Figure? Looks? She hated how, with him, the whole of her seemed to shrink to just the outline of her body.
Varun scratched his jaw, eyes darting across her face, then to the racks of bangles as if searching for something to say. “You don’t know them. They’re not like that. I mean, they’ll probably joke around, but it’s nothing bad. Just boys being stupid, it’s no harm they looking at your body”
Alia shocked “ what”
Yeah that’s ok even im getting excited for that.
for what, your friend ogling my body, you going to get excited. Sexually? alia asks
I dont know. I just felt excited when that guy passes by looks at your boobs when your dupatta flying in air
The shopkeeper, a mustached man with a thinning patch of hair, gave Alia a glance that stuck to her like sweat. His smile stretched wide, teeth stained by paan, and when she leaned in to inspect the bangles, his gaze dropped, then climbed, flickering up and down her torso in a pattern as practiced as his sales pitch. He pretended to busy his hands untangling a stack of glass bangles, but she could feel the heat of his attention, the way it made her skin prickle beneath the fabric.
Varun, oblivious or pretending to be, kept up a steady stream of commentary about which colors would match, what his mother might think, how his friends would absolutely lose it if she wore “that green one, the one like emeralds.” Alia managed tight nods, letting the shopkeeper slip a blue set over her wrist, his thumb brushing too long against her pulse. She didn’t pull away. A strange current charged
As Varun slipped the box of bangles into a paper bag, Alia edged closer to the counter, acutely aware of the shopkeeper’s lingering stare. It wasn’t subtle. His gaze crawled the length of her arm, trailed over the curve at her boobs, then darted away only when she met his eyes in the scratched glass. No apology. Just a quick, greedy flicker. Heat bloomed ugly and bright in her chest. One part of her wanted to grab Varun’s arm and drag him out, but another, meaner part almost relished the man’s reaction, the power in how a simple flicker of fabric could make even a stranger forget himself.
When they finally stepped away from the stall, Alia's mind buzzed. The shopkeeper's eyes had been on her the entire time, drinking her in like she was something to be consumed. Not just a passing glance like the others in the market—this had been deliberate, lingering, hungry. She could still feel the ghost of his thumb on her boobs
They walked in silence for a few paces before Alia tugged Varun toward a quieter corner near a closed tea stall, away from the crowd's ears.
"Did you see that?" she asked, her voice tight but curious. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Varun's lips curled into a knowing smile. "The shopkeeper? Yeah. He couldn't take his eyes off you. Kept staring at your boobs when you bent forward."
Alia's breath caught. She pressed a palm to her stomach, feeling the warmth there intensify. "I thought I was imagining it. But he was... he was really looking, na?"
"Alia." Varun stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Everyone looks. You just never notice. That guy practically forgot how to count money when you were standing there."
She bit her lower lip, processing this. All these years she had dressed modestly, kept her head down, convinced herself she was ordinary. But today—the man on the street, the shopkeeper with his paan-stained grin, even the way Varun was watching her now with that hunger barely concealed—it painted a different picture.
"That shopkeeper... he was old enough to be my father," she murmured, but there was no disgust in her voice, only wonder. "And still he couldn't keep his eyes off my body."
"Nobody can," Varun said. His hand found the small of her back, warm through the thin fabric. "Now you understand what I've been saying. When we go to that party, every single one of my friends is going to be looking at you exactly like that. Maybe worse."
"So I'm..." She trailed off, unable to finish.
"Hot," Varun supplied, his voice rough. "You're incredibly hot. And when men see you, they can't help themselves. Their eyes just go to your body. Your curves. The way this kameez hugs everything."
Alia swallowed hard. A strange thrill ran down her spine, mingling with the embarrassment she expected to feel but somehow didn't. "And you like that? You like when they stare at me?"
Varun's jaw tightened. He nodded slowly. "I don't know why, but yes. Seeing that shopkeeper undressing you with his eyes... it did something to me."
Alia swallowed hard. The warmth spreading through her belly wasn't entirely unpleasant. "And you... you really like this? Knowing other men are looking at me like that?"And that excites you? Truly?"
Varun's eyes darkened, and he nodded again, slower this time. "Yes. Truly."
Alia let out a shaky breath, her mind racing. The confession hung between them, heavy and electric. She understood now—what he wanted, what stirred something primal in him. But understanding didn't mean agreeing.
"I'm not wearing this to meet your friends," she said, her voice firmer than she expected.
Varun blinked, the hungry look in his eyes flickering into confusion. "What? But you just—"
"That shopkeeper was a stranger, Varun." She crossed her arms over her boobs, suddenly aware of how the fabric stretched across her breasts. "I'll never see him again. Your friends? They know you. They know me. It's different."
"How is it different?" He stepped closer, frustration creeping into his tone. "You felt it just now. You liked it when he looked at you."
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she held her ground. "That doesn't mean I want your friends staring at my body every time we meet. They'll talk. They'll remember. Every gathering after this, they'll be looking at me like... like..."
"Like you're beautiful?" Varun offered, his voice softening.
"Like I'm something to ogle." She shook her head, the dupatta sliding off one shoulder. She yanked it back into place. "There's a difference."
Varun exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Alia, listen. These are my closest friends. They're not going to disrespect you. A few looks"
"Few looks?" She laughed, "You just told me watching that old shopkeeper undress me with his eyes excited you. And now you want your friends to do the same thing? While you sit there getting... getting aroused?"
"No. That's not—" He stopped, frustration bleeding into his features. "Alia, please. Just this once. You don't have to wear anything revealing. Just... this. What you're wearing now. That's all I'm asking."
She looked down at herself—the way the kameez clung to her waist, how the fabric outlined her boobs in a more hot way and the swell of her hips. It wasn't revealing by any standard but still hot. After what had just happened, after feeling those eyes on her, she knew exactly what this outfit could do.
"Your friends aren't strangers," she repeated, quieter now. "I have to face them again and again. I can't just—"
"You're overthinking this." Varun stepped closer, his hand reaching for her elbow. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either. "They're my friends. Good guys. They won't be creepy about it."
"You won't have to do anything," Varun interrupted, his hand finding hers. His thumb traced circles on her palm, gentle, coaxing. "Just be yourself. Just wear this. If it happens to be this that day, then... then let it happen. You don't have to perform. Just exist."
Alia's resolve wavered. His touch was warm, familiar, and the earnestness in his voice tugged at something deep inside her. She wanted to please him. She always had. But this...
She searched his face for any sign of deception, any hint that this was just a game to him. All she found was that same hungry devotion, that desperate need for her to understand, to participate in whatever fantasy was unfolding in his mind.
"Fine," she heard herself say, and immediately regretted it.
Varun's face lit up. "Really? You'll—"
"I said fine." She pulled her hand from his, wrapping both arms around herself. "But I'm not okay with this, Varun. I want you to know that. I'm doing this for you, not because I want a bunch of men staring at my body."
"Maybe." His thumb traced small circles on her arm. "But isn't that... doesn't part of you like it? Even a little? The way that shopkeeper couldn't stop himself?"
Alia's stomach twisted. That was the problem, wasn't it? Some treacherous part of her had liked it—the power, the attention, the proof that she wasn't as invisible as she'd always believed. But this was different.
“No, I was just lost in thoughts” She said
"A stranger's eyes don't follow me home," she said quietly. "Your friends will. Every time we meet, I'll feel what they might thinking. What they've seen. What they might imagine."
"It's okay if you did." His voice dropped, intimate. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying attention. With feeling desirable. Why should that only happen with strangers? Why can't you feel that way around people who actually matter?"
Her face flamed. "That's not—I didn't—"
Alia nodded stiffly, her stomach churned. She wasn't okay. Not even close. The thought of walking into a room full of Varun's friends, knowing what he wanted, knowing they would be looking at her the way that shopkeeper had looked—it
Varun was silent for a moment. Then he tried again, his voice softer now. "What if I promised to stay right beside you the whole time? Make sure no one crosses a line?"
"That's not the point," She pulled her arm free, hugging herself. "I'll know, Varun. I'll know they're looking at me like... like I'm something to be looked at. Not your girlfriend. Not a person. Just a body in a tight outfit."
"You are a person. The most beautiful person I know." He cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "And maybe I want them to see that. To see what I have. Is that so wrong?"
Alia searched his eyes, looking for something—reassurance, maybe, or understanding. She found only that hungry gleam she'd seen earlier.
"I'm not okay with this," she whispered. "I'm really not."
Varun's expression faltered. "Alia—"
"I'll come to the party. But I'm wearing something else. Something loose. Something that doesn't make me feel like I'm on display." Her voice trembled but held firm. "If you can't accept that, then maybe I shouldn't come at all."
The words hung between them, heavy as the humid market air. Alia's pulse pounded in her throat. She could see Varun calculating, weighing his disappointment against her discomfort, and she hated that he even had to think about it.
Finally, he exhaled. "Okay. Whatever you want to wear. I just... I thought you might enjoy it."
"I don't." The lie burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Whatever confused thrill she'd felt with the shopkeeper, she wasn't ready to explore it with people who would remember her face. "Not like this. Not with them."
Alia knew this conversation wasn't over. The seed had been planted, and no matter how firmly she refused, some part of her would keep turning it over in her mind, wondering what it would feel like to walk into that room and let herself be seen. just a thought.
And yet, as they made their way back through the crowded market, Alia caught herself noticing every glance that came her way—the vegetable seller whose eyes lingered too long, the young man on his scooter who nearly crashed into a cart while staring. Each look felt like a small fire lit beneath her skin, and she couldn't tell anymore if she wanted to douse the flames or let them spread.
Varun isn’t noticing anyone, his mind is full of alia, stops walking. His hand catches her wrist, gentle but insistent, and when Alia turns to face him, something in his expression has shifted. The hunger is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it's tempered now by something softer. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
"Alia." His voice is quiet, almost lost beneath the din of haggling vendors and honking scooters. "I'm sorry."
She blinks, caught off guard. "What?"
"I pushed too hard." He releases her wrist, shoving his hands into his pockets like he doesn't trust them. "I got caught up in... I don't know. The idea of it. But I didn't think about how it made you feel. That was wrong."
The words settle over her like a cool breeze cutting through the market's oppressive heat. She hadn't expected an apology—not really. Varun isn't the type to back down easily, to admit when he's crossed a line. Yet here he is, shoulders slightly hunched, avoiding her eyes the way he does when he knows he's messed up.
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he continues, his voice rough. "Not for me. Not for anyone. If you want to wear something normal to the party, wear something normal. I'll still be the luckiest guy in the room."
Alia feels something loosen in her chest, a knot she hadn't realized had formed. "You mean that?"
"I mean it." He finally meets her gaze, and there's sincerity there, raw and unguarded. "We'll figure this out together, okay? Find something you actually feel good in. Something that's... I don't know... balanced? Hot enough that I can still brag a little, but comfortable enough that you're not spending the whole night wanting to disappear."
A small laugh escapes her, surprising them both. "Hot enough to brag about? That's your compromise?"
Varun grins, the tension between them dissolving like sugar in chai. "I'm still me, Alia. Can't expect miracles."
She shakes her head, but she's smiling now, the weight of the argument lifting from her shoulders. "Fine. We'll find a balance. But I get final say."
"Obviously." He reaches for her hand again, and this time she lets him take it. "You always do."
They resume walking, their fingers intertwined, and the market seems less suffocating now. The colors are brighter, the chaos more manageable. Alia feels something settle between them—not resolution, exactly, but a truce. A promise to navigate this strange territory together.
But as they round the corner toward the market's exit. alia feels a shock
The bangle stall.
They have to pass right by it. There's no other way out, not without backtracking through the entire maze of vendors. She can already see the shopkeeper, His mustache twitches as he spots them approaching, and that same calculating smile spreads across his face.
Varun notices too. She feels his grip tighten on her hand, and when she glances up, there's a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes her immediately suspicious.
"Don't," she warns.
"Don't what?" His voice is too innocent. Far too innocent.
"Whatever you're thinking. Don't."
But they're already close enough that the shopkeeper has straightened up, his paan-stained grin widening as his gaze lands on Alia. She can feel it like a physical touch—the way his eyes trace the line of her hips, linger on her chest, climb back up to her face with absolutely no shame.
"Arre, madam! You came back!" His voice carries across the narrow lane. "Changed your mind about more bangles? I have new stock—pink glass, very delicate"
Alia keeps walking, but Varun slows their pace just enough to be annoying. "Actually, uncle," he calls out, his voice friendly, conversational, "she was just saying how much she enjoyed your shop earlier."
Alia digs her nails into his palm. He doesn't even flinch.
"Is it?" The shopkeeper's smile turns oily. "Madam has good taste. Very sophisticated. Not like these other girls who don't know quality." His eyes drop again, and Alia feels her skin crawl and flush simultaneously. "You come anytime, madam. I give you special discount. Family price."
"So generous, uncle," Varun says, and Alia wants to strangle him. "She might take you up on that. She was very impressed with your... selection."
"Varun," she hisses under her breath.
He leans closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Uncle really liked you, na? Look at him. He's practically drooling."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." His thumb strokes the back of her hand, a gentle counterpoint to his teasing. "You're blushing."
She is. She can feel the heat spreading across her cheeks, down her neck, and she hates that he's right. Hates that some treacherous part of her is responding to this—to the shopkeeper's hungry gaze, to Varun's whispered commentary, to the strange power of being wanted so openly.
"Uncle's probably going to dream about you tonight," Varun murmurs, still low enough that only she can hear. "That tight kameez. The way your dupatta kept slipping. He's definitely going to remember."
"You're terrible." But her voice lacks conviction.
The shopkeeper waves as they pass, his eyes following Alia until they round the next corner. She can still feel the weight of his gaze, sticky and warm against her skin.
"See?" Varun says, pulling her closer as they finally escape into a quieter lane. "That's what I mean. You don't even have to try. Men just... react to you."
Alia doesn't respond. She's too busy wrestling with the chaos inside her—the disgust and the thrill, the shame and the secret satisfaction. The shopkeeper was old, crude, everything she should find repulsive. And yet.
And yet.
"You're thinking about it," Varun says softly.
"I'm thinking about how I'm going to murder you in your sleep." alia says
“Oh, come on!” Varun laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know there’s a part of you that’s curious about it. The thrill of being seen, of being desired. It’s like a secret superpower.”
Alia rolled her eyes, but her heart raced at the thought. “That’s not what I want! I want to be respected, not just looked at like... like a piece of meat.”
“Respect? Sure,” Varun said, raising an eyebrow. “But what if you could embrace the attention without losing yourself? What if you could own it? You know, like an exhibitionist. Let everyone appreciate the view.”
“Exhibitionist? Are you serious?” Alia scoffed, but she felt her pulse quicken at the idea. “That’s not me!”
“Maybe not yet,” he shot back, his teasing tone turning more serious. “But don’t you feel that thrill? The idea of being on display, of knowing someone is captivated by you? You could make them squirm without even trying.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” she stammered, trying to mask the flutter of intrigue in her stomach. “I don’t want to be that person.”
“Why not? It could be fun!” Varun leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Imagine the adrenaline rush, the way your heart races. You could walk past that shopkeeper and watch him choke on his words as you strut by.”
Her cheeks heated at the thought, the image igniting something within her. “You think that’s fun?”
“Absolutely! You’d be in control,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Every lingering glance, every distracted moment would be yours to command. Just picture it—you owning the room, making it clear that you’re not just a pretty face. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
Alia felt a mix of thrill and anxiety swirling inside her. “You’re just trying to get me worked up,” she said, but the playful challenge in his eyes made her pulse race.
“Maybe I am,” Varun said, smirking. “But I think you secretly love it. The idea of pushing boundaries, of being bold. It’s hot, Alia. We both know it.”
“Hot? Is that what you call it?” she shot back, half-sarcastic but undeniably intrigued.
“Exactly,” he replied, unabashed. “And if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just think about it—being the woman everyone wants but can’t have. How empowering is that?”
Alia swallowed hard, the tension between them crackling. “You’re really pushing it, you know.”
“Good,” he said, leaning even closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Because I think it’s time you explore that side of yourself. Open up to the idea of being wanted, of being seen—not just by me, but by everyone.”
As his words hung in the air, Alia felt a rush of conflicting emotions. The thrill of the idea combined with the uncertainty of how far she was willing to go ignited a fire within her. Maybe, just maybe, Varun was onto something.
The playful banter continued, but the stakes had shifted. Now, the conversation was no longer just about teasing; it was about touching on desires that had remained unspoken, simmering just below the surface.
Alia felt her heart race at his words, the tension thickening as Varun leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s the worst that could happen? A few whispers? You handle those like a champ. Besides, you’d have me right there to fend off any unwanted attention.”
“Fend off? You mean you’ll be right there enjoying the show,” she retorted, crossing her arms but unable to hide her smile.
“Can you blame me?” he said, feigning innocence. “You strutting in that outfit would drive any man mad. I’d be the proud boyfriend, soaking in all the envy.”
“Envy? Or embarrassment?” Alia shot back, a teasing tone in her voice. “I’ll be the one turning fifty shades of red.”
“Red looks good on you,” he replied, his gaze warm and unyielding. “Imagine them all watching as you enter. The way your dupatta floats behind you, the way the fabric clings just enough to highlight your curves. It’s like you’d be the main act, and everyone else would be the supporting cast.”
“Varun!” Alia laughed, her cheeks flushing at the thought. “You’re making it sound like I’d be walking onto a catwalk!”
“Why not? You’ve got the confidence for it! Just think how liberating it would feel to step into that spotlight, even if just for a moment. To let go of all the inhibitions and just embrace it.”
“Liberating? More like terrifying,” she replied, her heart racing at the thought. “What if I trip? Or worse, what if I get too much attention?”
Varun leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Then you’ll handle it like the queen you are. You’ll own that moment, and everyone will remember it. I’d be right there, cheering for you, ready to remind anyone who looks too long that you’re taken.”
Alia’s breath hitched at his words, the heat between them igniting something deeper. “You really think I could do that?”
“Absolutely. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers. “And don’t forget, there’s an undeniable thrill in being desired. It’s powerful.”
The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, a swirl of excitement and apprehension. “What if I don’t want to be desired by everyone?” she asked, her voice softer now.
“Then let them desire you in a way that doesn’t compromise who you are,” he replied, tenderness creeping into his tone. “You define the narrative. You get to choose how much or how little you want to reveal. Just a little taste can leave them wanting more without giving it all away.”
Alia took a deep breath, the idea swirling in her mind. “And what if I like it? What if I enjoy the attention too much?”
“Then we’ll both have to navigate that together,” Varun said, a playful smirk returning to his lips. “I wouldn’t mind sharing the spotlight with you. Just imagine the stories we could tell.”
“Stories, huh?” she mused, her heart racing at the thought. “What kind of stories would they be? The girl who made all the boys lose their minds?”
“Exactly!” he laughed, his enthusiasm infectious. “You could even have a fan club. You’d be the talk of the town. Imagine the power of that kind of attention!”
The teasing tone of their conversation ignited a fire within Alia. “Okay, okay. Maybe I could entertain the idea,” she said, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. “But if I do this, you have to promise to keep your friends in line. I don’t want them thinking they can touch me or anything stupid like that.”
“Scout’s honor,” Varun declared, raising his hand in mock salute. “I’ll be your personal bodyguard, ready to swoop in if anyone gets out of line. But let’s be real—you can handle yourself. You’re a force of nature.”
“Just don’t get too distracted by the ‘show,’” she warned, laughter bubbling in her voice. “I’m serious about drawing the line!”
“No promises,” he replied cheekily, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “I might be tempted to enjoy the view.”
Alia shook her head, laughter spilling from her. “You are impossible!”
“Maybe I’m just trying to coax out your inner exhibitionist,” he said, a glint in his eye. “The world deserves to see you shine, Alia. Just think about it: a little bit of fun, a little bit of risk. What could go wrong?”
“Only everything,” Alia said, though a smile broke through the feigned seriousness in her voice. “But maybe... just maybe, I could give it a shot.”
“Now that’s the spirit! Let’s go find you that outfit and unleash your inner goddess.”
With renewed excitement, they turned back toward the market, ready to explore the possibilities that lay ahead, tension simmering deliciously between them as they navigated their playful dance of desire and self-discovery.
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