Misc. Erotica After the Ashes

[krish_999]

Hello guys. I'm making a small announcement about my next story. 


After the Ashes


It is a short story that I've been jolting down during my free ' travels. It's shaping towards completion. Like I had said earlier, it would be less than 15 chapters. 
Hopefully you will like it like my other stories. 
Love. Krish.

Chapter release date: 
Chapter 1: 31 January 26✓
Chapter 2: 04 February 26✓
Chapter 3: 09 February 26

[PELURI]

welcome back Krish....great news

[Eswarraj3372]

Welcome Krish.... please start the store

[Vikadakavi]

Welcome back krish...waiting for the updates

[nooki]

Thanks sir after so long we hear something from your side.

[nooki]

The title of this story is looks very promising and hopefully also be a masterpiece.

[DianKeht]

Thanks a lot!

[nooki]

Sir if it is possible for you pls share the schedule of this mini series/ story. When will it be started.?

[Self_hater]

Waiting   Update soon

[PELURI]

hurry up krish...you are away for too long..

[krish_999]

Thanks for the response, guys.
I am planning frequent posts for this story. This time I hope I will succeed.
For a change, I will tell you when the next chapter will be posted. I will add the date on the first post as you can see. When I post first chapter, I will tell when I will post the second and so on. 
Thanks again guys!

[nooki]

Waiting 31 jan impataintly, sir

[krish_999]

AFTER THE ASHES

Chapter 1

The sky was bright in Dubai that morning, but Anjali sat in the dark. Luggage was packed in the night already.
She didn't even try to open the curtains to see if it was day or night. The air conditioner was on, but she didn't notice the chill. It had been like that for a while. Since her return from India after the funeral of her husband, who passed away in a gruesome accident in Dubai, it was as if all her feelings had gone numb. Days of crying had left her empty, and now there was just a dull ache in her chest. Everything sounded too quiet and purposeless.
It happened three weeks ago when Vinayak went to the airport to receive his mother. She had just arrived from India and would stay with them for a week. Anjali was supposed to go along, but Vinayak called, "You take rest, Anjali. I'll get her on my way home."
That was the last words she heard from him, except for his voice that still echoed around her.
Their cab never made it back. A truck lost control and crashed into their car on the highway. Both Vinayak and his mother were killed instantly. Anjali was home, making tea and making the bed for her mother-in-law. By the time she heard the doorbell, her world had changed.
She kept thinking about staying home that day. That one choice meant she was alive now - but sometimes she wondered if that was really lucky. She survived, but everything that mattered had gone.
Vinayak's business shut down soon after. His team made some effort to continue, only to learn that it was impossible. He had been the glue holding everything together. When Anjali returned after the funeral in India, she had thought about helping. She thought it was her purpose to continue what Vinayak had started, but she couldn't even walk into his office. Her legs felt too heavy. So she packed everything, sold what she could, and left the rest for the lawyers to sort out. After that, there was no reason to stay in Dubai anymore.
Arriving in Pune, the heat and traffic felt too bright after her many weeks of indoor stay. Vinayak's father, Madhav, had come to pick her up. He looked older and thinner than she ever remembered. The pain was right there in his eyes. He had always been Dad to her after she married Vinayak. She wanted to run to him, but her throat closed up. She could only stare at him. No words.
Neither of them said anything on the drive home.
She had asked her parents not to bother coming to the airport. She wanted the arrival to be quiet. She was going to stay in Vinayak's house after returning.
The house in Pune still looked the same - neat garden, familiar nameplate, and the trace of incense. But a sense of emptiness hung in the air, like someone had opened a window and let all the life disappear.
Their maid, Shalini, had arranged her bedroom. It was the same room she and Vinayak used to stay during their brief stay in India after marriage. The room looked different altogether, making Anjali think there had been a conscious effort to help her from falling back into memories and the pain they evoked. The layout of the room, including the mat on the floor, was changed. However, when Anjali opened the window, she spotted the guava tree in the backyard, only to remember how Vinayak used to boast about having planted that tree by himself years ago. She stood there and cried silently.
That night, they ate in near silence. Madhav pushed food around his plate, barely touching anything. If Anjali asked a question, he answered, but that was it. She realised that he wasn't just tired. Perhaps he had lost more than her. Along with his lone son, he had lost his wife too, at this juncture of a lifetime. If grief were a game, he had been thrashed to defeat at the mid-break itself, beyond any scope of a comeback.
The next day, expectedly, Anjali's father called.
"Come home, dear. It'll help you." Manohar said.
Anjali walked out to the lawn. Madhav was there, watering the plants, even though it had rained the previous night. His mind was somewhere else.
"No, daddy," Anjali said. "I'll stay. Vinayak's papa needs support, and only I can help him."
When some relatives visited, they tried to compliment her, saying that she was a good daughter-in-law for staying back. Anjali thanked them for the nice words. But their words brought no relief to what she was feeling inside. She knew their grief wasn't the same as the one she shared with Madhav.
In the nights that followed, she would find herself sitting quietly in the living room, thinking about Vinayak and Sharadha, his mom, and how much things had changed. She noticed how Madhav still kept his wife's saree in the pooja room and spent long minutes in front of Vinayak's photo until the candle burned out. She felt he was trying to question the God. A silent conversation, a confrontation, was going on every day.
His sorrow didn't need words. Anjali was convinced that she wasn't alone in her pain. And she was convinced that her pain wasn't just about how she lost her husband. It was also about how Madhav had lost even more.

One night, on her way to get water, she noticed a light still on. Madhav was sitting on the sofa, holding an old photo, shoulders shaking. For a moment, Anjali just stood there in the doorway.
Then she moved closer, unsure what to say or do.
Madhav didn’t hear her come in. Anjali noticed that the photo in his hand had a cracked frame. It was an old beach trip photo - his wife smiling in the center, Vinayak holding her waist, Anjali at the right side, and Madhav’s hands on their shoulders.
Now, two of them were gone. That's half the family. Anjali stood quietly, not wanting to disturb him. But seeing Madhav cry quietly, like a man who’d run out of ways to hold it in, touched something inside her. She hadn’t seen him like this - in the rituals, at the airport, or at dinner. It broke something in her. She sat down beside him, silent. Her hand rested gently on his arm.
He looked up, startled, then softened when he saw her. He wiped his tears and tried to steady his voice.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were awake.”
“It's alright, Dad,” she said softly.
For a while, they just sat. Two broken people, connected by the same loss.
The next morning, Anjali made tea and brought two cups to the living room. Madhav pretended to read the paper.
“Thought you might need this,” she said, placing a cup near him.
He glanced up and gave a small, rare smile. “Thanks.” They sipped in silence. Outside, birds called from the gulmohar tree.
Later, Anjali sorted through Vinayak’s old files in the shelf—documents, business cards, unfinished plans. She set some aside in a folder, unsure if they still mattered.
When Madhav came back from the bank, he saw the folder on the table.“You found these?”
She nodded. “Thought they might help if you want to try restart his business.”
He stared at it, sighed. “I'm a businessman but I haven’t been involved in any part of his. He had his own ideas. And I don't know if I'm left with the kind of energy to chase them now.”
“You don’t have to do it all at once,” she said. “We’ll take it slow.”
That “we” hung in the air longer than either expected. He noticed; she didn’t take it back.
Days passed. A quiet rhythm settled.
They shared breakfast, worked on files, took slow walks in the yard. Sometimes they spoke little; sometimes one sentence was enough.

On the fifth evening, after dinner, they watched a cooking show his wife used to love.
“I don’t know how she managed it all,” Madhav said. “Work, temple, Vinayak, me... and still smiling.”
Anjali smiled softly. “She called me every day, even just to ask what I had for breakfast.”
They laughed, the first time in weeks. Though the laughter faded quickly, they both remembered that they laughed. The silence afterward felt tender.
That weekend, relatives came - two aunts and a cousin - with fruits and kind words, followed by whispers in the kitchen.
“You’re lucky to have her,” one aunt told Madhav. “Most girls would have run home. She’s here, caring for you like a daughter.”
Madhav nodded but looked at Anjali, folding a clothe quietly in the corner. She didn’t turn, but he knew she heard.
At dinner, he said softly, “You don’t have to stay out of duty or pressure. If you want to be with your parents, I won’t stop you.”
She looked up, surprised. “No, Dad. I’m here because I want to be. This house and life... it’s all I have left.”
He studied her a long moment, then nodded.

Later, she turned off the kitchen light and walked toward her room. Her feet brushed the cold floor tiles quietly. But she stopped at Madhav’s door - it was ajar, like before. Streetlight cast a dim glow through the curtain, and she saw him lying curled up without a blanket.
His shoulders shook every few seconds, breath uneven. Sleep hadn’t spared him from pain. The blanket lay near his feet.
Anjali stood there, watching him struggle with the unknown. A soft ache stirred inside her - a quiet urge to go to him, to hold him close and maybe stop his shivering. Maybe it would stop hers too. She’d been cold in her own room only moments before.
It wasn’t desire - such emotions were dead already. It was a need for comfort, closeness. Warmth only lonely people could offer.
She stepped in gently, picked up the blanket and covered him, tucking it around his shoulders. Madhav stirred briefly, then stillness returned. Anjali stood there, watching him with a sense of fondness. She felt calm and content with an unknown feeling she couldn’t name.
And then she left the room.

[xfirefox]

nice start carry on

[amirrulezmir]

Keep going, good start

[vishuvanathan]

Great start indeed. Hope this is not incest story?

[hotandluking]

Is this incest or what?
Please no.

[NovelNavel]

I hope this old dog is not good enough for Anjali. A new person joins the company or a man crosses her path and make her fall for him.

[Jayam Ramana]

Very good

[Aladdin_Aur_Jadui_Chirag]

Your story cuckold
Wife hasband
Boss other companies affairs please stry this story to allrounder writer you boss