[zeus90]

Character Names
Girl: Simran 
Age: 25
Background:  12th pass, brave, emotional, strong-minded. She believes love can defeat society, but Delhi slowly teaches her that love without courage becomes a burden.
Boy: Ravi Kumar
Age: 24/25
Background:  unemployed, soft-hearted but scared. He loves Simran, but he avoids conflict and does not understand how dangerous the world can be for a woman in a weak situation.

---

Chapter 1: Delhi Ka Darwaza
(Delhi’s Door)
Simran had never stepped outside her pind (village) without telling anyone.
But that night, she walked out like someone who had already burned the bridge behind her.
A small black bag hung from her shoulder. Inside it were two Punjabi suits, her 12th class certificates, one old phone charger, and a folded photo of her mother that she had almost left behind. Her hands were shaking, but her eyes were not.
At the bus stand, Ravi Kumar waited near a tea stall, wearing a faded blue jacket and holding a small backpack. He looked more frightened than excited.
“Simran… pakka?” (Simran… are you sure?) he asked softly.
Simran looked at him. “Ab pichhe nahi mudna.” (Now we can’t turn back.)
Ravi swallowed. “Tere ghar wale… mere pichhe aa gaye toh?” (What if your family comes after me?)
She stepped closer. “Mere liye darr lag raha hai ya apne liye?” (Are you scared for me or for yourself?)
Ravi had no answer.
They had only ₹20,000 between them. Simran had saved most of it from small tuition work. Ravi had brought a few thousand from home, hidden in an old wallet.
Their dream was simple.
Reach Delhi. Find work. Save money. Do court marriage later, when they had documents, money, and some stability.
For now, they would pretend to be married.
Not because they were careless.
Because the world respected a fake marriage more than a woman’s real choice.
The bus left before sunrise.
Simran watched the fields disappear through the dusty window. Mustard fields, small houses, tube wells, familiar roads, everything slipped away like pages torn from an old diary.
Ravi sat beside her, quiet. His fingers kept checking the wallet again and again.
“Paise hain,” (We have money.) Simran said, noticing him.
“Bas itne se kya hoga?” (What will happen with only this much?) Ravi whispered.
Simran looked outside.
“Shuruaat hogi.” (It will be a beginning.)

---

Delhi
Delhi did not welcome them.
It swallowed them.
The noise hit first. Horns, shouting, vendors, engines, footsteps, announcements. At the station, people moved like floodwater. Nobody looked at anyone for more than half a second. Nobody cared that two young lovers had arrived with fear in their bags and hope in their pockets.
Ravi stood still, confused.
“Kahan jaana hai?” (Where do we have to go?) Simran asked.
“Main… main soch raha tha…” (I… I was thinking…) he muttered.
Simran’s face changed. “Ravi, tumne plan nahi banaya?” (Ravi, you didn’t make a plan?)
“Main socha tha Delhi aa ke koi kaam mil jayega.” (I thought after coming to Delhi, we would find some work.)
For the first time, Simran felt something cold enter her chest.
Not fear.
Realization.
Ravi had brought love.
But not a plan.
They walked through crowded roads, narrow lanes, hotel streets, and cheap markets. Simran’s body felt heavy from the journey. Her face looked tired, like one more step and she would fall straight into bed if she found one.
She wore a simple Punjabi suit, pale pink with a light dupatta (scarf). The bus journey had crushed the fabric. Her hair had loosened around her forehead. One side of her dupatta had slipped from her shoulder, and she quickly fixed it.
It was a small thing.
But in Delhi, even small things had eyes.
Men sitting outside tea stalls watched.
Some looked away when she looked back.
Some did not.
Ravi noticed nothing.
That worried her more.

---

Shanti Stay Rooms
Near Paharganj, after walking for hours, they found a small hotel behind a narrow staircase.
The board outside was half broken:
Shanti Stay Rooms
The owner was a thin man in his late forties with oily hair and paan-stained lips. His name was Mahesh.
“How many days?” Mahesh asked.
“Bas kuch din.” (Just a few days.) Ravi said.
“ID?”
Simran gave her Aadhaar card. Ravi gave his.
Mahesh looked at both cards, then at their faces.
“Husband-wife?”
Ravi froze.
Simran answered, “Haan.” (Yes.)
Mahesh smiled like he did not believe her, but he did not ask for a marriage certificate.
He only wanted money.
“Advance four days. ₹4,000. Room ₹1,000 per day. Paani alag. Koi drama nahi chahiye.”
(Four days advance. ₹4,000. Room is ₹1,000 per day. Water is extra. I don’t want any drama.)
Ravi whispered, “Bahut mehnga hai.” (It is very expensive.)
Simran looked at the lane outside. Men were staring. The station was worse. The day had already eaten their strength.
She opened her purse.
“Four days,” she said.
Mahesh took the money and handed them a key.
“Room 207.”
The room was small, with one bed, a cracked mirror, a fan that made a tired noise, and a window that opened to a wall. The bedsheet had old stains. The bathroom tap leaked drop by drop.
But to Simran, for that moment, it felt like a door between her and the wolves outside.
She dropped her bag near the bed and sat down slowly.
Her bones felt empty.
Ravi sat beside her and exhaled.
“Bas Simran, ab sab theek ho jayega.” (That’s it, Simran. Now everything will be fine.)
She looked at him.
The room was quiet, but the city was not.
Outside, Mahesh’s voice echoed in the corridor. Someone laughed. A door closed. Footsteps stopped near their room for a second, then moved away.
Simran locked the door twice.
Then she placed her certificates under the mattress, counted the remaining money, and looked at Ravi.
“Kal se kaam dhoondhna hai. Tum bhi. Main bhi.”
(From tomorrow, we have to find work. You too. Me too.)
Ravi nodded, but his eyes were still full of fear.
That night, for a few hours, Delhi stopped feeling like an enemy.
The room was ugly, the fan made noise, and the window opened to nothing but a stained wall. Still, Simran and Ravi sat close together on the bed, sharing one packet of chips and two cups of tea from downstairs.
Ravi smiled for the first time since they had arrived.
“Simran, jab apna ghar hoga na… main tumhe white curtains laa ke dunga.”
(Simran, when we have our own home… I will bring you white curtains.)
Simran laughed softly. “Pehle ghar toh dhoondh lo. Curtains baad mein.”
(First find a home. Curtains can come later.)
He held her hand. “Tum mere saath ho, bas main sab kar lunga.”
(You are with me, that is enough. I will do everything.)
Simran looked at him.
His words were brave.
His eyes were not.
Still, that night they forgot the money, the station, the hotel owner, the fear. They held each other like two people trying to prove that love was stronger than the city outside.
But morning came with a different face.
And Delhi did not care about love.

---

Kam Ki Talaash
(Search for Work)
Ravi left early to find work.
Simran tried to press his shirt with her hands, smoothing the wrinkles against the mattress.
“Confident lagna.” (Look confident.) she said.
“Main lag raha hoon?” (Do I look confident?) Ravi asked.
Simran fixed his collar. “Thoda.” (A little.)
He smiled weakly.
By afternoon, Ravi returned with dust on his shoes and disappointment on his face.
“Kya hua?” (What happened?) Simran asked.
“Kisi ne rakha nahi. Sab experience poochte hain.”
(Nobody hired me. Everyone asks for experience.)
“Factory?”
“Reference chahiye.” (They want a reference.)
“Shop?”
“Experience chahiye.” (They want experience.)
“Hotel?”
“Local contact chahiye.” (They want a local contact.)
Simran stayed quiet.
The next day he went again.
Same result.
On the third day, he found labour work near a construction site. The contractor gave him bricks to carry, sacks to lift, and shouted every time he slowed down.
Ravi’s body was not made for that kind of work. He had never done hard labour in his life. His hands blistered before evening.
After two days, the contractor pushed ₹600 into his hand and said, “Kal se mat aana. Tu bahut slow hai. Kaam ka nahi.”
(Don’t come from tomorrow. You are too slow. You are not useful for work.)
Ravi came back angry, ashamed, and silent.
Simran saw his hands.
“Yeh kya hua?” (What happened to this?)
“Kuch nahi.” (Nothing.)
“Ravi.”
He threw the money on the bed. “Bas itna mila. Khush?”
(This is all I got. Happy?)
Simran froze.
The room became smaller.
“I didn’t say anything,” she said.
Ravi rubbed his face. “Sorry. Main bas thak gaya hoon.”
(Sorry. I am just tired.)
Simran picked up the money and counted what they had left.
₹20,000 had already fallen badly.
Hotel advance. Food. Tea. Travel. Phone recharge. Small things.
Delhi was eating their money bite by bite.
“Ravi,” she said slowly, “main bhi kaam kar leti hoon.”
(Ravi, I will also start working.)
His head lifted at once. “Nahi.” (No.)
“Why?”
“Tum meri wife ho.” (You are my wife.)
“Wife hoon, prisoner nahi.” (I am your wife, not your prisoner.)
“Main manage kar lunga.” (I will manage.)
Simran looked at the cracked mirror.
“Tum manage kar rahe ho?” (Are you managing?)
Ravi had no answer.
That was the problem.
Ravi loved her, but he did not know how the world worked.
And whenever he did not know what to do, he made decisions that Simran had to pay for later.

---

The Cheap Bar
That evening, Ravi did not come back on time.
Simran waited.
Seven became eight.
Eight became nine.
When he finally entered, she smelled alcohol before he spoke.
“Tumne pee rakhi hai?” (Have you been drinking?) she asked.
“Thodi si.” (A little.) Ravi said.
Her eyes hardened. “Paise nahi hain, aur tum sharab pee rahe ho?”
(We don’t have money, and you are drinking alcohol?)
Ravi sat down, embarrassed. “Bas dimag kharab tha.”
(My mind was just disturbed.)
“Dimag theek karna hai ya life?”
(Do you want to fix your mind or your life?)
Ravi looked away.
At the cheap bar near the labour chowk (labour market area), he had met a man named Billa.
Billa was around forty-five, heavy body, thick moustache, always chewing something. He spoke like a man who had seen too much and cared too little.
“Punjab se hai?” (Are you from Punjab?) Billa had asked.
“Haan.” (Yes.) Ravi said.
“Kaam dhoondh raha?” (Looking for work?)
Ravi nodded.
“Biwi hai?” (Do you have a wife?)
Ravi became careful. “Haan.” (Yes.)
Billa leaned back and smiled.
“Mere paas tere liye kaam nahi. Tu mazboot nahi lagta. Lekin teri biwi ke liye ho sakta hai.”
(I don’t have work for you. You don’t look strong. But there may be work for your wife.)
Ravi’s face changed. “Nahi, meri wife kaam nahi karegi.”
(No, my wife will not work.)
Billa laughed. “Phir bhookh karegi?”
(Then will hunger work for you? / Then will you stay hungry?)
Ravi stayed silent.
Billa continued, “Jahan main garden ka kaam karta hoon, owner ko ghar mein khana banane wali chahiye. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Saaf ghar. Paisa time pe. Safe jagah.”
(Where I work as a gardener, the owner needs someone to cook at home. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Clean house. Money on time. Safe place.)
Ravi did not like the way Billa said wife.
But he liked the word paisa (money).
Billa asked casually, “Sundar hai?” (Is she beautiful?)
Ravi looked at him. “Normal hai.” (She is normal.)
Billa smiled again.
But his mind was already painting a dirty picture.
A young woman.
New in Delhi.
No family.
No marriage papers.
Weak husband.
Money finishing.
Men like Billa did not see helpless people as people.
They saw open doors.
“Poochh le. Agar maan jaaye toh kal le aana.”
(Ask her. If she agrees, bring her tomorrow.)
Ravi said, “Main poochh ke bataunga.”
(I will ask and tell you.)

---

The Decision
That night, Ravi told Simran.
At first, she refused.
“Unknown aadmi ke ghar? Nahi.”
(At an unknown man’s house? No.)
“Main bhi saath chalunga,” Ravi said quickly. “Pehle dekh lenge. Billa keh raha tha owner decent aadmi hai.”
(I will also come with you. First we will see. Billa was saying the owner is a decent man.)
Simran watched him carefully.
“Billa kaun hai?” (Who is Billa?)
“Labour ka aadmi hai. Thoda age mein bada hai. Usne help offer ki.”
(He is a labour man. A little older. He offered help.)
“Free help?” (Free help?)
Ravi became irritated. “Har aadmi bura nahi hota, Simran.”
(Not every man is bad, Simran.)
“Har aadmi achha bhi nahi hota.”
(Not every man is good either.)
Ravi looked at the money on the bed.
Only a few thousand were left.
The hotel was paid for four days, but after that, they had no plan.
The silence made the decision for them.
“Kal chal ke dekhte hain,” Simran said. “Par final decision main karungi.”
(Tomorrow we will go and see. But I will make the final decision.)
Ravi nodded quickly.
“Haan, haan. Bas dekhna.”
(Yes, yes. Just to see.)
But inside, he was relieved.
Simran noticed that too.

---

The Big House
Next morning, Billa came to the lane outside Shanti Stay Rooms.
He wore a brown sweater, loose pants, and old sandals. His belly pushed against his shirt. He smiled at Ravi like an uncle, but his eyes moved toward Simran first.
Simran was wearing a dark green Punjabi suit. Her dupatta was pinned properly now, her hair tied back, her face washed but still tired from stress and poor sleep.
Billa’s eyes travelled over her with no shame.
“Madam ji?” (Madam?) he asked.
Simran did not smile. “Simran.”
“Chalo, owner wait kar raha hai.”
(Come, the owner is waiting.)
They took an auto to a quieter part of Delhi. The roads became wider. The buildings became taller. The noise changed from survival to money.
Then they stopped in front of a large white house with black gates.
Simran looked up.
It was not a house.
It was a different world.
Inside, there was a lawn, trimmed plants, a car under shade, and silence. The kind of silence poor people are never allowed to have.
Ravi stared at the house like a child staring at a fair.
“Yeh ghar hai?” (This is a house?) he whispered.
Simran looked at him.
That look on his face scared her.
Because Ravi had already started trusting the walls.
Billa opened the side gate.
“Main garden sambhalta hoon,” he said proudly. “Owner akela rehta hai.”
(I take care of the garden. The owner lives alone.)
“Family?” Ravi asked.
Billa shrugged. “Divorce ho gaya.” (He got divorced.)
Simran heard that word and stored it quietly.

---

Arvind Malhotra
The owner came out wearing a clean white kurta-pajama and expensive slippers.
His name was Arvind Malhotra.
He was in his early fifties, tall, fair, with a soft voice and cold eyes. At first look, he seemed polite. The kind of man who says beta (child/dear) while calculating your weakness.
Billa bent slightly. “Sir, yahi hai woh couple.”
(Sir, this is that couple.)
Arvind looked at Ravi first.
Then at Simran.
His gaze stayed one second too long.
Simran felt it.
Ravi did not.
Arvind noticed her Punjabi suit, her tired face, the strength in her eyes, and the way she stood slightly ahead of Ravi without realizing it.
Beautiful, he thought.
Not polished city beautiful.
Village beautiful.
Proud.
Tired.
Trapped.
A woman who had left home. A woman without family support. A woman with a weak man beside her.
Arvind’s mind moved quietly.
Help them first.
Make them dependent.
Then the door will close by itself.
“Come,” Arvind said. “Sit.”
They sat in the side verandah. A servant brought water, though Simran noticed the servant did not look anyone in the eye.
Arvind asked normal questions first.
“Where are you from?”
“Punjab,” Ravi said.
“Education?”
“Main 10th pass hoon. Simran 12th pass hai.”
(I am 10th pass. Simran is 12th pass.)
Arvind turned to her. “12th? Then why house work?”
Simran answered before Ravi could speak.
“Kaam chhota nahi hota. Situation chhoti ho sakti hai.”
(Work is never small. Only the situation can be small.)
For a moment, Arvind smiled.
Not with kindness.
With interest.
“Very confident,” he said.
Simran did not reply.
Then Ravi, wanting sympathy, made the first mistake.
“Sir, actually hum ghar se bhaag ke aaye hain. Family marriage ke khilaaf thi.”
(Sir, actually we ran away from home. The family was against our marriage.)
Simran’s eyes snapped toward him.
Ravi continued, nervous and foolish.
“Social problem thi. Yeh rich family se hai… main lower  side se hoon. Isliye…”
(There was a social problem. She is from a family… I am from a lower side. That is why…)
Arvind’s expression changed so slightly that only Simran caught it.
A spark.
Not shock.
Not pity.
Opportunity.
He looked at Simran’s face.
Rich girl, he thought.
Family pride. Social shame. No support. No legal marriage. Weak boy.
A slow plan opened inside his mind.
If she had nowhere to return, then fear would do half the work.
Out loud, he said, “Very sad. Society is cruel.”
Inside, he thought, Cruel society leaves useful cracks.
Simran saw the tiny change in his eyes.
A hunger wearing decent clothes.
She lowered her gaze for one second, not because she was weak, but because she needed to hide the fact that she had understood him.
Arvind leaned back.
“So no family support?”
Ravi shook his head. “No sir.”
“No relatives in Delhi?”
“No sir.”
“No one knows exactly where you are staying?”
Ravi almost answered.
Simran cut in. “People know we are in Delhi.”
Arvind looked at her.
Their eyes met.
He understood she was not easy.
That made him more careful.
And more interested.

---

The Offer
Arvind folded his hands over his stomach.
“Work is simple. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Basic cooking. I will pay ₹7,000 per month.”
Ravi’s face fell. “Sir, thoda zyada…”
(Sir, a little more…)
Arvind lifted one finger. “Listen first. If she does extra house work, cleaning, laundry, other duties, I can increase. Depends on work.”
Simran asked, “Timing?”
“Morning to evening,” Arvind said. “But since you are new in Delhi, staying in hotel will waste money.”
Ravi leaned forward.
Arvind saw it.
The hook had touched skin.
“There is a small room outside the main house,” Arvind said. “Near the back. You both can stay there. Rent ₹10,000 per month.”
Simran immediately understood the trap.
Salary ₹7,000.
Rent ₹10,000.
More work to cover the gap.
More dependence.
More control.
Arvind continued smoothly, “First month I can adjust. Food will also be easier. You people will be safe here. Later, when Ravi gets work, you can manage rent.”
Ravi’s eyes brightened.
A big house.
A room.
Safety.
He heard only those words.
Simran was about to ask more questions.
But Ravi spoke first.
“Sir, woh kab se kaam start kar sakti hai?”
(Sir, when can she start work?)
Simran turned toward him.
Stunned.
Not because he asked.
Because he did not ask her.
For one second, the garden went silent.
Billa smiled from the side.
Arvind smiled too.
Very small.
Hook done, he thought.
Simran looked at Ravi like she was seeing the first crack in a wall she had leaned on.
Arvind said gently, “Tomorrow morning.”
Then he looked at Simran.
“Or today, if she wants to understand the kitchen.”
Simran held his gaze.
“I will see the room first,” she said.
Arvind’s smile stayed polite.
“Of course.”

---

The Outside Room
Billa took them around the side path.
Behind the main house, near the garden tools and water tank, stood a small outside room with a tin shade above it. It had one narrow bed, one old cupboard, one bulb, and a bathroom attached from outside.
Compared to Shanti Stay Rooms, it was cleaner.
Compared to freedom, it was a cage with fresh paint.
Ravi stepped inside and smiled.
“Simran, hotel se better hai.”
(Simran, it is better than the hotel.)
She checked the window.
Bars.
She checked the lock.
It worked from inside, but there was also a latch outside.
“Spare key?” Simran asked.
Billa replied, “Owner ke paas hoti hai. Safety ke liye.”
(The owner keeps it. For safety.)
“Hamari safety ya unki?”
(Our safety or his?)
Billa laughed awkwardly. “Madam ji, aap bahut sochti ho.”
(Madam, you think too much.)
Simran looked at Ravi.
“Tumne mujhse pooche bina haan kyun kar di?”
(Why did you say yes without asking me?)
Ravi frowned. “Haan kahan ki? Bas poocha kab start karegi.”
(When did I say yes? I only asked when she can start.)
“Main kaam karungi. Main rent bharungi. Main is ghar mein rahungi. Aur faisla tum karoge?”
(I will work. I will pay the rent. I will live in this house. And you will make the decision?)
“Main tumhare liye hi toh kar raha hoon.”
(I am doing this for you only.)
That line hit her harder than anger.
Because many men hurt women while believing they are protecting them.
Simran looked at the small room again.
Money was almost finished.
Hotel was unsafe.
Delhi was unknown.
Ravi was weak.
Billa was watching.
Arvind was waiting.
She had no good option.
Only bad options wearing different clothes.
Arvind appeared near the side path, pretending to look at the garden.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Simran answered slowly, “We will move today. Work starts tomorrow.”
Arvind nodded.
“Good decision.”
But his eyes said something else.
Good girl.
Step one.

---

The First Trap
When they walked back to collect their bags from Shanti Stay Rooms, Ravi was almost happy.
“Dekha? Bhagwan ne raasta khol diya.”
(See? God opened a path for us.)
Simran walked beside him, quiet.
“Tumne usko sab kyun bataya?”
(Why did you tell him everything?) she asked.
“Kisko?” (Who?)
“Owner ko.. Ghar se bhaagna. No family support.”
(The owner.  Running away from home. No family support.)
Ravi sighed. “Simran, trust karna padta hai. Without truth, kaun help karega?”
(Simran, we have to trust. Without truth, who will help?)
She stopped walking.
“Ravi, city mein truth bhi paisa hota hai. Galat aadmi ko de do, woh tumhe khareed leta hai.”
(Ravi, in the city, truth is also money. Give it to the wrong man, and he buys you with it.)
Ravi looked hurt. “Tum har kisi pe shak karti ho.”
(You doubt everyone.)
Simran’s voice softened. “Main shak nahi kar rahi. Main bach rahi hoon.”
(I am not doubting. I am surviving.)
But Ravi had already decided this was their chance.
And Simran, with only a few thousand rupees left and no one to call, had no better door to open.
That evening, they packed their bags.
By night, they moved into the outside room behind Arvind Malhotra’s house.
Simran placed her certificates inside the cupboard, then covered them with clothes. She checked the lock twice.
Ravi lay down, relieved.
“Ab sab theek ho jayega.”
(Now everything will be fine.) he said.
Simran did not answer.
Outside, somewhere in the garden, Billa laughed on the phone.
Inside the big house, Arvind stood near a window, watching the small room light turn off.
He had given them shelter.
He had learned their weakness.
And now, quietly, he began planning how to turn both into chains.

---

First Day At Work
Morning came pale and cold.
Simran woke before Ravi.
He was still sleeping, one arm over his face, as if the whole world had finally become peaceful.
For him, a room meant safety.
For Simran, a room meant four walls where nobody would hear her if something went wrong.
She washed her face, tied her hair, and wore a simple cream Punjabi suit. She pinned her dupatta carefully this time. Then she looked into the small mirror.
Her face looked tired.
Not just from sleep.
From decisions she never got to make.
“Dar mat,” she whispered to herself. “Bas aankhen khuli rakh.”
(Don’t be afraid. Just keep your eyes open.)
At 7 AM, she stepped into the main kitchen.
The kitchen was large, clean, and expensive. Steel containers lined the shelves. The fridge was full. There were fruits she had only seen in city stores. Everything had a place.
Everything except her.
Arvind entered quietly behind her.
“Good morning, Simran.”
She turned quickly.
He smiled. “Relax. This is your workplace now.”
Workplace.
The word sounded decent.
But his eyes were not decent.
He walked toward the counter.
“Breakfast simple. Poha, tea, and fruit. Lunch we will discuss.”
She nodded.
Billa appeared near the back door, holding garden scissors. His eyes again moved over her suit, her hands, her face.
“Pehla din mubarak, madam ji.”
(Congratulations on your first day, madam.) he said.
Simran ignored his tone and turned to the stove.
Ravi was still asleep in the outside room.
The man who had brought her here was sleeping.
The men who wanted to use her situation were awake.
And Simran understood, with cold clarity, that Delhi had not trapped her in one big moment.
It had done it slowly.
A bus ticket.
A hotel room.
A finished purse.
A weak lover.
A helpful stranger.
A rich owner.
A room behind a big house.
And now, a kitchen where every door had someone else’s key.
She lit the gas.
The flame rose blue and sharp.
Simran looked at it and made a silent promise.
If this house tried to burn her…
one day, she would learn how to burn it back.

[zeus90]

My dear writer

No need to mention caste.

ok i will keep in mind i try to post more but it not. let me do that why?

[zeus90]

Chapter 2: The Tightening Grip

The first few days in Arvind Malhotra’s house passed quietly.

Not happily.

Just quietly.

Simran slowly learned the rhythm of the big house. Morning tea at seven. Breakfast by eight. Lunch preparation before noon. Evening tea at five. Dinner before nine.

The kitchen was large and clean, with steel containers lined in perfect rows and glass jars full of spices she did not know by name. At first, she moved around like a guest who was afraid to touch anything.

She asked small questions in a soft voice.

“Sir, yeh kaunsa masala hai?”
[Sir, which spice is this?]

“Chawal kitne banane hain?”
[How much rice should I cook?]

“Tea strong chahiye ya light?”
[Do you want strong tea or light tea?]

Arvind always answered calmly.

“Relax, Simran. Dheere-dheere seekh jaogi.”
[Relax, Simran. You will learn slowly.]

His voice was gentle, and because Simran had never lived away from home before, gentleness still looked like safety to her.

She was shy in the beginning. She kept her dupatta close, lowered her eyes when Billa passed near the back door, and smiled nervously whenever she made a small mistake. Once, the pressure cooker whistled loudly and she jumped back, almost dropping the spoon.

Billa laughed from the garden door.

“Arre madam ji, cooker se bhi darr lagta hai?”
[Madam, are you scared of even the pressure cooker?]

Simran gave a small embarrassed smile.

“Pehli baar itna bada kitchen sambhal rahi hoon.”
[I am handling such a big kitchen for the first time.]

Billa kept looking at her for a moment.

She lowered her face and returned to the stove.

Ravi left every morning to find work.

Sometimes he got one day of labour. Sometimes he got two. But every time, he came back with the same ending.

One shop owner said he was too slow.

One delivery man said he did not know the roads.

One contractor said he asked too many questions.

Another man told him, “Kaam se zyada tumhe samjhane mein time lagta hai.”
[It takes more time to explain the work to you than to get the work done.]

Ravi tried, but he always tried in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong confidence.

By evening, he returned tired, dusty, and smaller than he had been in the morning.

And slowly, Billa became his evening friend.

Not by chance.

By design.

Ten Days Later

Ten days passed.

Simran had begun to adjust to the house. She still moved softly, still asked before touching new things, still became nervous if Arvind’s relatives came without warning.

But now she knew where the rice was kept. She knew how Arvind liked his tea. She knew which cup was for guests and which plate was not to be used daily.

Small things.

Safe things.

Things that made her feel she was learning.

Ravi kept leaving in the morning and returning in the evening. Sometimes with money. Mostly with excuses. And recently, more often with the smell of cheap alcohol.

Billa had started buying him drinks after work.

“Thoda pee le, dimag halka ho jayega.”
[Drink a little, your mind will feel lighter.]

Ravi resisted at first.

Then less.

Then not at all.

Arvind wanted Simran to slowly depend on him for every small need.

That was enough for Billa to understand what had to be done.

The Cream Suit

Simran had only two Punjabi suits.

One cream.

One red.

She washed them by hand behind the outside room and hung them on a rope near the wall. Every night, she washed one and wore the other the next day.

The cream suit was her favorite. It made her look softer, almost peaceful. The red one was brighter, and she felt shy wearing it too often in the big house.

One afternoon, while Simran was busy making lunch, the cream suit was drying behind the room.

Billa walked past it once.

Then again.

The third time, he stopped.

He looked toward the kitchen window.

Simran was inside.

Ravi was out.

Arvind was nowhere near the back side of the house.

Billa pulled a small bottle from his pocket and tilted it over the hanging cloth.

A few drops fell.

Dark blue.

Almost black.

The stain spread into the cream fabric slowly, ugly and stubborn.

Billa stepped back, wiped his hand on his trousers, and walked away like nothing had happened.

By evening, Simran came to take the suit down.

Her face changed.

She held the cloth close to her eyes.

Then she rubbed the mark with water.

Nothing.

She used soap.

Still nothing.

She scrubbed harder until her fingers turned red.

The stain stayed.

Her lips pressed together. Her eyes became wet, but she did not cry.

She kept rubbing.

When Ravi came back, he smelled of alcohol again.

Simran stood near the small bathroom, holding the wet suit.

“Ravi, dekho na… yeh daag nikal hi nahi raha.”
[Ravi, look… this stain is not coming out.]

Ravi looked at the cloth with sleepy eyes.

“Kya gir gaya?”
[What fell on it?]

“Mujhe nahi pata. Maine toh yahin sukhaya tha.”
[I don’t know. I dried it right here.]

“Toh kal red wala pehen lena.”
[Then wear the red one tomorrow.]

Simran looked down at the stained fabric.

“Par red wala roz kaise pehnu? Aur yeh cream wala kharab ho gaya toh mere paas kuch nahi bachega.”
[But how can I wear the red one every day? And if this cream one is ruined, I won’t have anything left.]

Ravi sat on the bed and removed his shoes slowly.

“Main kal kuch karta hoon.”
[I will do something tomorrow.]

Simran looked at him with a soft, tired hope.

“Sach?”
[Really?]

“Haan, haan. Tum tension mat lo.”
[Yes, yes. Don’t worry.]

He lay down.

Within minutes, his breathing became heavy.

Simran stood there for a while, still holding the wet suit.

The bulb above her flickered once.

She looked at Ravi, then at the stain, then quietly hung the suit again.

The Next Morning

In the morning, Ravi left early.

He said he would find proper work today.

Simran wanted to ask about the suit, but he was already outside before she could finish tying her dupatta.

She wore the cream suit again because she had no choice.

The stain sat near the lower side of the kameez, dark and ugly. She tried to fold her dupatta in a way that covered it, but the cloth kept slipping while she worked.

In the kitchen, she moved carefully.

More carefully than usual.

She kept checking the mark.

When Arvind entered, she quickly straightened.

“Good morning, sir,” she said softly.

Arvind looked at the suit for a second.

“Simran, yeh suit pe daag hai?”
[Simran, is that a stain on your suit?]

Her face became warm.

“Ji sir… nikal nahi raha.”
[Yes, sir… it is not coming out.]

“Guests aate rehte hain ghar mein. Aise kapdon mein kaam karna theek nahi lagta.”
[Guests keep coming to the house. Working in clothes like this does not look proper.]

Simran lowered her eyes.

“Ji sir… main dhone ki koshish kar rahi thi.”
[Yes, sir… I was trying to wash it.]

“Try se nahi hoga.”
[Trying will not be enough.]

She held the edge of her dupatta in both hands.

“Sir… agar thoda advance mil jaye toh main ek suit le aaungi.”
[Sir… if I get a small advance, I will buy one suit.]

Arvind’s voice stayed soft.

“Advance ki zarurat nahi. Isse uniform samjho. Main le chalta hoon, payment main kar dunga.”
[No need for advance. Think of it as a uniform. I will take you, I will pay.]

Simran became unsure.

“Sir, main khud le aaungi.”
[Sir, I will buy it myself.]

“Delhi mein naye ho. Galat jagah paise waste ho jayenge.”
[You are new in Delhi. Your money will get wasted in the wrong place.]

She looked toward the back door, as if Ravi might appear and say something.

But Ravi was not there.

She gave a small nod.

“Ji… agar uniform ke liye hai toh theek hai.”
[Yes… if it is for uniform, then okay.]

“Good,” Arvind said.

He did not raise his voice.

He did not force her.

That was his way.

The rope tightened without sounding like a rope.

Billa And Ravi

That evening, before taking Simran to the shop, Arvind called Billa near the driveway.

“Ravi ko shaam tak bahar rakho.”
[Keep Ravi outside till evening.]

Billa smiled.

“Kaam dilaun ya glass?”
[Should I get him work or a glass?]

Arvind looked at him.

“Jo zyada asar kare.”
[Whatever works better.]

Billa laughed under his breath.

“Samajh gaya, sir.”
[I understand, sir.]

A few lanes away, Ravi was already sitting with him near a cheap drinking place.

Billa pushed a glass toward him.

“Pee le. Kaam ka tension kam hoga.”
[Drink. Your work tension will reduce.]

Ravi looked at the glass.

“Nahi, Simran ko achha nahi lagta.”
[No, Simran doesn’t like it.]

“Arre, tu aadmi hai ya bachcha?”
[Are you a man or a child?]

Ravi’s face tightened.

That one line was enough.

He picked up the glass.

Billa smiled.

The Shop

In the afternoon, Arvind took Simran to a clothing shop in the market.

The shop was not like the cheap stalls near the station. It had glass doors, bright lights, folded fabrics, mannequins, and salesmen who smiled before asking what you could afford.

Simran stepped inside slowly.

She had never been in such a shop before.

Her hands automatically moved to her dupatta.

The shopkeeper recognized Arvind immediately.

“Namaste, Malhotra ji.”
[Greetings, Mr. Malhotra.]

Arvind nodded.

“This is Simran. Ghar ke kaam ke liye suits chahiye. Decent, simple, light colors.”
[This is Simran. She needs suits for house work. Decent, simple, light colors.]

The shopkeeper looked at Simran.

“Madam, aapko kaunsa color pasand hai?”
[Madam, what color do you like?]

Simran looked surprised that someone was asking her choice.

She glanced at Arvind, then at the folded fabrics.

“White… aur baby pink,” she said softly.
[White… and baby pink.]

The shopkeeper pulled out white, baby pink, cream, and soft peach fabrics.

Simran touched the white cloth with two fingers, then pulled her hand back as if it was too expensive to touch.

“Yeh achha hai?” she asked quietly.
[Is this nice?]

Arvind smiled.

“Tumhe pasand hai toh achha hai.”
[If you like it, then it is nice.]

She gave a small shy smile.

For a moment, she almost felt normal.

Just a girl choosing clothes.

Not a woman being pushed deeper into someone else’s plan.

The shopkeeper said, “Measurement lena padega. Ladies tailor upar hai.”
[We need to take measurements. The ladies’ tailor is upstairs.]

Simran looked nervous.

“Upar?”
[Upstairs?]

“Ladies staff hai,” the shopkeeper said.
[There is female staff.]

Arvind spoke gently.

“Jao, normal process hai.”
[Go, it is a normal process.]

Simran nodded and followed a female staff member upstairs.

Her steps were slow.

She kept holding her dupatta like it was the last familiar thing she owned.

Downstairs

As soon as Simran went upstairs, Arvind’s face became still.

He turned to the shopkeeper and spoke in a low voice.

“Kapda halka rakhna. Soft material. Light colors. Fitting simple mat banana.”
[Keep the fabric light. Soft material. Light colors. Don’t make the fitting too plain.]

The shopkeeper looked at him carefully.

“Samajh gaya, sir.”
[I understand, sir.]

“Jo woh choose karegi, final mein thoda change kar dena. Usko pata nahi chalega.”
[Whatever she chooses, make a slight change in the final version. She won’t know.]

The shopkeeper nodded.

Arvind placed folded notes on the counter.

“Delivery kal subah mere ghar.”
[Delivery tomorrow morning at my house.]

The shopkeeper quietly moved the notes away.

“Ho jayega.”
[It will be done.]

Simran Returns

After some time, Simran came downstairs.

Her face was a little flushed from embarrassment. She stood near the counter and kept her dupatta close.

The shopkeeper smiled professionally.

“Madam, two suits final? White and baby pink?”
[Madam, two suits final? White and baby pink?]

Simran nodded.

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

Arvind looked at the fabrics.

“Ek extra bhi add kar do. Light color. Backup ke liye.”
[Add one extra too. Light color. For backup.]

Simran looked at him quickly.

“Sir, do kaafi hain.”
[Sir, two are enough.]

“Uniform hai. Ghar ke kaam mein kapde jaldi kharab hote hain.”
[It is uniform. Clothes get ruined quickly in house work.]

She did not argue.

She did not know how.

Then Arvind added, still speaking like it was ordinary, “Aur basic innerwear bhi add kar do. Work clothes ke saath zarurat padegi.”
[And add basic innerwear too. It will be needed with work clothes.]

Simran’s eyes widened.

Her face turned hot.

“Sir…” she said very softly.

The shopkeeper called a female staff member.

“Madam, aap inko size bata dijiye.”
[Madam, you can tell her the size.]

Simran stood frozen for a moment.

Nobody shouted.

Nobody touched her.

Nobody made it look wrong.

That made it harder for her to say no.

She leaned slightly toward the female staff member and whispered 32b.

The staff member wrote it down.

Simran’s eyes stayed on the floor.

Arvind looked at the bill.

“Deliver tomorrow morning,” he said.

The shopkeeper nodded.

“Ji, Malhotra ji.”
[Yes, Mr. Malhotra.]

Simran followed Arvind out of the shop.

The market was loud, but she felt quiet inside.

She could not explain why she felt embarrassed.

She could not explain why a simple shopping trip felt heavy.

She only knew that she wanted to go back to the outside room and close the door.

Back At The House

When they returned, Billa was standing near the gate.

His eyes went to the receipt in Arvind’s hand.

Then to Simran.

Then he smiled.

“Shopping ho gayi, madam ji?”
[Shopping done, madam?]

Simran gave a small nod and walked past him.

She did not look at his face.

In the kitchen, she started preparing dinner.

Her hands moved slowly.

The cream suit still had the stain.

The red suit was hanging behind the room.

The new clothes would arrive tomorrow.

Ravi came back late again.

He looked tired and loose, with dust on his shoes and alcohol in his breath.

Simran stood near the stove.

“Ravi, aaj sir mujhe suit lene le gaye the.”
[Ravi, today sir took me to buy suits.]

Ravi sat down on the small chair near the door.

“Achha kiya. Tumhe zarurat thi.”
[Good. You needed them.]

She waited for him to ask more.

He did not.

“Payment unhone ki.”
[He paid for them.]

Ravi rubbed his forehead.

“Phir theek hai na. Woh help kar rahe hain.”
[Then it is fine. He is helping.]

Simran looked at him.

Her mouth opened a little, like she wanted to say something.

But no words came.

Ravi had already closed the matter.

Like always.

A decision was made.

A cost would come later.

And Simran would be the one standing when it arrived.

That night, while Ravi slept, Simran sat on the edge of the bed and folded the stained cream suit carefully.

She did not know why she folded it.

It was ruined.

Still, she folded it with care.

Outside, the big house was silent.

Inside the main building, Arvind sat in his study, making a phone call.

Near the garden, Billa smoked in the dark and waited for whatever came next.

And in the small outside room, Simran held the ruined suit in her lap, feeling something tighten around her life.

Not suddenly.

Not loudly.

Slowly.

Like a grip that wanted her to get used to it before she realized it was there.

[zeus90]

Dear writer,

Please add hot pic and gif to the story

i tried but not let me post

[zeus90]

The Delivery

The next morning, Simran finished making breakfast quietly.

Poha, tea, fruit.

She placed everything on the dining table and stood to the side, waiting for Arvind to finish. Ravi had already gone out, saying he would try at one more factory near the main road. His voice had confidence in the morning, but Simran had started noticing that Ravi’s confidence usually disappeared by evening.

Arvind ate slowly.

He did not rush.

After breakfast, the doorbell rang.

Billa opened the gate.

A delivery boy stood outside with two neatly packed clothing bags from the shop.

“Malhotra ji ke naam delivery hai,” the boy said.
[There is a delivery in Mr. Malhotra’s name.]

Billa took the bags and looked inside before bringing them in. A small smile moved under his moustache.

He carried the bags to the dining area.

“Sir, kapde aa gaye,” Billa said.
[Sir, the clothes have arrived.]

Simran looked up from the tray in her hands.

Arvind wiped his fingers with a napkin and stood.

“Good. Simran, take these.”
[Good. Simran, take these.]

She stepped forward slowly.

The bags looked expensive in her hands. Too expensive for someone who still had not received her first salary.

“Sir, main baad mein rakh doon?” she asked softly.
[Sir, should I keep them for later?]

Arvind looked at her calmly.

“Nahi. Abhi change kar lo. Aaj se yahi pehenna hai.”
[No. Change now. From today, you will wear these.]

Simran blinked.

“Abhi?”
[Now?]

“Haan. Uniform hai. Work ke time proper rehna chahiye.”
[Yes. It is your uniform. You should look proper during work.]

She nodded hesitantly.

“Ji, sir.”
[Yes, sir.]

Billa stood near the side door, pretending to adjust the garden gloves in his hand.

His eyes followed the bag.

Then Simran.

The New Suit

Simran went to the outside room and closed the door.

She opened the bag carefully.

Inside was the white suit.

At first, it looked beautiful.

Soft fabric.

Light embroidery.

Neatly stitched sleeves.

She smiled a little.

For one second, she forgot the pressure in her chest. She touched the cloth with shy happiness. It had been a long time since something new belonged to her.

Then she lifted the kameez fully.

Her smile faded.

The neckline was much deeper than she had expected. The shoulders were cut wider than her usual suits. The fabric was lighter than the one she had chosen in the shop.

She looked at it for a long moment.

Then looked toward the closed door.

Maybe this was Delhi style, she thought faintly, though the thought did not stay clear in her head.

She changed slowly.

When she stood in front of the small mirror, her face turned hot.

The suit did not feel like her.

It sat on her body in a way that made her uncomfortable. The fabric was too light. The neckline felt too open. The dark innerwear showed through more than she expected, even though she tried adjusting the dupatta again and again.

She pulled the dupatta higher.

It slipped.

She pulled it again.

Her fingers became nervous.

“Yeh kaise pehnu?” she whispered to herself.
[How do I wear this?]

She tried pinning it differently.

Still, she felt exposed.

Not because she had chosen it.

Because someone else had changed the choice after she made it.

But Simran did not understand that fully yet.

She only felt embarrassed, confused, and trapped inside a new piece of cloth.

After a few minutes, Arvind’s voice came from outside the room.

“Simran? Time lag raha hai?”
[Simran? Is it taking time?]

She quickly grabbed the dupatta and opened the door.

In Front of Arvind

Simran stepped out slowly.

Her eyes were lowered. One hand held the dupatta near her shoulder, the other kept pulling at the side of the kameez.

Arvind stood near the garden path.

He looked at her once.

Only once.

Then he looked away like a decent man.

That made her even more confused.

“Sir…” she said softly, “yeh neck thoda…”
[Sir… this neckline is a little…]

Arvind turned toward her.

“Thoda kya?”
[A little what?]

She swallowed.

“Open lag raha hai.”
[It feels open.]

Arvind smiled lightly.

“Simran, tum gaon wali habit se dekh rahi ho. Delhi mein yeh normal hai.”
[Simran, you are looking at it with village habits. In Delhi, this is normal.]

She kept her eyes down.

“Par mujhe ajeeb lag raha hai.”
[But I feel strange.]

“Ajeeb isliye lag raha hai kyunki pehli baar pehna hai.”
[It feels strange because you are wearing it for the first time.]

She adjusted the dupatta again.

“Main dupatta pin kar loon?”
[Should I pin the dupatta?]

“Pin kar lo, lekin kaam karte waqt baar-baar sambhalna mushkil hoga.”
[You can pin it, but while working it will be difficult to keep adjusting it.]

Simran looked unsure.

Arvind’s voice became softer.

“Tumhe comfortable hona seekhna padega. Ghar ka kaam karna hai, guests bhi aate hain. Kapde neat hone chahiye. Itna sharmane se kaise chalega?”
[You will have to learn to be comfortable. You have to work in the house, guests also come. Clothes should be neat. How will it work if you feel shy about everything?]

Simran’s cheeks warmed.

“Ji sir… main try karungi.”
[Yes sir… I will try.]

“Good girl,” Arvind said.

The words were quiet.

But they sat strangely on her skin.

She did not know why.

Billa At The Back

Simran turned toward the kitchen.

As she passed the back corridor, she felt someone’s presence near the garden door.

Billa was outside, half-hidden behind the side wall, holding a pipe in his hand.

He was not watering anything.

He looked away quickly when she noticed him.

“Madam ji, naya suit?” he said with a crooked smile.
[Madam, new suit?]

Simran stopped for a second.

Her fingers tightened on the dupatta.

“Ji,” she said quietly.
[Yes.]

“Achha hai. Malhotra ji ka taste bada mehenga hai.”
[It is nice. Mr. Malhotra has expensive taste.]

She did not answer.

She walked into the kitchen faster than usual.

Behind her, Billa kept watching from the garden side, pretending to fix a plant pot.

The house had many doors.

But today, every door felt like an eye.

Getting Used To It

In the kitchen, Simran tried to work normally.

She washed cups.

Cut vegetables.

Wiped the counter.

But every few minutes, her hand went to her dupatta.

She kept checking the neckline, then the fabric, then the door.

Arvind came in with an empty cup.

“Tea bana dogi?”
[Will you make tea?]

“Ji, sir.”
[Yes, sir.]

She turned to the stove.

While pouring water into the pan, her dupatta slipped slightly from her shoulder. She quickly caught it.

Arvind noticed her nervous movement.

“Simran,” he said gently.

She turned.

“Ji?”
[Yes?]

“Work pe dhyan do. Kapdon pe nahi.”
[Focus on work, not on clothes.]

She looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, sir.”
[Sorry, sir.]

“Sorry ki zarurat nahi. Bas aadat daalni padegi.”
[No need to say sorry. You just have to get used to it.]

She nodded.

But her hands did not stop feeling shaky.

Arvind placed the cup on the counter.

“Kal se second suit bhi try kar lena. Pink wala.”
[Try the second suit from tomorrow too. The pink one.]

Simran looked up quickly.

“Woh bhi aisa hi hai?”
[Is that also like this?]

Arvind paused, then smiled.

“Better hai. Tum par achha lagega.”
[It is better. It will look good on you.]

She did not know what to say.

So she only lowered her eyes.

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

Ravi Returns Late

That evening, Ravi returned later than usual.

He looked tired again, his shirt dusty, his mood broken. There was also a faint smell of alcohol on his breath.

Simran was in the kitchen when he came near the back side.

He looked at her new suit.

For a moment, his face changed.

“Yeh naya suit hai?”
[Is this the new suit?]

Simran held her dupatta.

“Haan… shop se aaya tha subah.”
[Yes… it came from the shop in the morning.]

Ravi looked at her, then at the floor.

“Achha hai.”
[It is nice.]

She waited.

Maybe he would notice she was uncomfortable.

Maybe he would ask who changed the design.

Maybe he would say she did not have to wear it.

But Ravi only rubbed his forehead.

“Sir ne payment ki na?”
[Sir paid for it, right?]

Simran nodded slowly.

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

“Phir theek hai. Waise bhi tumhe kapdon ki zarurat thi.”
[Then it is fine. Anyway, you needed clothes.]

Her face became still.

He had closed the matter again.

Like always.

A decision happened around her.

A discomfort sat on her body.

And Ravi saw only the bill being paid.

Night

Later, when the dinner was done and the kitchen was cleaned, Simran went back to the outside room.

She changed out of the white suit carefully and folded it.

Then she looked at it for a long time.

It was new.

It was beautiful.

It was not hers.

Ravi lay on the bed, almost asleep.

“Light band kar do,” he murmured.
[Turn off the light.]

Simran put the suit in the cupboard.

Her fingers stayed on the fabric for a second.

She did not understand the full game yet.

She only knew that since coming to this house, things were slowly being decided for her.

Where she lived.

When she worked.

What she wore.

Who paid.

Who stayed silent.

Outside, the garden was dark.

Billa coughed somewhere near the side wall.

Inside the main house, Arvind’s study light was still on.

Simran turned off the bulb and lay down beside Ravi.

The room became dark.

But sleep did not come quickly.

The new suit sat in the cupboard like a quiet warning.

[zeus90]

# Chapter 3: A Job for Ravi, A Cage for Simran

The new suits arrived, the new routine began, and the house started changing shape around Simran.

Not the walls.

Not the rooms.

Only the rules.

At first, she did not notice.

She only felt more tired.

Morning tea. Breakfast. Cleaning the kitchen. Lunch. Washing utensils. Evening tea. Dinner. Sometimes Arvind asked for tea again after dinner. Sometimes guests came suddenly, and Simran had to serve snacks with lowered eyes while Billa moved around the back door like a shadow that enjoyed being seen.

Ravi was still at home most of the day now.

Not because he wanted to be.

Because every job he touched slipped away.

One morning he went to help at a shop. By afternoon, the owner sent him back.

Next day, someone gave him loading work. He came home with pain in his back and never went again.

Then he tried delivery work. He forgot one address, took too long at another, and argued when the supervisor scolded him.

By evening, he returned angry.

“Sabko expert chahiye,” he muttered.
*[Everyone wants an expert.]*

Simran was kneading dough in the small outside room.

She looked at him softly. “Tum seekh jaoge, Ravi.”
*[You will learn, Ravi.]*

“Seekhne ka time kaun deta hai?” he snapped.
*[Who gives time to learn?]*

She became quiet.

That was happening more often now.

Ravi spoke loudly.

Simran went silent.

Then the silence sat between them and ate whatever love was left on the plate.

---

## Ravi Slips

Billa made it worse.

Every evening, when Ravi returned empty-handed, Billa was there near the side gate or outside the lane, waiting with a cheap smile and cheaper comfort.

“Chal, thoda baithte hain.”
*[Come, let’s sit for a while.]*

Ravi refused at first.

“Nahi, ghar jaana hai.”
*[No, I have to go home.]*

“Ghar jaa ke kya karega? Biwi ke saamne phir muh latka ke baithega?”
*[What will you do at home? Sit with a sad face in front of your wife again?]*

Ravi’s jaw tightened.

Billa placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Aadmi ko dard andar nahi rakhna chahiye. Thoda peene se dimag halka hota hai.”
*[A man should not keep pain inside. Drinking a little makes the mind feel lighter.]*

A little became every few days.

Every few days became every evening.

Ravi did not become violent. Not yet. But he became loose, careless, irritated. He slept late, woke late, missed morning chances, then blamed the city.

Simran watched him from the doorway of the outside room.

Sometimes he came back smelling of alcohol and lay down without eating.

Sometimes he ate and complained.

“Sab tumhare liye kar raha hoon.”
*[I am doing everything for you.]*

Simran would lower her eyes.

“Haan, Ravi.”
*[Yes, Ravi.]*

But her voice had begun to sound tired even to herself.

---

## Desperation

One morning, Ravi was still sleeping after drinking the night before.

The sun had risen, but he had not.

Simran had already finished breakfast for Arvind. She washed the cups with slow hands. Her eyes were swollen from poor sleep.

Arvind entered the kitchen and stopped near the counter.

“Simran, sab theek hai?”
*[Simran, is everything okay?]*

She quickly wiped her hands on her dupatta.

“Ji sir, theek hai.”
*[Yes sir, everything is okay.]*

He looked at her face.

“Tum thaki hui lag rahi ho.”
*[You look tired.]*

She gave a small nervous smile.

“Nahi sir, bas neend kam hui.”
*[No sir, I just slept less.]*

Arvind did not speak for a moment.

That silence made her eyes fill before she could stop them.

She turned away quickly and picked up a cup that was already clean.

“Simran,” Arvind said softly, “koi problem hai toh bata sakti ho.”
*[Simran, if there is any problem, you can tell me.]*

The cup trembled slightly in her hand.

She placed it down.

“Sir…” Her voice was small. “Ravi ka kaam nahi tik raha.”
*[Sir… Ravi’s work is not lasting.]*

Arvind stayed quiet.

She continued, her words coming slowly, like each one had to push through shame.

“Woh koshish karta hai, par log nikal dete hain. Phir woh pareshan ho jata hai. Shaam ko… Billa ke saath baith jata hai.”
*[He tries, but people remove him. Then he gets upset. In the evening… he sits with Billa.]*

Arvind’s face remained gentle.

Simran pressed her fingers together.

“Sir, agar aap kisi se baat kar sakte ho… koi simple kaam… jahan woh seekh sake…”
*[Sir, if you can speak to someone… some simple work… where he can learn…]*

She looked down.

“Main aapse baar-baar help nahi maangna chahti. Par mujhe samajh nahi aa raha main kya karun.”
*[I don’t want to ask you for help again and again. But I don’t understand what I should do.]*

Her eyes lowered more.

“Bas ek kaam lag jaye uska. Shayad woh theek ho jayega.”
*[If he just gets one job. Maybe he will become okay.]*

For Simran, it was a desperate request.

For Arvind, it was an open door.

He walked to the window and looked outside as if thinking deeply.

“I will try,” he said.
*[I will try.]*

Simran looked up quickly.

“Sach, sir?”
*[Really, sir?]*

“Haan. Ek jagah hai. Farm side ka kaam hai. Easy nahi, lekin seekhne layak hai.”
*[Yes. There is one place. Farm-side work. It is not easy, but it can be learned.]*

She listened with hope rising too fast.

“Milk production ka kaam hai. Cows, milk collection, cans fill karna, trucks load karna. Timing raat ki hai.”
*[It is milk production work. Cows, milk collection, filling cans, loading trucks. The timing is at night.]*

Simran did not think about the night.

She only heard work.

Stable work.

A chance.

“Salary?” she asked softly.
*[Salary?]*

“Starting ₹7,000. Usko kaam nahi aata, isliye pehle learning period hoga. Agar seekh gaya toh increase ho sakti hai.”
*[Starting ₹7,000. He doesn’t know the work, so first it will be a learning period. If he learns, it can increase.]*

Simran nodded quickly.

“Sir, main usko samjha dungi. Woh kar lega.”
*[Sir, I will explain it to him. He will do it.]*

Arvind looked at her.

“Tum chaho toh main baat pakki kar doon.”
*[If you want, I can confirm it.]*

“Ji sir. Please.”
*[Yes sir. Please.]*

The word came out before pride could stop it.

“Please.”

Arvind gave a small nod.

“Okay. Tonight se nahi, kal se start karwa dete hain.”
*[Okay. Not from tonight, we will start him from tomorrow.]*

Simran’s face softened with relief.

For the first time in many days, she smiled without forcing it.

“Thank you, sir.”
*[Thank you, sir.]*

Arvind’s smile was calm.

“Tum log apne ho.”
*[You people are like my own.]*

Simran believed it because she needed to.

---

## Telling Ravi

Ravi woke near afternoon.

His hair was messy, his eyes heavy. He sat on the bed while Simran placed food in front of him.

“Khane ke baad ek baat karni hai,” she said.
*[After food, I need to talk about something.]*

Ravi tore the roti lazily.

“Ab kya hua?”
*[What happened now?]*

“Sir ne tumhare liye kaam dhoondha hai.”
*[Sir found work for you.]*

Ravi stopped chewing.

“Kaunsa kaam?”
*[What work?]*

“Farm ka. Milk production. Cow milk collection, cans fill karna, trucks mein load karna. Raat ka kaam hai.”
*[Farm work. Milk production. Cow milk collection, filling cans, loading them into trucks. It is night work.]*

Ravi’s face changed.

“Raat ka?”
*[At night?]*

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“Timing?”
*[Timing?]*

“Six evening se eight morning.”
*[Six in the evening to eight in the morning.]*

Ravi put the roti down.

“Pagal ho kya? Puri raat kaam?”
*[Are you mad? Work all night?]*

Simran sat beside him carefully.

“Ravi, kaam mil raha hai. Itni mushkil se.”
*[Ravi, you are getting work. After so much difficulty.]*

“Salary?”
*[Salary?]*

“Starting ₹7,000.”
*[Starting ₹7,000.]*

Ravi laughed bitterly.

“Puri raat jag ke ₹7,000?”
*[Staying awake all night for ₹7,000?]*

Simran’s face fell, but she kept her voice soft.

“Tumhe kaam nahi aata na. Sir keh rahe the seekh jaoge toh badh sakta hai.”
*[You don’t know the work yet. Sir said if you learn, it can increase.]*

Ravi looked away.

“Main cow ka doodh bharunga? Truck load karunga? Yeh kaam hai mere liye?”
*[I will fill cow milk? Load trucks? Is this work for me?]*

Simran’s eyes became wet.

“Ravi, hamare paas choice hai kya?”
*[Ravi, do we have a choice?]*

He did not answer.

She moved closer.

“Tum roz pareshan hote ho. Log nikal dete hain. Phir tum Billa ke saath baithte ho. Mujhe darr lagta hai.”
*[You get upset every day. People fire you. Then you sit with Billa. I feel scared.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“Billa ne kya kiya?”
*[What has Billa done?]*

“Main bas keh rahi hoon… tum kaam pe jaoge toh tumhara mind bhi theek rahega.”
*[I am just saying… if you go to work, your mind will also stay better.]*

Ravi looked at her.

She folded her hands together in her lap.

“Please Ravi. Ek baar try kar lo. Mere liye.”
*[Please Ravi. Try once. For me.]*

That line touched him.

Not fully.

But enough.

He looked away again, softer now.

“Tum chahti ho main karun?”
*[You want me to do it?]*

Simran nodded.

“Haan. Main chahti hoon tum stable ho jao.”
*[Yes. I want you to become stable.]*

Ravi took a slow breath.

“Theek hai. Ek baar try karunga.”
*[Fine. I will try once.]*

Simran’s face relaxed.

She smiled a little.

“Thank you.”
*[Thank you.]*

Ravi picked up the roti again.

He did not see that while he thought he had agreed for her, she believed she had saved him.

Both were wrong in different ways.

---

## Billa Plants A Seed

That evening, Billa found Ravi near the side gate.

“So suna hai kaam lag gaya?”
*[So I heard you got work?]*

Ravi tried not to smile, but pride slipped out.

“Haan. Farm side. Milk production.”
*[Yes. Farm side. Milk production.]*

“Timing?”
*[Timing?]*

“Six evening to eight morning.”
*[Six evening to eight morning.]*

Billa whistled softly.

“Wah bhai. Puri raat tu bahar, aur madam ji yahan.”
*[Wow brother. You outside the whole night, and madam here.]*

Ravi looked at him.

“Kya matlab?”
*[What do you mean?]*

Billa shrugged.

“Matlab kuch nahi. Bas keh raha hoon. Bade logon ke ghar mein raat alag hoti hai.”
*[Nothing. I am just saying. Nights are different in rich people’s houses.]*

Ravi’s forehead tightened.

“Seedha bol.”
*[Speak clearly.]*

Billa laughed.

“Arre tu bhi na. Main toh mazaak kar raha hoon. Waise job kisne dilaya?”
*[Come on. I’m joking. Anyway, who got you the job?]*

“Sir ne.”
*[Sir did.]*

“Simran ne bola hoga?”
*[Simran must have asked?]*

Ravi paused.

“Haan. Usne help maangi thi.”
*[Yes. She asked for help.]*

Billa gave a slow nod.

“Achha hai. Biwi samajhdar hai. Tere liye kaam bhi dhoondh leti hai. Aur tujhe raat ko bahar bhi bhej deti hai.”
*[Good. Your wife is clever. She finds work for you. And sends you out at night too.]*

Ravi’s eyes changed slightly.

Only slightly.

“Tu galat bol raha hai,” Ravi said.
*[You are talking wrong.]*

Billa lifted both hands.

“Arre bhai, mazaak tha. Gussa kyun hota hai? Main toh khush hoon tere liye. Finally kaam mila.”
*[Brother, it was a joke. Why are you getting angry? I am happy for you. Finally you got work.]*

Ravi nodded, but the words had already entered somewhere small and dark.

Not enough to break him.

Enough to sit in the back of his mind.

Billa watched him leave and smiled.

Seeds did not need water immediately.

Some seeds waited for the next rain.

---

## The First Night

The next evening, Ravi got ready for his first shift.

He wore his old shirt and washed jeans. Simran packed two rotis, some sabzi, and an onion in a small steel box.

“Time pe khana,” she said.
*[Eat on time.]*

Ravi took the box.

“Tum bhi time pe kha lena.”
*[You also eat on time.]*

She smiled.

For a moment, they looked like husband and wife again.

Then he looked toward the main house.

“Sir se mil ke jaaun?”
*[Should I meet sir before leaving?]*

Simran nodded.

Arvind came out to the verandah.

“Ready?” he asked.
*[Ready?]*

Ravi stood straighter.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Kaam simple hai, but laziness nahi chalegi. Cow shed mein milk collection hota hai. Cans fill honge. Subah trucks dispatch honge. Pehle kuch din seekhna. Jo bolein, karna.”
*[The work is simple, but laziness won’t work. Milk collection happens in the cow shed. Cans will be filled. Trucks will be dispatched in the morning. Learn for the first few days. Do whatever they tell you.]*

Ravi nodded quickly.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Simran stood behind him, hopeful.

Arvind looked at her briefly.

“Don’t worry. Ravi ab busy rahega. Drinking bhi kam ho jayegi.”
*[Don’t worry. Ravi will stay busy now. His drinking will also reduce.]*

Simran gave a small grateful smile.

“Ji sir. Aapne bahut help ki.”
*[Yes sir. You helped a lot.]*

At six, Ravi left.

The gate closed behind him.

For the first time, Simran stood in the house after sunset without Ravi nearby.

She did not feel afraid yet.

Only strange.

Like the evening had become too big.

---

## Day And Night

Within a week, their lives stopped meeting properly.

Ravi left at 6 PM.

Simran worked until late evening.

Ravi returned around 8:30 AM, smelling of cow shed, sweat, milk, and tiredness. His eyes were red from staying awake.

Simran served him breakfast in the outside room before going back to the kitchen.

That became their only real conversation.

A plate between them.

A tired man on the bed.

A woman standing near the door, already late for work.

One morning, she placed paratha and tea in front of him.

“Kaam kaisa chal raha hai?”
*[How is the work going?]*

Ravi rubbed his eyes.

“Theek hai. Raat bhar cans uthao, bharvao, truck mein lagao. Subah tak kamar toot jaati hai.”
*[It’s okay. All night, lift cans, get them filled, load them into trucks. By morning, my back breaks.]*

“Seekh rahe ho na?”
*[You are learning, right?]*

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

She smiled softly.

“Phir salary badh jayegi.”
*[Then your salary will increase.]*

Ravi looked at her.

“Tumhe salary ki hi padi rehti hai?”
*[You only care about salary?]*

Simran’s smile faded.

“Nahi Ravi. Main bas…”
*[No Ravi. I just…]*

He lay back.

“Main poori raat jag ke aaya hoon. Abhi mat shuru ho.”
*[I stayed awake the whole night. Don’t start now.]*

She became quiet.

“Chai rakh di hai,” she said softly.
*[I kept the tea here.]*

Then she left.

He slept.

She worked.

At noon, when she came back to take the empty plate, Ravi was still sleeping.

At evening, when he woke, she was in the main kitchen.

Before they could talk, it was time for him to leave again.

Their room still had one bed.

But now it felt like two separate lives were using it at different times.

---

## More Work

With Ravi gone at night, Arvind slowly stretched Simran’s duties.

Not suddenly.

Never suddenly.

One evening, after dinner, he called from the study.

“Simran, ek chai bana dogi?”
*[Simran, will you make one tea?]*

She had just finished cleaning the kitchen.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The next night, tea became normal.

Then late snacks.

Then cleaning the dining table after Arvind’s friends left.

Then washing glasses that were not part of her daily work.

When she looked tired, Arvind spoke gently.

“Ravi ka kaam lag gaya hai. Thoda time adjust karna padega.”
*[Ravi got work now. You will have to adjust a little for some time.]*

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The word “adjust” became a small cage.

Everybody used it.

Arvind used it with softness.

Billa used it with a smile.

Ravi used it with tiredness.

And Simran kept adjusting until she forgot where her own comfort had been placed.

---

## Billa’s New Game

Billa did not stop.

He only changed method.

Now that Ravi was away at night and asleep in the day, Billa had more space to make Simran’s work harder.

He splashed mud near the back door after she cleaned it.

He left garden tools in the corridor and complained she had not arranged them.

He told Arvind the kitchen back area smelled bad.

Once, he put extra salt into the dal when Simran stepped out to take clothes from the rope.

At dinner, Arvind took one bite and stopped.

“Simran, dal mein namak zyada hai.”
*[Simran, there is too much salt in the dal.]*

Her face became pale.

“Sir, maine toh…”
*[Sir, I had…]*

She stopped.

Billa stood near the back door, looking down, hiding a smile.

Simran held the serving spoon with both hands.

“Sorry sir. Main dhyan rakhungi.”
*[Sorry sir. I will be careful.]*

Arvind did not scold.

That was worse.

“It’s okay. Mistakes happen.”
*[It’s okay. Mistakes happen.]*

His softness made her feel smaller than anger would have.

Later, Billa passed her near the washing area.

“Madam ji, bade ghar ka kaam hai. Dhyan se karna padta hai.”
*[Madam, this is work in a big house. You have to be careful.]*

Simran only nodded and moved aside.

She did not know how to fight such small cruelties.

They were too tiny to complain about.

Too many to ignore.

---

## Distance

After two weeks, Ravi’s drinking had reduced.

But Simran did not feel relieved.

The alcohol had gone down.

The distance had gone up.

Ravi now had a reason for everything.

If she wanted to talk, he was tired.

If she looked sad, he said she was overthinking.

If she complained about work, he said at least they had a roof.

If she said Billa made her uncomfortable, he said Billa had helped them.

One morning, while serving him food, she tried again.

“Ravi, mujhe raat ko ajeeb lagta hai.”
*[Ravi, I feel strange at night.]*

He was half asleep.

“Kya ajeeb?”
*[What strange?]*

“Ghar mein… sir late tak jagte hain. Billa bhi kabhi-kabhi peeche hota hai.”
*[In the house… sir stays awake late. Billa is also sometimes at the back.]*

Ravi opened his eyes with irritation.

“Toh main job chhod doon?”
*[So should I leave the job?]*

“Nahi, main bas keh rahi thi…”
*[No, I was just saying…]*

“Simran, tumne hi bola tha karne ke liye.”
*[Simran, you were the one who told me to do it.]*

She stopped.

He was right.

And that made it hurt more.

“Haan,” she said softly. “Maine hi bola tha.”
*[Yes. I was the one who said it.]*

Ravi turned to the wall.

“Light band kar dena.”
*[Turn off the light.]*

Simran stood there with the plate in her hand.

The room was small.

But the distance between them had become too wide to cross.

---

## Arvind’s Calm

That evening, Arvind found her wiping the kitchen counter long after it was already clean.

“Simran,” he said.

She turned.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

“Thak gayi ho?”
*[Are you tired?]*

She gave a small smile.

“Nahi sir.”
*[No sir.]*

“Jhooth.”
*[Lie.]*

She looked down, embarrassed.

Arvind spoke softly.

“Ravi ka kaam difficult hai. Tumhara bhi. Lekin yeh phase nikal jayega.”
*[Ravi’s work is difficult. Yours too. But this phase will pass.]*

Her eyes filled again, but she blinked quickly.

“Sir, main bas chahti hoon sab theek ho jaye.”
*[Sir, I just want everything to become okay.]*

“It will,” Arvind said. “Main hoon na.”
*[It will. I am here.]*

The sentence sounded like support.

It should have comforted her.

Instead, it sat in the room like a door closing quietly.

Simran nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Outside, Ravi was walking somewhere in the dark toward the milk farm.

Inside, Billa was waiting near the back gate, already planning tomorrow’s small trouble.

And Arvind stood in the kitchen, calm as ever, becoming the one person Simran had started asking for help.

That was the cleverest part of the trap.

It did not look like a trap.

It looked like help.

[zeus90]

Please add hot pics or gif to make the story more seductive and hot

did not have permission for post pic i tried

[zeus90]

Hey, very good and erotic story, could you please add hot pics and gif for sex scenes, it will spice up story and all reader will like it

i try but it not allowed or not have permission

[zeus90]

 

 
AI GENERATED

[zeus90]

Chapter 4: The House After Sunset

Simran had started getting used to the house.

Not because she liked it.

Because every day was too full to think properly.

Morning tea. Breakfast. Lunch. Cleaning. Washing. Evening tea. Dinner. Then sometimes tea again. Sometimes snacks. Sometimes dishes after guests. Sometimes extra sweeping because Billa had walked mud into the corridor and nobody asked how it came there.

The new suits had become part of her routine too.

At first, Simran had felt awkward wearing them. The neck felt too open, the shoulders too visible, the fabric too light. She used to keep pulling the dupatta up again and again, her fingers nervous, her face warm with shame.

But work had a way of tiring shame.

After a few weeks, she stopped adjusting the dupatta every minute. Not because she became comfortable. Because her hands were always busy.

One hand on the stove.

One hand in the sink.

One hand holding a tray.

One hand wiping the floor.

Her body learned to move before her mind could ask questions.

Arvind noticed this change.

He did not say anything.

He only started appearing more often wherever she worked.

If she was in the kitchen, he came for water.

If she was cleaning the dining table, he came to check some file.

If she was wiping the drawing room floor, he sat with a newspaper.

If she went to the back corridor, his voice came from behind.

“Simran, ek chai bana dogi?”
[Simran, will you make one tea?]

She would turn quickly.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

 

His voice was always soft. That made everything harder to understand.

He never shouted.

He never looked like a villain.

He looked like help.

And slowly, Simran started trusting him inside the house. Not fully. Not with happiness. But with the tired trust of someone who had no other steady person around.

Ravi was mostly gone at night now.

He left around six in the evening for the farm work and returned after eight in the morning, tired, smelling of milk, sweat, and damp cow shed air. He ate whatever Simran served him, complained about body pain, and slept through the day.

Their conversations became small.

A plate of food.

A tired answer.

A half-open eye.

Then silence.

One morning, Simran placed tea near him.

“Kaam zyada mushkil hai?”
[Is the work very difficult?]

Ravi rubbed his neck.

“Raat bhar doodh ke cans uthao, truck mein rakho, phir subah tak khade raho. Aasaan thodi hai.”
[All night, lift milk cans, put them in trucks, then stand until morning. It’s not easy.]

“Par seekh rahe ho na?”
[But you are learning, right?]

“Seekh raha hoon,” he said, irritated. “Par tumhe kya pata raat bhar jagna kya hota hai.”
[I am learning. But what do you know about staying awake all night?]

Simran lowered her eyes.

“Main bas poochh rahi thi.”
[I was only asking.]

Ravi turned to the wall.

“Sone do.”
[Let me sleep.]

She picked up the empty glass from yesterday and left quietly.

Billa Steps Back

Billa had changed his game.

He no longer came too close to Simran like before. He had understood that she avoided him now. If he stood near the kitchen door, she moved away. If he joked, she answered only with silence. If he watched, she lowered her face and left.

So Billa stepped back.

But he did not stop.

He turned toward Ravi.

One evening, before Ravi left for the farm, Billa found him near the side gate.

“Kaise chal raha hai night kaam?”
[How is the night work going?]

Ravi shrugged. “Theek hai. Thak jaata hoon.”
[It’s okay. I get tired.]

Billa smiled slowly.

“Thakna toh padega. Biwi ke liye aadmi sab karta hai.”
[A man has to get tired. A man does everything for his wife.]

Ravi looked at him.

“Matlab?”
[What do you mean?]

“Matlab kuch nahi. Bas soch raha tha, tu raat bhar bahar, aur madam ji yahan bade ghar mein.”
[Nothing. I was just thinking, you are outside all night, and madam is here in this big house.]

Ravi frowned.

“Seedha bol.”
[Speak clearly.]

Billa lifted his hands.

“Arre bhai, gussa kyun? Main toh tera dost hoon. Bas duniya dekhi hai. Rich aadmi free mein help nahi karte.”
[Brother, why are you angry? I am your friend. I have just seen the world. Rich men do not help for free.]

Ravi’s jaw tightened.

“Sir ne job dilayi hai. Help ki hai.”
[Sir got me the job. He helped.]

Billa nodded.

“Haan. Tujhe job dilayi. Teri biwi ko kapde dilaye. Room diya. Khana diya. Bahut help ki.”
[Yes. He got you a job. Bought your wife clothes. Gave a room. Gave food. Helped a lot.]

He paused.

“Bas kabhi socha, itni help ka hisaab kaun dega?”
[But did you ever think who will pay the account for so much help?]

Ravi stared at him.

Billa smiled and walked away.

The words stayed.

Small.

Dirty.

Alive.

More Work

Simran’s workload kept increasing.

At first, she had energy. She worked fast, trying to prove she was useful. She cleaned properly, cooked carefully, folded napkins, arranged cups, learned where everything belonged.

But now the house seemed to grow more work every day.

 

The drawing room needed cleaning twice.

The kitchen shelves had to be wiped.

Arvind’s study tea had to be made separately.

Guest glasses had to shine.

Dinner had to be served hot.

Snacks had to be ready “just in case.”

Arvind never ordered harshly.

He always made it sound small.

“Simran, bas yeh tray rakh do.”
[Simran, just keep this tray.]

“Simran, bas study mein chai de do.”
[Simran, just give tea in the study.]

“Simran, bas floor thoda sa clean kar do.”
[Simran, just clean the floor a little.]

“Bas.”

That word became heavy.

Because “just this” was never just one thing.

By evening, her feet hurt. Her back felt stiff. Her face lost its playfulness. The shy smile remained, but now it came late, like a tired lamp trying to light.

She did as she was told.

Not because she agreed.

Because there was no space left in the day to disagree.

Arvind’s Friends

One Friday evening, Arvind invited two friends.

Rajeev Sharma and Mahesh Verma.

Both were in their late forties. Well-dressed. Rich voices. Men who laughed loudly because nobody in the room could tell them to lower it.

Simran was in the kitchen when they arrived.

Arvind called out from the drawing room.

“Simran, chai aur snacks le aao.”
[Simran, bring tea and snacks.]

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

She arranged the tray with tea cups, biscuits, and fried snacks.

Her hands were tired, but she carried the tray carefully.

When she entered, the three men were sitting in the drawing room. Arvind in his white kurta-pajama, Rajeev in a blue shirt, Mahesh in a dark waistcoat.

Their conversation stopped for a second.

Simran kept her eyes lowered and placed the tray on the center table.

Rajeev looked at Arvind with a half-smile.

“Arvind, ghar ka standard toh badh gaya.”
[Arvind, the standard of your house has gone up.]

Mahesh laughed.

“Chai bhi ab presentation ke saath aati hai.”
[Now tea also comes with presentation.]

 

Simran did not understand fully, but she felt their eyes.

She smiled faintly because she did not know what else to do.

“Sugar alag rakhi hai, sir,” she said softly.
[I kept sugar separately, sir.]

Arvind leaned back.

“Good, Simran. Serve them.”
[Good, Simran. Serve them.]

She served cups one by one.

Rajeev took his cup and said, “Naam kya hai tumhara?”
[What is your name?]

“Simran,” she answered.

“Punjab se?”
[From Punjab?]

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

Mahesh smiled.

“Isliye chai mein mitti ki khushboo hai.”
[That is why the tea has the scent of the soil.]

Rajeev laughed.

Simran gave a confused little smile and stepped back.

“Main dinner dekh loon, sir?”
[Should I check dinner, sir?]

Arvind nodded.

“Haan, jao.”
[Yes, go.]

She left quickly.

The room stayed quiet until her footsteps disappeared.

Then Rajeev leaned closer to Arvind.

“Yeh kahan se mili?”
[Where did you find her?]

Arvind picked up his tea calmly.

“Punjab side se. Couple hai. Ladka mere contact ke farm par kaam karta hai.”
[From Punjab side. They are a couple. The boy works at a farm through my contact.]

Mahesh smirked.

“Couple? Aur ladka raat ko farm par?”
[Couple? And the boy is at the farm at night?]

Rajeev laughed under his breath.

“Arvind, tum abhi bhi planning waise hi karte ho.”
[Arvind, you still plan the same way.]

Arvind did not laugh.

He only smiled.

“Planning nahi. Management.”
[Not planning. Management.]

Mahesh lowered his voice.

“Kitni seedhi lagti hai.”
[She looks very innocent.]

Arvind looked toward the kitchen door.

“Seedhi hai.”
[She is innocent.]

Rajeev asked, “Aur?”
[And?]

Arvind sipped his tea.

“Abhi ghar samajh rahi hai. Jaldi samajh jayegi kis par depend karna hai.”
[She is still understanding the house. Soon she will understand whom she has to depend on.]

Mahesh gave a low chuckle.

“Matlab kaam chal raha hai.”
[So the work is in progress.]

Arvind’s eyes stayed calm.

“Slow things last longer.”
[Slow things last longer.]

Jokes At Dinner

At dinner, Simran served them again.

She placed plates on the table, then bowls, then rotis wrapped in cloth.

Rajeev watched her move from the side.

“Simran ji, aap toh poora ghar sambhal leti ho.”
[Simran, you handle the whole house.]

She gave a small smile.

“Ji, koshish karti hoon.”
[Yes, I try.]

Mahesh said, “Koshish se kaam nahi hota. Dil se karna padta hai.”
[Trying is not enough. You have to do it with heart.]

The men laughed.

 

Simran smiled politely, not knowing if she was supposed to laugh too.

Arvind looked at her.

“Simran sharmili hai.”
[Simran is shy.]

Rajeev replied, “Sharm achhi cheez hai. Ghar ki izzat badhati hai.”
[Shyness is a good thing. It increases the respect of the house.]

Mahesh added, “Bas zyada sharm ho toh kaam slow ho jata hai.”
[But if there is too much shyness, work becomes slow.]

Another laugh.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the serving spoon.

“Roti aur laaun, sir?”
[Should I bring more roti, sir?]

Arvind nodded.

“Haan.”
[Yes.]

She left.

In the kitchen, she stood still for a second.

Her face felt warm. Her chest felt tight. But she did not understand how to complain about jokes that sounded normal from the outside.

So she picked up the roti basket and returned.

Ravi Hears A Different Story

Later that night, when Ravi reached the farm, Billa was waiting near the road outside. He had come there on purpose.

“Kaam pe aa gaya hero?”
[You came to work, hero?]

Ravi looked tired already.

“Tu yahan?”
[You are here?]

“Bas guzra tha. Socha mil loon.”
[I was just passing by. Thought I’d meet you.]

Ravi adjusted the lunch box in his hand.

Billa leaned closer.

“Aaj ghar mein mehfil thi.”
[There was a gathering at the house today.]

“Kaunsi mehfil?” Ravi asked.
[What gathering?]

“Arvind sir ke dost aaye the. Madam ji serve kar rahi thi. Bade style mein.”
[Arvind sir’s friends came. Madam was serving them. In great style.]

Ravi’s face changed slightly.

“Serve karna uska kaam hai.”
[Serving is her work.]

“Haan, haan. Kaam hi hai.”
[Yes, yes. It is work.]

Billa smiled.

“Bas dost log bhi kaam ki tareef kar rahe the.”
[His friends were also praising the work.]

Ravi looked away.

“Tu baat ghuma raha hai.”
[You are twisting the matter.]

Billa shrugged.

“Main toh bas bata raha hoon. Tera ghar hai, teri biwi hai. Tujhe pata hona chahiye na.”
[I am only telling you. It is your home, your wife. You should know.]

“Woh mera ghar nahi,” Ravi muttered.
[That is not my home.]

Billa smiled.

“Bas. Yahi toh baat hai.”
[Exactly. That is the point.]

Ravi looked at him.

 

Billa’s voice became lower.

“Jis ghar ka rent tu bhar nahi raha, jahan biwi din-raat kaam kar rahi hai, jahan malik kapde laa raha hai… wahan aadmi ko aankh khuli rakhni chahiye.”
[In a house where you are not paying the rent, where your wife is working day and night, where the owner is bringing clothes… a man should keep his eyes open.]

The farm horn sounded in the distance.

Ravi had to go inside.

But Billa’s words walked with him.

The Study Light

After the guests left, Simran cleaned the table.

It was late.

The house was quiet again.

She gathered plates, wiped spilled chutney, picked up used napkins, and carried glasses to the kitchen.

Her feet hurt.

Her palms smelled of soap.

Her back ached when she bent.

Arvind stood near the study door.

“You did well today,” he said.
[You did well today.]

She looked up, tired.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

“Guests ko tumhari chai pasand aayi.”
[The guests liked your tea.]

She gave a faint smile.

“Achha hai.”
[That is good.]

“Thak gayi?”
[Are you tired?]

“Thoda.”
[A little.]

 

“Thoda adjust karna padega. Bade ghar mein guests aate rehte hain.”
[You will have to adjust a little. Guests keep coming in big houses.]

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

He looked at her for a moment.

“Ravi ko batana mat ki tum thak gayi ho. Woh already pressure mein hai.”
[Don’t tell Ravi that you are tired. He is already under pressure.]

Simran blinked slowly.

“Ji.”
[Yes.]

It sounded caring.

But it also closed her mouth before she could open it.

She went back to the kitchen.

Arvind entered his study and switched on the lamp.

Outside, the window reflected Simran’s movement as she washed the last cup.

Inside, Arvind sat calmly, reading files.

The house had become quiet again.

But quiet was not peace anymore.

Quiet was the sound of everybody getting what they wanted from Simran, one small piece at a time.

[zeus90]

Chapter 5: The Mark on Her Face

Ravi came back from the farm after sunrise.

His shirt smelled of milk, sweat, and dust. His hair was messy, his eyes red from staying awake all night. He walked into the outside room and threw his bag near the bed.

Simran was already awake.

She had kept tea ready for him. One steel plate sat on the small stool with two rotis and leftover sabzi. She had not eaten yet. She was waiting for him, even though the main kitchen work would start soon.

“Chai rakh di hai,” she said softly.
[I kept the tea here.]

Ravi did not answer.

He sat on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. His silence felt heavier than his anger.

Simran looked at him carefully.

“Kaam bohot mushkil tha?”
[Was the work very difficult?]

Ravi gave a dry laugh.

“Mushkil?” he said. “Tumhe kya pata mushkil kya hoti hai?”
[Difficult? What do you know about difficulty?]

Simran became still.

“I was just asking.”

Ravi looked at the plate.

“Main raat bhar doodh ke cans uthata hoon, truck bharwata hoon, thand mein khada rehta hoon. Aur tum?”
[I lift milk cans all night, load trucks, stand in the cold. And you?]

Simran’s fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.

“Main bhi kaam karti hoon, Ravi.”
[I work too, Ravi.]

He looked at her clothes, the white suit Arvind had given, now slightly tired from washing and daily work.

“Haan, kaam,” he said bitterly. “Bade ghar mein. AC ke andar. Chai serve karo, khana do, aur sab tumhe madam bolte hain.”
[Yes, work. In a big house. Inside comfort. Serve tea, give food, and everyone calls you madam.]

Simran blinked.

His words did not feel like Ravi.

They felt like someone else had put them in his mouth.

“Tum aise kyun bol rahe ho?”
[Why are you talking like this?]

Ravi stood up.

“Kyuki sach bol raha hoon. Tumhe wahan bura nahi lagta. Tum toh adjust ho gayi ho.”
[Because I’m telling the truth. You don’t feel bad there. You’ve adjusted.]

Simran’s face changed.

“I adjusted because we had no choice.”

“Choice?” Ravi stepped closer. “Mere paas choice hai? Raat ko jaan tod ke kaam karun, din mein so bhi nahi sakta, aur jab aankh kholun toh tum phir ghar ke kaam mein busy.”

She tried to stay calm.

“Main tumhare liye hi toh kar rahi hoon. Rent, khana, sab kuch…”

Ravi cut her off.

“Tum mere liye kar rahi ho ya Arvind sir ke liye?”
[Are you doing it for me or for Arvind sir?]

The room froze.

Simran stared at him.

“What?”

Ravi’s breathing became heavier.

“Sab problem sir ko batani hai. Kaam sir se. Kapde sir se. Room sir ka. Tumhari har baat sir se.”
[Every problem has to be told to sir. Job from sir. Clothes from sir. Room from sir. Everything of yours from sir.]

Simran’s eyes filled, but this time not with helplessness.

With hurt.

“I asked him for your job because you were drinking every day,” she said, her voice shaking. “I begged him for help because you were breaking in front of me.”

Ravi’s face hardened.

“Main toot raha tha?”
[I was breaking?]

“Haan,” Simran said, louder now. “Aur main? Main kya kar rahi hoon? Subah se raat tak kaam, kapde bhi apne nahi, paise bhi apne nahi, room bhi apna nahi. Tum so rahe hote ho, Ravi. Tumhe kuch dikhta hi nahi.”

Ravi stared at her.

She had never spoken like this before.

Usually she lowered her eyes.

Usually she became quiet.

But that morning, something inside her was too tired to kneel.

Ravi’s pride could not bear it.

“Ab tum mujhe sikhaogi?”
[Now you will teach me?]

Simran wiped her cheek angrily.

“Main sikha nahi rahi. Main bas keh rahi hoon ki mujhe bhi dard hota hai.”

Ravi stepped closer.

“Dard?” he said. “Tumhe dard tab hota jab tum raat ko meri tarah kaam karti. Tum toh bas…”

He stopped, then spat the words.

“Tum toh enjoy kar rahi ho.”
[You are enjoying it.]

Simran’s eyes widened.

For a second, she could not breathe.

Then she burst.

“Enjoy?” she shouted. “Tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon? Jab woh log haske baat karte hain, jab mujhe raat tak kaam karna padta hai, jab main tumse baat karna chahti hoon aur tum muh pher ke so jaate ho, tumhe lagta hai main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s face twisted.

 

“Chup ho jao.”

“Nahi, aaj nahi,” she said, crying now. “Tumne mujhe yahan laaya. Tumne sabko hamari kahani batayi. Tumne bina pooche mere liye faisle kiye. Aur ab tum keh rahe ho main enjoy kar rahi hoon?”

Ravi’s hand moved before his mind did.

The slap cracked through the small room.

Simran staggered back, one hand flying to her cheek.

For one second, even Ravi looked shocked.

Then anger covered his shock.

“Zyada zubaan chalne lagi hai,” he said.
[Your tongue has started running too much.]

Simran looked at him, stunned, tears silent now.

He slapped her again.

Not hard enough to throw her down, but hard enough to leave fire on her skin.

Her dupatta slipped from one shoulder. She grabbed it quickly, shaking.

“Ravi…” she whispered.

His breathing was fast.

Outside, somewhere, a bird cried from the garden wall.

Ravi picked up his bag.

“I’m going to work,” he said.

“Itni subah?” she asked weakly.
[This early?]

“Farm pe extra shift hai.”

There was no extra shift.

He just needed to leave before guilt caught him.

At the door, he turned once.

“Arvind sir ko mat batana drama,” he said. “Warna main wapas nahi aaunga.”
[Don’t tell Arvind sir this drama. Otherwise I won’t come back.]

Then he left.

The door closed.

 

Simran stood in the small room, one hand on her cheek, the other holding her dupatta.

The tea on the stool went cold.

The Kitchen

Simran washed her face three times before going to the main house.

The mark did not disappear.

It had turned red along her cheek, with faint swelling near the jaw.

She tried to cover it with her hair, but loose strands kept falling the wrong way. She tried to keep her face turned while walking through the corridor.

In the kitchen, she started work like always.

Tea.

Toast.

Fruit.

Arvind’s breakfast plate.

Her hands moved automatically, but her eyes looked empty.

She dropped a spoon once.

Then a cup touched the counter too loudly.

She flinched at the sound.

Arvind entered quietly.

“Good morning, Simran.”

She turned halfway, keeping the marked side of her face away.

“Good morning, sir.”

Arvind stopped.

He saw it.

The red mark on her cheek.

The swollen edge near her jaw.

The way her eyes avoided him.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he walked closer, slowly.

“Face pe kya hua?”
[What happened to your face?]

Simran lowered her head.

“Kuch nahi, sir.”
[Nothing, sir.]

“Gir gayi?”
[Did you fall?]

She nodded too quickly.

“Ji. Bathroom mein slip ho gayi.”
[Yes. I slipped in the bathroom.]

Arvind looked at her.

The lie was thin enough to see through.

“Bathroom mein?”
[In the bathroom?]

“Ji.”

He waited.

She kept her eyes on the floor.

Arvind’s voice became softer.

“Okay. Don’t tell me.”

The words broke something.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the tea strainer.

Arvind turned as if to leave.

“Main samajh gaya,” he said calmly.
[I understand.]

That was all.

No scolding.

No questions.

No pressure.

Only understanding.

And somehow that hurt more.

Simran’s shoulders began to shake.

She tried to stop it. She pressed her lips together. She turned toward the stove and picked up the kettle, but her vision blurred.

The kettle touched the counter with a small metallic sound.

Then the tears came.

Not loudly at first.

Just one breath.

Then another.

Then her face folded, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

Arvind stopped near the door.

He turned back.

“Simran.”

She shook her head.

“Sorry sir. Main… main bas…”
[Sorry sir. I… I just…]

Her voice disappeared.

She cried like someone who had been holding water behind a cracked wall for too long.

 

Arvind moved closer.

“Sit down,” he said softly.
[Sit down.]

She shook her head again.

“Kaam reh gaya hai.”
[Work is left.]

“Kaam baad mein ho jayega.”
[Work can happen later.]

She stood there, trembling, wiping her cheeks with her dupatta.

Arvind pulled a chair slightly away from the table.

“Baitho, Simran.”
[Sit, Simran.]

This time, she sat.

Her hands were in her lap. Her fingers twisted together like frightened threads.

“Ravi ne maara?” Arvind asked quietly.
[Did Ravi hit you?]

Simran closed her eyes.

Fresh tears slipped down.

She did not answer.

That was answer enough.

The Shoulder

Arvind stood near her, not too close at first.

“Tumhari galti nahi hai,” he said.
[It is not your fault.]

Simran shook her head.

“Maine bhi gusse mein bol diya.”
[I also spoke in anger.]

“Isliye koi haath uthata hai?”
[Does that mean someone raises a hand?]

She looked down.

“He was tired. Raat bhar kaam karta hai.”
[He was tired. He works all night.]

“Thakan se aadmi thappad nahi maarta, Simran.”
[Tiredness does not make a man slap someone, Simran.]

The sentence landed softly, but deep.

She cried harder.

“Main kya karun, sir?” she whispered. “Main kahan jaun?”
[What should I do, sir? Where should I go?]

Arvind let the silence grow just enough.

Then he placed a hand lightly near the back of the chair, not touching her yet.

“Tum akeli nahi ho.”
[You are not alone.]

Simran looked up at him through tears.

He opened his arms slightly, not fully.

Just enough to look like comfort was available if she needed it.

For a second, she hesitated.

Then the pain won.

She stood and leaned into him, crying against his shoulder.

It was not romance for Simran.

It was collapse.

A moment where she had no mother, no sister, no home, no husband who felt safe, and no strength left to stand straight.

Arvind placed one hand carefully on her upper back.

His face stayed calm.

But inside, he knew this moment mattered.

Not because she loved him.

She did not.

Because pain had brought her into his arms without him pulling.

That was how control became stronger.

Not by force.

By becoming the only place where someone could break down.

 

“Bas,” he said softly. “Rone do. Sab andar mat rakho.”
[It’s okay. Cry. Don’t keep everything inside.]

Simran cried harder.

Her body shook with every breath.

Arvind held still, patient, letting her trust the silence.

Billa’s Picture

At the back corridor, Billa had come looking for Arvind.

He stopped before entering the kitchen.

Through the half-open door, he saw them.

Simran crying against Arvind’s shoulder.

Arvind’s hand on her back.

Billa’s eyes narrowed.

Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.

He pulled out his phone.

Quietly.

Carefully.

He moved slightly to the side, where the angle hid Simran’s tears but captured the closeness.

Click.

One photo.

Then another.

 

From the picture, nobody would know she was broken.

Nobody would know about the mark on her face.

Nobody would hear Ravi’s slap or her shaking voice.

The photo would only show Simran in Arvind’s arms.

And in the wrong hands, half-truths were sharper than lies.

Billa looked at the photo and whispered, “Ab maza aayega.”
[Now this will be interesting.]
 

Then he slipped away before anyone noticed.

After The Tears

Simran slowly calmed down.

When she realized how close she was standing, she pulled back quickly.

Her face turned red with embarrassment.

“Sorry sir,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Mujhe aise nahi…”
[Sorry sir. I shouldn’t have…]

Arvind stepped back politely, giving her space.

“No sorry. Kabhi-kabhi insaan toot jata hai.”
[No sorry. Sometimes a person breaks.]

She nodded, still looking down.

Her cheek hurt.

Her eyes burned.

Her throat felt heavy.

But the crying had emptied something for a while.

Arvind picked up a glass of water and gave it to her.

“Paani piyo.”
[Drink water.]

She took it with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”
[Thank you, sir.]

He watched her drink.

Then he said, “If you want, I can talk to Ravi.”
[If you want, I can talk to Ravi.]

Simran immediately shook her head.

“No sir. Please nahi.”
[No sir. Please don’t.]

“Why?”

“Woh gusse mein tha. Heat of moment mein ho gaya.”
[He was angry. It happened in the heat of the moment.]

Arvind’s face became serious.

“Simran, heat of moment mein bhi haath uthana galat hota hai.”
[Simran, even in the heat of the moment, raising a hand is wrong.]

She looked down again.

“I know. Par main fix kar lungi. Main usse baat karungi.”
[I know. But I will fix it. I will talk to him.]

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Ji sir. Please Ravi ko mat bolna.”
[Yes sir. Please don’t tell Ravi.]

Arvind paused, then gave a slow nod.

“As you wish.”
[As you wish.]

His voice was gentle.

Too gentle.

Simran stood up and wiped her face with the edge of her dupatta.

“I will make fresh tea,” she said.
[I will make fresh tea.]

“Rest for five minutes,” Arvind said.

She gave a tired little smile.

“Kaam reh gaya hai, sir.”
[Work is left, sir.]

Then she turned back to the stove.

The mark on her face was still visible.

Her hands were still shaking.

But the tea began to boil again, because in that house, even pain had to wait behind duty.

Outside, Billa stood near the garden wall, looking at the photo on his phone.

Inside the kitchen, Arvind watched Simran quietly.

And far away at the farm, Ravi lifted milk cans in the dark, not knowing that one slap had given Billa a weapon…

and Arvind a doorway.

[zeus90]

Superb going

Thanks for putting a great update with pics only thing in the pic women is seen as bulky  image put a medium size lady

Fantastic put some spicer episodes and armpits fun as well

Thanks plz keep writing

slowly going getting better this will be long story its not fast paced it slow moving and i will cover mostly things . spicer chapter with feeling come i dont want to rush things. armpits fun i am not sure but i will be intersting story

[zeus90]

# Chapter 6: The Price of Shelter

The hug did not end in the kitchen.

It followed Simran for the rest of the day.

It followed her while she washed cups.

It followed her while she folded napkins.

It followed her while she swept the corridor where Billa’s muddy slippers had left brown half-moons on the floor.

It followed her into the outside room after sunset, when the house became quiet and Ravi had already left for the farm without looking properly at her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the end of her dupatta in both hands.

Her cheek still hurt faintly.

Not as much as the morning.

But enough to remind her.

Ravi’s hand.

Ravi’s anger.

Ravi’s words.

And then Arvind’s voice.

“Tumhari galti nahi hai.”
*[It is not your fault.]*

The line kept returning to her.

Again and again.

Like someone knocking softly from inside her chest.

She did not want to think about Arvind.

But the mind does not always obey shame.

She remembered how she had cried against his shoulder. How for a few minutes, she had stopped holding herself together. How he had not shouted, not blamed, not asked for proof. How he had simply understood.

That was the dangerous part.

Not the touch.

The understanding.

Because after a long time, someone had looked at her pain and not called it drama.

Simran closed her eyes.

“Main pagal ho rahi hoon,” she whispered to herself.
**

Then she quickly opened her eyes, as if even thinking like that was wrong.

Ravi was her husband.

Arvind was her employer.

The difference should have been clear.

But in that house, every line had begun to blur quietly.

Like ink spreading in water.

---

## Arvind’s Room

That same night, Arvind sat alone in his bedroom.

The room was large, neat, and cold. A glass of water sat untouched beside the lamp. His white kurta hung on the chair. His phone lay on the bed, screen down.

He was not reading.

He was not sleeping.

He was remembering.

Simran crying.

Simran leaning into him.

Simran trusting him because she had nowhere else to place her brokenness.

A small smile moved across his face.

Not soft.

Not kind.

Satisfied.

He had waited.

He had not rushed.

He had watched the house do its work on her. Poverty. Shame. Work. Distance. Ravi’s anger. Billa’s poison. The clothes. The rent. The silence.

And now, for the first time, Simran had come close to him without being ordered.

That mattered.

To Arvind, it was not emotion.

It was progress.

“Pain opens doors,” he murmured.

Then he corrected himself, almost amused.

“No. Pain opens people.”

He leaned back against the headboard.

His plan was working.

Slowly.

Cleanly.

Without leaving fingerprints.

---

## The Photo

The next morning, Billa waited near the garden before breakfast.

He did not enter the kitchen. He knew when to step forward and when to stay behind. That was his talent. A dirty talent, but a talent.

When Arvind came out toward the side corridor, Billa straightened.

“Sir.”

Arvind stopped.

“Bolo.”
*[Speak.]*

Billa looked around once, then pulled out his phone.

“Mere paas kuch hai.”
**

Arvind’s eyes sharpened.

“Kya?”
*[What?]*

Billa opened the photo.

The screen lit up.

Simran was in Arvind’s arms.

Her face was turned away. Her tears were not visible. The mark on her cheek was hidden. The angle made the moment look different from what it had been.

Arvind took the phone slowly.

He stared at the photo.

For a few seconds, he said nothing.

Billa smiled like a dog waiting for a bone.

“Kaam aa sakta hai, sir.”
*[This can be useful, sir.]*

Arvind zoomed in slightly.

The photo was perfect.

Not because it showed truth.

Because it could destroy truth.

He handed the phone back.

“Save it carefully,” Arvind said.

Billa nodded.

“Ravi ko dikha doon?”
*[Should I show Ravi?]*

Arvind looked at him coldly.

“Bewakoof ho?”
*[Are you stupid?]*

Billa’s smile disappeared.

“Nahi sir.”
*[No sir.]*

“Abhi nahi,” Arvind said. “Aise card jaldi nahi phenkta. Isko future ke liye rakh.”
*[Not now. You do not throw such a card early. Keep it for the future.]*

Billa nodded quickly.

“Samajh gaya.”
**

Arvind looked toward the kitchen window. Simran was inside, lighting the stove, her dupatta pulled too high over her chest, her movements careful.

“She is already tired,” Arvind said quietly. “Already ashamed. Already alone.”

Billa grinned.

“Phir toh aadha kaam ho gaya.”
*[Then half the work is done.]*

Arvind did not smile.

“Half work is not enough.”

He stepped closer to Billa.

“Ravi ko din mein dekhte rehna. Jab woh sota hai, check karna. Agar Simran uske paas zyada der rukti hai, ya room ka door band hota hai, mujhe batana.”
*[Keep watching Ravi during the day. When he sleeps, check. If Simran stays with him too long, or if the room door is closed, tell me.]*

Billa’s eyes narrowed with understanding.

“Matlab unko close nahi hone dena.”
*[Meaning, don’t let them get close.]*

“Exactly,” Arvind said.

Then his voice became smoother.

“Simran ko busy rakho. Kaam badhao, but naturally. Kabhi kitchen. Kabhi cleaning. Kabhi study. Kabhi laundry. Usko itna time hi nahi milna chahiye ki woh Ravi ke saath baith ke baat kar sake.”
*[Keep Simran busy. Increase the work, but naturally. Sometimes kitchen. Sometimes cleaning. Sometimes study. Sometimes laundry. She should not get enough time to sit and talk with Ravi.]*

Billa scratched his chin.

“Ravi toh waise bhi gusse mein hai.”
*[Ravi is already angry anyway.]*

“Gussa thanda pad sakta hai,” Arvind replied. “Doori thandi nahi padni chahiye.”
*[Anger can cool down. Distance must not.]*

Billa smiled again.

“Samajh gaya, sir. Din mein main dekh lunga.”
**

Arvind looked once more toward Simran.

She was adjusting her dupatta again, uncomfortable in the white suit, trying to keep herself covered while bending near the lower cabinet.

Arvind’s voice dropped.

“Uska mind already weak ho raha hai. Ab usko apni need samajhni chahiye. Shelter ki need. Safety ki need. Respect ki need.”
*[Her mind is already weakening. Now she should understand her need. Need for shelter. Need for safety. Need for respect.]*

Billa laughed under his breath.

“And all roads lead to Arvind sir?”

Arvind looked at him.

Billa immediately lowered his eyes.

“Sorry sir.”

Arvind walked away.

Behind him, Billa looked at the photo again and whispered:

“Ek tasveer. Hazaar kaam.”
*[One picture. A thousand uses.]*

---

## The Silent Room

Ravi and Simran did not talk properly for two days.

Not because there was nothing to say.

Because there was too much.

Their silence had become a third person in the room.

It sat between them when Simran placed tea on the stool.

It stood near the bed when Ravi changed clothes for work.

It followed them when he returned from the farm in the morning and she went to the main kitchen without asking how his night had been.

Ravi did not apologize.

Simran did not ask for an apology.

Both waited.

Both hurt.

Both proud.

Both lonely.

One morning, Ravi sat on the bed, eating the food she had kept for him. Two rotis. Potato sabzi. A small steel glass of tea.

Simran stood near the door.

“Roti aur chahiye?”
*[Do you want more roti?]*

Ravi did not look at her.

“Nahi.”
*[No.]*

She nodded.

There was a pause.

His eyes went to her cheek. The mark had faded, but not fully. A yellow-brown shadow remained near her jaw.

His fingers stopped for a second.

He saw it.

He knew he had done it.

But guilt is easier to swallow when pride is sitting on your throat.

He looked down again.

Simran waited for one word.

Sorry.

Bas itna.

Just that much.

It did not come.

She turned to leave.

Ravi spoke suddenly.

“Arvind ne kuch poocha?”
*[Did Arvind ask anything?]*

Simran stopped.

Her back straightened.

“Poocha tha.”
*[He asked.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“Kya bola tumne?”
*[What did you say?]*

“Bathroom mein gir gayi.”
**

Ravi looked at her.

For a moment, shame passed through his eyes.

Then suspicion came behind it.

“Usne maan liya?”
*[Did he believe it?]*

Simran turned around slowly.

“Tumhe bas yahi tension hai?”
*[Is that all you are worried about?]*

Ravi said nothing.

She gave a small, broken laugh.

“Main jaa rahi hoon. Kaam hai.”
**

She left before he could answer.

Outside, Billa stood near the garden pipe, pretending to water plants.

The pipe was dry.

But his eyes were working.

---

## A Month Completed

One month passed in Arvind Malhotra’s house.

The calendar changed.

Nothing else did.

Simran’s days were still full.

Ravi’s nights were still heavy.

Billa’s eyes were still everywhere.

Arvind’s voice was still calm.

At the end of the month, Arvind called Simran into the study.

She stood near the door, nervous. She had never liked that room. The shelves were too tall. The desk too polished. The air too controlled.

“Come in, Simran,” Arvind said.

She stepped inside.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

Arvind opened a drawer and took out an envelope.

“Tumhari salary.”
*[Your salary.]*

Simran’s eyes moved to the envelope.

Her first salary.

For a second, something bright came into her face.

Small.

Careful.

But real.

Arvind noticed.

He always noticed.

He placed the envelope on the table.

“Seven thousand. Aur five hundred bonus. You worked well this month.”
*[Seven thousand. And five hundred bonus. You worked well this month.]*

Simran looked surprised.

“Bonus?”
*[Bonus?]*

“Yes. Guests bhi aaye, kaam zyada tha. You managed.”
*[Yes. Guests came too, work was more. You managed.]*

She took the envelope with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”
*[Thank you, sir.]*

Her voice almost trembled.

Money had a sound.

A thin paper sound.

But to Simran, it sounded like breath.

For the first time in a month, she felt she had something of her own.

Maybe she could buy oil for her hair.

Maybe a simple pair of slippers.

Maybe some cream for the roughness on her hands.

Maybe she could keep a little aside.

Maybe.

Arvind leaned back.

“When Ravi comes, send him to me. I need to talk to him.”
*[When Ravi comes, send him to me. I need to talk to him.]*

Simran’s smile faded slightly.

“Ji sir. Kis baare mein?”
*[Yes sir. About what?]*

“Rent and expenses.”
*[Rent and expenses.]*

The envelope became heavier in her hand.

Arvind spoke gently, as if discussing weather.

“First month mein maine food, electricity, water, sab ignore kiya. Help samajh lo. But from now, you both need to manage properly.”
*[In the first month, I ignored food, electricity, water, everything. Consider it help. But from now, you both need to manage properly.]*

Simran swallowed.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“Room rent ten thousand hai. Due next week. Main ek week aur de raha hoon. Aaj se tum log apna ration alag manage karna. Kitchen ka basic use kar sakti ho, but monthly expenses ka hisaab clear hona chahiye.”
*[Room rent is ten thousand. Due next week. I am giving one more week. From today, you both should manage your own groceries separately. You can use the kitchen basics, but monthly expenses must be clear.]*

Simran’s fingers tightened around the envelope.

Ten thousand.

The number stood in front of her like a locked gate.

“Sir… meri salary…”
*[Sir… my salary…]*

“I know,” Arvind said softly. “That is why Ravi must understand. Husband-wife dono ko milke chalna padta hai.”
**

She nodded, but her throat felt dry.

Arvind’s eyes remained gentle.

Too gentle.

“Don’t worry. Send him to me. Main samjha dunga.”
*[Don’t worry. Send him to me. I will explain it to him.]*

Simran stepped out of the study with the envelope in her hand.

The first money she had earned.

And already, it did not feel like hers.

---

## Half Salary

Ravi returned before evening that day.

His face looked tired, but not only from work. There was something else in his eyes. Avoidance. Fear. The look of a man who had spent tomorrow before today had ended.

Simran was folding clothes in the outside room.

She had changed into the baby pink suit. The dupatta kept slipping from one side because she was moving fast. Every time it slipped, she pulled it back, irritated, uncomfortable, aware of herself in a way that made her angry.

Ravi entered quietly.

She looked up.

“Arvind sir bula rahe hain tumhe.”
*[Arvind sir is calling you.]*

Ravi’s face changed.

“Kyun?”
*[Why?]*

“Rent ke baare mein.”
*[About rent.]*

He looked away.

Simran noticed.

“What?” she asked.

Ravi sat on the bed.

“Pehle tumse baat karni hai.”
**

Simran stopped folding.

Her hand rested on a white dupatta.

“Bolo.”
*[Say it.]*

Ravi rubbed his forehead.

“Maine salary se advance le liya tha.”
**

Simran stared at him.

“Kitna?”
*[How much?]*

Ravi did not answer immediately.

“Kitna, Ravi?”
*[How much, Ravi?]*

“Half.”

The word dropped in the room like a stone in a well.

Simran’s face went still.

“Half matlab?”
*[What do you mean, half?]*

“Is month sirf three thousand five hundred milenge.”
*[This month I will only get three thousand five hundred.]*

Simran stood up slowly.

“Tumhari salary kitni thi?”
*[How much was your salary?]*

“Seven thousand.”

“Arvind sir ne bola rent ten thousand due hai next week.”
*[Arvind sir said ten thousand rent is due next week.]*

Ravi said nothing.

Simran gave a small laugh.

Not happy.

Not amused.

The kind of laugh that comes when the heart refuses to cry immediately.

“Main soch rahi thi,” she said slowly, “meri salary mein se five thousand de dungi. Tum five thousand de dena. Rent clear ho jayega. Thoda bachega toh ration le lenge.”
**

Ravi looked down.

Simran stepped closer.

“Par tumhare paas three thousand five hundred hai?”
*[But you have only three thousand five hundred?]*

“Main manage kar lunga.”
**

“Kaise?”
*[How?]*

He stayed quiet.

The answer was sitting between them.

Drinks.

Friends.

Small expenses.

Weakness.

Excuses.

Simran’s voice rose.

“Main subah se raat tak kaam karun. Kapde apni marzi ke nahi. Khana apni marzi ka nahi. Room apna nahi. Aur jab pehli salary haath mein aayi, toh woh bhi rent mein chali jaaye?”
**


Ravi’s jaw tightened, but he did not speak.

“Tumhe pata hai main kya soch rahi thi?” she continued. “Main soch rahi thi ek simple slippers le loon. Haath ke liye cream le loon. Maa ko phone karne ke liye recharge karwa loon. Par nahi. Tumne pehle hi aadhi salary uda di.”
*[Do you know what I was thinking? I was thinking I would buy simple slippers. Some cream for my hands. Recharge my phone to call my mother. But no. You already wasted half your salary.]*

Ravi looked up.

“Uda di nahi. Zarurat thi.”
**

“Daaru zarurat thi?”
*[Was alcohol a need?]*

His face hardened.

“Har baat daaru pe mat lao.”
*[Don’t bring everything to alcohol.]*

“Toh kis pe laun?” Simran snapped. “Tum kaam pe jaate ho, salary aane se pehle advance le lete ho, ghar mein paisa nahi, rent due, aur main kya karun? Main Arvind sir ke saamne haath jodun?”
*[Then what should I bring it to? You go to work, take advance before salary, there is no money at home, rent is due, and what should I do? Should I fold my hands in front of Arvind sir?]*

Ravi stood up.

“Bas karo.”
*[Stop it.]*

“Nahi. Aaj nahi.”
*[No. Not today.]*

Her voice shook, but she did not stop.

 

“Tumne mujhe yahan laaya. Tumne bola kuch din mushkil honge, phir sab theek ho jayega. Par har din mushkil badh rahi hai. Aur tum? Tum bas ya toh sote ho, ya gussa karte ho, ya paisa khatam kar dete ho.”
*[You brought me here. You said some days would be difficult, then everything would become fine. But every day the difficulty is growing. And you? You either sleep, or get angry, or finish the money.]*

Ravi’s eyes flashed.

For a second, Simran saw his hand twitch.

Her body remembered before her mind did.

She stepped back.

That small step hit Ravi harder than her words.

He saw fear in her eyes.

Fear of him.

His anger fell silent.

He picked up his bag.

“I’m going to work.”
*[I’m going to work.]*

“Itni jaldi?”
*[So early?]*

He did not answer.

“Arvind sir se baat?” she asked.
*[What about talking to Arvind sir?]*

“Tu bol dena kal baat karunga.”
*[Tell him I will talk tomorrow.]*

Then he left.

No apology.

No solution.

Just the door closing again.

---

## What Now?

Simran stood in the room for a long time.

The envelope was still hidden under the folded clothes.

Seven thousand five hundred.

For a few minutes that morning, it had felt like freedom.

Now it felt like debt wearing paper skin.

She sat down on the bed and took the envelope out.

She counted the notes once.
 


As if the number might change if she looked at it with enough pain.

It did not.

Outside, the evening light turned yellow.

Inside, the room felt smaller than before.

Ten thousand rent.

Separate groceries.

Ravi’s half salary gone.

Arvind waiting.

Billa watching.

Simran pressed the envelope against her forehead and closed her eyes.

“Main kya karun?” she whispered.
*[What should I do?]*

No answer came.

Only the sound of the main house bell.

Arvind was calling for tea.

Simran wiped her face quickly, tucked the envelope under the mattress, adjusted her dupatta, and stood up.

Pain could wait.

Debt could wait.

Fear could wait.

Tea could not.

And in Arvind Malhotra’s house, that was how the trap worked.

Not with chains.

With needs.

I’ll keep this part tense and dark, but not graphic. Arvind’s trap will feel more dangerous because he hides it under “help” and “extra work.”



The next morning, Simran worked slower than usual.

Not lazy.

Just heavy.

Her hands were doing the work, but her mind was still sitting in the outside room with the salary envelope open on the bed.

Seven thousand five hundred.

Rent due.

Ravi’s half salary gone.

Separate groceries.

Only numbers.

Only pressure.

She washed cups in the kitchen, but twice she forgot which ones were already clean. She placed sugar in the wrong jar. She burned one roti because she kept staring at the flame like it might answer her.

Arvind noticed from the dining table.

He always noticed.

He folded his newspaper slowly and looked toward the kitchen.

“Simran.”

She turned quickly.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

“Tumhara mood off hai?”
*[Is your mood off?]*

Simran forced a small smile.

“Nahi sir. Bas thodi thakawat hai.”
*[No sir. Just a little tiredness.]*

Arvind watched her.

“Thakawat aankhon mein nahi hoti. Aaj tumhare chehre pe hai.”
*[Tiredness is not in the eyes. Today it is on your face.]*

Simran looked down and wiped the counter, even though it was already clean.

“Kuch nahi sir.”
*[Nothing sir.]*

Arvind did not push immediately.

That was his skill.

He let silence sit beside her until it became uncomfortable.

Then he spoke softly.

“Ravi se kuch hua?”
*[Did something happen with Ravi?]*

Her hand stopped.

Only for half a second.

But Arvind saw it.

Simran turned toward the sink.

“Thoda issue chal raha hai Ravi ke saath,” she said quietly. “Isliye mood thoda aisa hai.”
*[There is a small issue going on with Ravi. That is why my mood is like this.]*

Arvind leaned back in his chair.

“Money?”
*[Money?]*

She did not answer.

That was enough.

He gave a gentle smile, the kind that made every trap look like a doorway.

“Don’t worry, Simran. Sab theek ho jata hai. Husband-wife mein thodi bahut nok-jhonk toh chalti rehti hai life mein.”
*[Don’t worry, Simran. Everything becomes okay. In husband and wife life, small arguments keep happening.]*

Simran nodded, but her eyes stayed low.

“Nok-jhonk alag hoti hai, sir,” she whispered. “Jab har baat paise pe aa jaaye na… toh saans bhi hisaab se leni padti hai.”
*[Small arguments are different, sir. When everything comes to money… then even breathing feels like it needs calculation.]*

For a moment, Arvind’s face became almost sympathetic.

Almost.

“I understand,” he said.

And because Simran was tired, she wanted to believe him.

---

## The Rent Week

One week passed like a dry leaf dragging across stone.

Every day, Simran counted in her head.

Seven thousand from her salary.

Three thousand from Ravi.

Ten thousand rent.

After that, five hundred left for her.

Five hundred left for Ravi.

Nothing more.

No slippers.

No cream.

No phone recharge.

No small happiness folded secretly inside the blouse drawer.

Only survival.

On the rent day, Simran stood in Arvind’s study with the money in both hands. Ravi stood beside her, silent, eyes lowered.

Arvind sat behind his polished desk.

The room smelled of paper, sandalwood, and control.

Simran placed the notes on the table.

“Sir, rent.”
*[Sir, rent.]*

Arvind counted it slowly.

Not because he needed to.

Because he wanted both of them to feel every note leaving their hands.

“One, two, three…”

Simran watched the money disappear into his drawer.

Something inside her sank with it.

Arvind closed the drawer.

“Good. From now, keep things clear. Rent on time. Expenses separate. No confusion.”
*[Good. From now, keep things clear. Rent on time. Expenses separate. No confusion.]*

Ravi nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Arvind looked at him.

“You are working now. You must plan better. A household cannot run on excuses.”
*[You are working now. You must plan better. A household cannot run on excuses.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

Simran looked at Ravi from the side.

He did not look back.

They left the study together, but their footsteps did not match.

---

## Five Hundred Each

Back in the outside room, Simran sat on the bed and opened her palm.

Five hundred rupees.

That was what remained.

One note.

One month of work.

Her eyes filled, but she did not cry.

Ravi stood near the door, holding his own five hundred, turning it between his fingers.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Then Ravi said quietly:

“Simran.”

She did not look up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

“I’m sorry.”

The words came late.

Very late.

But they came.

Simran’s fingers tightened around the note.

Ravi stepped closer.

“Main galat tha. Advance nahi lena chahiye tha. Daaru bhi…” He stopped, ashamed. “Mujhse galti ho gayi.”
*[I was wrong. I should not have taken the advance. The drinking too… I made a mistake.]*

Simran looked at him.

His face was tired, but there was no anger now. Only a man who had finally seen the hole he had helped dig.

She wanted to stay angry.

She had earned that anger.

But marriage does not break only from fights.

Sometimes it breaks from waiting for one apology that never comes.

And when it finally comes, the heart becomes confused.

She looked away.

“Maaf kar diya,” she said.
*[I forgive you.]*

Ravi’s shoulders dropped slightly, as if he had been holding a stone.

“But Ravi,” she continued, her voice firmer now, “aise toh nahi chalega.”
*[But Ravi, it cannot continue like this.]*

He nodded.

“I know.”

“Sirf sorry se rent nahi bharega. Ration nahi aayega. Zindagi nahi chalegi.”
*[Sorry will not pay rent. It will not buy groceries. It will not run life.]*

Ravi looked down.

“Main kuch karta hoon.”
*[I will do something.]*

“Kar ke dikhao,” she said. “Bas bolna mat.”
*[Show it by doing. Don’t just say it.]*

Ravi nodded again.

His eyes went to the faded mark near her jaw. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else.

But the moment passed.

The farm horn sounded far away in the evening.

He picked up his bag.

“I’ll go. Late ho raha hai.”
*[I’ll go. I am getting late.]*

Simran did not stop him.

He paused at the door.

“Simran…”

She looked at him.

“I’ll try.”

Then he left.

This time, the door closed softer.

But soft doors also close.

---

## Extra Work

That night, Simran could not sleep.

She lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

Five hundred rupees.

That number kept walking across her mind.

Five hundred for a whole month.

She turned to one side.

The room was hot. Her back ached. Her hands smelled faintly of soap and atta. Her dupatta lay folded near the pillow, but even in the dark she felt the habit of adjusting it, covering herself, making herself smaller.

By morning, a thought had formed.

Not a happy thought.

A necessary one.

After breakfast, when Arvind was in the study, Simran stood near the door.

“Sir?”

Arvind looked up.

“Yes, Simran?”

She stepped inside slowly.

“Main kuch poochh sakti hoon?”
*[Can I ask something?]*

“Of course.”

She held her hands together.

“Ghar mein… koi extra kaam ho toh bata dijiye. Salary thodi increase ho sakti hai?”
*[If there is any extra work in the house, please tell me. Can my salary increase a little?]*

Arvind leaned back.

Inside, something in him smiled.

Outside, his face became thoughtful.

“Extra work?” he repeated.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Tum already bahut kaam karti ho.”
*[You already work a lot.]*

“Kar lungi sir. Zarurat hai.”
*[I will manage, sir. I need it.]*

Arvind looked at her for a long moment.

Then he looked away, as if considering.

“Work toh hai,” he said slowly. “But tum shayad nahi karna chahogi.”
*[There is work. But maybe you will not want to do it.]*

Simran became alert.

“Kaisa work?”
*[What kind of work?]*

Arvind gave a small sigh, like a man embarrassed to ask.

“Actually, meri back problem hai. Kabhi-kabhi pain badh jata hai. Pehle main Billa ko extra pay kar deta tha body massage ke liye.”
*[Actually, I have a back problem. Sometimes the pain increases. Earlier, I used to pay Billa extra for body massage.]*

Simran blinked.

Massage.

The word felt strange in the room.

Arvind quickly added:

“But leave it. Mujhe nahi lagta tum kar paogi. Aur main tumhe uncomfortable nahi karna chahta.”
*[But leave it. I don’t think you will be able to do it. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.]*

That made it sound like the decision was hers.

That was the hook.

Simran looked down.

“How much extra, sir?”
*[How much extra, sir?]*

Arvind paused.

“Depends. Agar properly kar sako toh monthly kuch add kar sakta hoon. Maybe two thousand. Maybe more, if regular.”
*[Depends. If you can do it properly, I can add something monthly. Maybe two thousand. Maybe more, if regular.]*

Two thousand.

The number hit her like cool water.

Two thousand meant groceries.

Recharge.

Maybe slippers.

Maybe breathing.

She lifted her eyes.

“Main kar lungi.”
*[I will do it.]*

 

Arvind shook his head gently.

“Don’t say yes quickly. Massage easy nahi hoti. Pressure points, oil, time. One hour lagta hai. Usually dinner ke baad.”
*[Don’t say yes quickly. Massage is not easy. Pressure points, oil, time. It takes one hour. Usually after dinner.]*

Simran hesitated.

After dinner.

His bedroom.

One hour.

Something inside her pulled back.

Arvind saw it and immediately leaned away, giving her room to refuse.

“Leave it, Simran. I should not have mentioned it.”
*[Leave it, Simran. I should not have mentioned it.]*

“No sir,” she said quickly. “Agar kaam hai toh main kar lungi. Main seekh jaungi.”
*[No sir. If it is work, I will do it. I will learn.]*

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

Arvind looked at her carefully.

“Tomorrow after dinner. Video dekh lena. Basic back and shoulder massage. Phir mere bedroom mein aa jana. One hour. Bas professional work samajh ke.”
*[Tomorrow after dinner. Watch a video. Basic back and shoulder massage. Then come to my bedroom. One hour. Just treat it as professional work.]*

Professional.

The word wrapped the wrong thing in a clean cloth.

Simran nodded again.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Good. And listen,” Arvind said, voice softening, “agar uncomfortable feel ho, toh mana kar dena. No pressure.”

Simran almost felt grateful.

That was how deep she had already stepped into the trap.

She thought he was giving her a choice.

She did not see that he had built the situation where every choice led back to him.

---

## Behind The Door

After Simran left, Arvind sat still for a while.

Then he smiled.

Not wide.

Just enough.

A careful man’s smile.

He opened the side drawer and took out his phone.

One message to Billa.

**Kal dinner ke baad Simran busy rahegi. Ravi pe nazar rakhna.**

*[Tomorrow after dinner Simran will be busy. Keep an eye on Ravi.]*

The reply came quickly.

**Samajh gaya sir.**

*[Understood sir.]*

Arvind placed the phone down.

The house was quiet.

But inside that quiet, another thread had been tied.

---

## Learning

That night, Simran finished the dishes late.

Ravi had already left for work.

The outside room was dim when she sat on the bed with her phone.

She searched:

**back massage kaise kare**

Many videos appeared.

Some were from clinics.

Some from salons.

Some from people talking too much before showing anything useful.

Simran watched carefully.

Palm pressure.

Shoulder circles.

Lower back caution.

Do not press bone.

Use oil.

Ask if pressure is okay.

She tried the movement in the air with her hands.

Once.

Twice.

Then she pressed her own shoulder and winced.

“Yeh bhi seekhna padega,” she muttered.
*[I have to learn this too.]*

The pink dupatta lay beside her on the bed. Her five hundred rupee note was folded under her pillow.

She watched another video.

Then another.

Slowly, her eyes became heavy.

The phone slipped onto the bedsheet.

Before sleeping, one thought passed through her mind:

Maybe this will help.

Maybe next month will be easier.

Maybe I can manage.

She did not think about Arvind’s side.

She did not think about why he had asked her and not Billa.

She did not think about the bedroom door.

She only thought about money.

That was the saddest part.

The trap no longer needed to look like danger.

It only needed to look like a solution.

Simran fell asleep with the phone still glowing beside her.

On the screen, a paused video showed two hands pressing someone’s back.

In Arvind Malhotra’s house, tomorrow had already been planned.

And Simran thought she was choosing it.

[zeus90]

I’ am make this part **emotional, slow-burn, and tense**, Arvind’s “kindness” will look warm to Simran,
---

# Chapter 7: The Soft Trap

The next evening came slower than usual.

All day, Simran kept remembering Arvind’s words.

“Tomorrow after dinner… one hour… professional work samajh ke.”

Professional.

She repeated the word in her mind like a shield.

Professional work.

Extra money.

Nothing else.

By dinner time, her hands felt slightly cold, even though the kitchen was hot. She cooked dal, roti, and mixed vegetables. She served Arvind quietly at the dining table, then cleaned the plates, washed the glasses, wiped the counter, and checked the stove twice.

Ravi had already left for the farm.

The outside room was empty.

The big house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Simran stood near the kitchen door, holding a small bottle of oil in her hand.

For a moment, she thought of going back.

Then she remembered the rent.

The five hundred rupees.

The phone recharge she still had not done.

The slippers she still could not buy.

She took a breath and walked toward Arvind’s bedroom.

---

## The First Massage

Arvind’s bedroom was larger than the outside room and the kitchen together.

A soft lamp glowed near the bed. The curtains were closed. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and expensive soap. Everything was arranged perfectly, like even the silence had been folded and kept in place.

Arvind was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a plain white kurta-pajama.


When Simran entered, he looked up.

“You came.”

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

Her voice was low.

Arvind noticed the oil bottle in her hand.

 

“Video dekhi?”
*[Did you watch the video?]*

She nodded.

“Thodi.”
*[A little.]*

He smiled gently.

“Don’t worry. Bas shoulders and back. Agar difficult lage toh stop kar dena.”
*[Don’t worry. Just shoulders and back. If it feels difficult, stop.]*

That made her feel safer.

Or maybe it only made the room feel less dangerous.

Arvind lay face down on the bed, keeping his arms folded near the pillow. Simran stood beside him, uncertain.

She poured a little oil into her palm.

Too much.

She quickly rubbed it between both hands, embarrassed.

Arvind said without turning:

“Relax, Simran. First time hai. Galti ho sakti hai.”
*[Relax, Simran. It is your first time. Mistakes can happen.]*

She placed her hands carefully on his upper back.

Her movements were stiff at first. Like she was afraid even her fingers might do something wrong.

“Pressure theek hai?” she asked.
*[Is the pressure okay?]*

“Thoda aur,” Arvind said softly. “But only if you are comfortable.”
*[A little more. But only if you are comfortable.]*

She pressed slightly harder.

The room stayed quiet.

Outside, somewhere far away, a dog barked.

Inside, Simran focused on the movement she had seen in the video. Circles near the shoulder. Straight pressure beside the spine. Do not press bone. Ask if pressure is okay.

After ten minutes, her nervousness began to settle.

After twenty, she stopped thinking about every movement.

After thirty, she started talking.

Not because she planned to.

Because silence sometimes opens doors that words keep locked.

“Sir…”

“Hm?”

“Ravi pehle aisa nahi tha.”
*[Ravi was not like this before.]*

Arvind did not move.

“Kaise?”
*[How?]*

“Pehle woh mujhe dekh ke khush ho jaata tha. Ab lagta hai main uske liye bojh hoon.”
*[Before, he used to become happy just seeing me. Now it feels like I am a burden for him.]*

Arvind let a few seconds pass.

“Stress aadmi ko badal deta hai.”
*[Stress changes a man.]*

Simran’s hands slowed.

“Par main bhi stress mein hoon.”
*[But I am also stressed.]*

“I know.”

Those two words entered her quietly.

I know.

Ravi always said, “Tumhe kya pata.”

Arvind said, “I know.”

The difference was small.

The effect was not.

Simran continued, her voice softer.

“Kabhi-kabhi lagta hai main akeli hoon. Main uske liye ghar chhod ke aayi. Par jab problem aati hai, mujhe hi strong banna padta hai.”
*[Sometimes I feel I am alone. I left home for him. But whenever a problem comes, I am the one who has to be strong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly toward her.

“You are strong.”

Simran looked down.

“Strong hona bhi thaka deta hai.”
*[Being strong also makes you tired.]*

Arvind’s voice became warmer.

“Then don’t be strong all the time. At least yahan mat bano.”
*[Then don’t be strong all the time. At least don’t be here.]*

Her hands stopped.

She did not know why that line affected her.

Maybe because it sounded like permission.

Permission to be tired.

Permission to be weak.

Permission to stop holding the roof alone.

Arvind noticed.

“Thak gayi?”
*[Are you tired?]*

“Thoda.”
*[A little.]*

“You can go. No problem.”

Simran almost stepped back.

But then something inside her resisted.

If she left now, the money would feel like charity.

If she stayed, it was work.

“No sir. Main kar lungi.”
*[No sir. I will manage.]*

Arvind smiled into the pillow.

“Good.”

But what he meant was not good work.

It was good girl.

The hour ended quietly.

Simran wiped her hands with a towel and stepped back.

Arvind sat up slowly.

“Better,” he said. “You learned fast.”

She gave a small shy smile.

“Video help kar gaya.”
*[The video helped.]*

“Not only video. Tum dhyan se kaam karti ho.”
*[Not only the video. You work carefully.]*

She lowered her eyes.

Praise had become rare in her life.

So when it came, she did not know where to keep it.

Arvind opened the side drawer and gave her five hundred rupees.

“For today. Extra.”

Simran looked shocked.

“Sir, monthly bola tha…”
*[Sir, you said monthly…]*

“This is first day. Take it.”

She hesitated.

Then took it.

The note felt warm in her hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

As she left the room, she told herself she had only done extra work.

Nothing wrong.

Nothing bad.

Only work.

 

But that night, when she lay in the outside room alone, she did not think about the five hundred first.

She thought about the line:

“At least yahan strong mat bano.”

And for the first time in many days, she slept without crying.

---

## Ravi Tries

The next morning, Ravi returned from work early.

Simran was folding clothes in the outside room. Her hair was tied loosely, and her eyes still carried sleep.

Ravi stood near the door for a moment.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

He entered slowly.

“I want to talk.”

She kept folding.

“Bolo.”
*[Say it.]*

Ravi sat on the edge of the bed.

“Main daaru chhod dunga.”
*[I will quit drinking.]*

Her hands stopped.

He looked at her properly this time.

“Sach mein. Main kaam pe focus karunga. Advance nahi lunga. Jo galti hui… main theek karunga.”
*[Really. I will focus on work. I won’t take advance. The mistake I made… I will fix it.]*

Simran looked at him carefully.

His face was tired, but his voice sounded different.

Less defensive.

More broken.

“Ravi, sirf bolne se kuch nahi hoga.”
*[Ravi, saying it will not do anything.]*

“I know.”

“You always say you will manage.”

“I know.”

She looked away.

He moved a little closer.

“I’m sorry, Simran.”

The room became quiet.

There was something soft in his voice.

Something from before Delhi.

For a moment, Simran remembered the bus ride. The packet of chips in Shanti Stay Rooms. The dream of white curtains.

Ravi reached for her hand.

This time, she did not move away.

His fingers closed around hers.

“I miss you,” he said.

Simran’s throat tightened.

She wanted to stay angry.

But she also wanted to be wanted.

That was the cruelest confusion.

Ravi moved closer.

Their shoulders almost touched.

Then, from outside, Billa’s voice came sharply.

“Simran ji!”

Both froze.

Simran closed her eyes for half a second.

Ravi’s hand tightened around hers.

 

Billa knocked on the half-open doorframe.

“Arvind ji bula rahe hain. Book nahi mil rahi. Study mein help chahiye.”
*[Arvind ji is calling. He cannot find a book. He needs help in the study.]*

Ravi stared at him.

“Abhi?”
*[Now?]*

Billa gave an innocent face.

“Haan bhai. Sir wait kar rahe.”
*[Yes brother. Sir is waiting.]*

Simran slowly pulled her hand away.

“I’ll come.”

Ravi looked at her.

“Simran…”

She looked back, torn.

“Kaam hai.”

Then she left.

Ravi sat on the bed, staring at the doorway.

After many days, he had tried to come close.

And the house had called her away.

Outside, Billa smiled without showing teeth.

---

## The Book

In the study, Arvind stood near the shelves, holding two files.

Simran entered.

“Sir, book?”
*[Sir, the book?]*

Arvind turned.

“Yes, that blue accounts book. I can’t find it.”

She looked toward the shelf.

It was right there.

Second row.

Plain sight.

Simran took it out and gave it to him.

“Yeh?”
*[This?]*

Arvind smiled.

“Yes. Maybe I missed it.”

She did not know what to say.

For a moment, she remembered Ravi’s hand around hers.

Then Arvind said:

“Everything okay?”

She looked up.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“You look disturbed.”

“Nahi sir.”

He watched her.

“You can tell me, Simran. But only if you want.”

That sentence again.

Only if you want.

No pressure.

Choice.

The same soft rope.

Simran looked away.

“Ravi bol raha tha woh drinking chhod dega.”
*[Ravi was saying he will quit drinking.]*

“That is good.”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“But you don’t sound happy.”

She swallowed.

“Darr lagta hai. Woh bolta bahut hai. Nibhata kam hai.”
*[I feel scared. He says a lot. He follows through less.]*

Arvind nodded slowly.

“Trust takes time.”

She looked at him.

“And once broken?”

Arvind stepped closer, but not too close.

“Then someone has to keep proving themselves.”

Simran lowered her eyes.

Ravi had apologized.

Arvind had understood.

Both stood in her mind like two doors.

One old.

One dangerous.

But only one seemed open when she knocked.

---

## The Market

Later that afternoon, Arvind called her again.

“Simran, vegetables khatam ho gaye. Market se le aao. Driver nahi hai, auto le lena.”
*[Simran, vegetables are finished. Bring them from the market. The driver is not here, take an auto.]*

He handed her money and a small list.

Tomatoes.

Onions.

Coriander.

Paneer.

Curd.

Green chilies.

She nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The afternoon sun was sharp.

Summer had begun to settle over Delhi like a hot sheet.

Simran wore a light white suit because all the darker suits were still wet from washing. The fabric was thinner than she liked. She pinned her dupatta carefully before leaving, but the heat and the auto ride kept loosening it.

At the market, she stepped out and immediately felt eyes.

Not one pair.

Many.

A vegetable seller looked too long.

Two boys near a juice stall whispered and laughed.

An older man paused mid-bargain and stared.

Simran’s hand went to her dupatta.

She adjusted it once.

Then again.

She almost turned back.

The auto had already gone.

The house felt far.

The market felt loud.

For a second, her heart began to beat fast.

Then she remembered the list in her hand.

Work.

Finish work.

Go back.

She pulled her dupatta tighter, lifted her chin slightly, and walked toward the vegetable stall.

 

“Tamatar kitne ke?” she asked.
*[How much are tomatoes?]*

The seller smiled.

“For you, madam, good price.”

She did not smile.

“Rate bolo.”
*[Say the rate.]*

He told her.

She bargained properly.

Then onions.

Then coriander.

Then curd.

The whole time, she kept adjusting her dupatta, annoyed with the fabric, annoyed with the heat, annoyed with herself for feeling watched.

By the time she returned home, her face was tired and her mood was sharp.

She carried the bags into the kitchen and placed them on the counter.

Arvind came in from the dining room.

“You went alone?” he asked.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

“Market crowded tha?”
*[Was the market crowded?]*

“Bahut.”
*[Very.]*

“Managed?”

She exhaled.

“Kar liya.”
*[I managed.]*

Arvind smiled faintly.

“You are learning Delhi.”

Simran looked at him.

“Delhi mujhe seekha rahi hai.”
*[Delhi is teaching me.]*

For a moment, Arvind looked almost impressed.

Then he said:

“Tea?”

She almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because of course.

After the market.

After the heat.

After the staring.

After carrying bags.

Tea.

“Ji sir,” she said.

And began to boil water.

---

## Summer Inside The House

Ravi slept through the afternoon.

He had returned from the farm exhausted, eaten quietly, and fallen asleep before Simran came back from the market.

She checked on him once.

He was lying on his side, one arm over his face.

He looked younger while sleeping.

Less angry.

Less failed.

Less dangerous.

For a second, Simran’s heart softened.

Then Billa’s voice came from outside.

“Madam ji, Arvind sir ne study ka table clean karne ko bola.”
*[Madam, Arvind sir said to clean the study table.]*

She looked once more at Ravi.

Then left.

That became the pattern.

Ravi slept.

Simran worked.

Arvind called.

Billa watched.

The days grew hotter.

Summer made the house slower, heavier. The kitchen became a furnace by noon. The thin suits Arvind had bought were easier to work in, but Simran still felt uncomfortable at first.

She adjusted her dupatta in the beginning.

Again and again.

Near the stove.

Near the sink.

Near the hallway.

But heat is a patient thief.

It steals shame one drop of sweat at a time.

After some days, in front of Arvind, she stopped adjusting it as much.

Not because she wanted attention.

Because she was tired.

Because her hands were full.

Because the fan barely worked near the kitchen.

Because Arvind never reacted openly.

That was his talent.

He made her feel unseen exactly when he was watching the most.

“Water?” he would ask.

“Ji sir.”

“Too hot in kitchen?”

“Thoda.”

“Use the table fan.”

“Ji.”

Small care.

Small comfort.

Small hooks.

At night, after dinner, the massage continued.

At first, Simran counted minutes.

Then she stopped counting.

She learned where Arvind’s back pain was. She learned how much pressure he liked. She learned where the oil was kept, which towel to use, where to place the bottle, when to ask if the pressure was okay.

And slowly, the room became less frightening.

That was the frightening part.

One night, while pressing his shoulder, she said:

“Ravi ne aaj phir promise kiya.”
*[Ravi promised again today.]*

Arvind’s eyes remained closed.

“About drinking?”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“Do you believe him?”

Simran was quiet.

Then she said:

“Pata nahi.”
*[I don’t know.]*

Arvind did not answer quickly.

Then:

“Sometimes people love us, but they are not strong enough to protect us.”

Her hands stopped for a second.

The sentence felt too close.

Too true.

“Ravi bura nahi hai,” she said softly.
*[Ravi is not bad.]*

“I did not say he is bad.”

“Phir?”

Arvind opened his eyes slightly.

“I said he is weak.”

Simran looked down.

She wanted to defend Ravi.

But the problem was, Arvind had used the word she had been hiding from herself.

Weak.

The room went quiet.

Arvind’s voice softened.

“You deserve someone who gives you peace, Simran. Not only promises.”

She swallowed.

The oil shone faintly on her palms.

Her heart beat faster, not from desire exactly, but from the strange feeling of being seen.

“Sir, aap aise mat bolo,” she whispered.
*[Sir, don’t speak like this.]*

“Why?”

“Galat lagta hai.”
*[It feels wrong.]*

Arvind turned his face slightly.

“Truth sometimes feels wrong when we hear it for the first time.”

Simran did not reply.

She continued the massage.

But something had shifted.

Not openly.

Not fully.

Just enough for Arvind to know the wall had another crack.

---

## The New Distance

The next morning, Ravi tried again.

He returned from work and found Simran in the kitchen courtyard, cutting vegetables.

“Simran.”

She looked up.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

“Today I didn’t drink.”

She nodded.

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“I hope so.”

He stood there awkwardly.

“I thought maybe… after I sleep, evening mein baat karenge.”
*[I thought maybe… after I sleep, we will talk in the evening.]*

Simran looked at him.

There was hope in his face.

Small.

Late.

But real.

“Dekhenge,” she said.
*[We’ll see.]*

Ravi accepted that like it was more than he deserved.

He went to sleep.

By evening, Arvind had guests coming.

Not big guests.

Only one business visitor.

But enough to keep Simran in the main house until late.

Ravi waited in the outside room.

Seven became eight.

Eight became nine.

By the time Simran came back, her feet hurt and her mood was empty.

Ravi sat up.

“You came.”

“Kaam tha.”
*[There was work.]*

“I waited.”

She closed the door softly.

“I am tired, Ravi.”

He looked down.

“Okay.”

She lay down facing the wall.

Ravi sat awake for a long time.

He had stopped drinking for one day.

But the house had already learned how to keep them apart.

---

## Arvind’s Patience

Arvind did not rush.

That was why he was dangerous.

A foolish man would have pushed.

Arvind only waited.

He made himself useful.

He made himself calm.

He made himself the place where Simran could speak without being shouted at.

One evening, during massage, Simran told him about her mother.

“She must be angry,” Simran said quietly.

“Your mother?”

Simran nodded.

“Par woh roti bhi hogi.”
*[But she must also be crying.]*

“Do you miss her?”

Simran’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back.

“Every day.”

“Then call her.”

Simran gave a sad smile.

“Recharge bhi soch ke karna padta hai.”
*[Even recharge has to be thought about carefully.]*

The next morning, Arvind left a recharge voucher near the kitchen counter.

He did not give it to her directly.

That made it worse.

Because it looked like kindness without demand.

Simran found it beside the sugar jar.

There was a small note:

**For your mother. Don’t overthink.**

She held the voucher for a long time.

Then hid it in her notebook.

That day, when she made tea for Arvind, her voice was softer.

“Thank you, sir.”

Arvind did not look up from his newspaper.

“For what?”

She understood.

He wanted the kindness to feel private.

Secret.

Between them.

She said nothing more.

But something inside her moved closer.

---

## The Comfortable Cage

Days passed.

Ravi tried to improve.

Some days he succeeded.

Some days he came home irritated, exhausted, and bitter. He did not drink openly, but Simran could smell weakness around him like smoke after a fire.

Billa made sure Ravi never fully recovered his place.

If Ravi sat with Simran too long, Billa called.

If they closed the door, some work appeared.

If Ravi tried to talk at night before leaving, Arvind needed tea.

If Simran looked free, the study needed cleaning.

Slowly, Simran stopped expecting uninterrupted time with Ravi.

Expectation is a living thing.

If neglected long enough, it dies quietly.

With Arvind, expectation grew instead.

He asked if she had eaten.

He noticed when she looked tired.

He gave small extra money for massage.

He said her tea was perfect.

He said she learned fast.

He said she deserved peace.

Each line was small.

Together, they became a room inside her mind.

A room Ravi no longer entered.

One night, after the massage, Arvind sat up and looked at her.

“You are different now.”

Simran wiped her hands with the towel.

“Different kaise?”
*[Different how?]*

“Less scared.”

She gave a faint smile.

“Maybe aadat ho gayi.”
*[Maybe I got used to it.]*

“To me?” he asked softly.

She froze.

The question hung in the room.

Too direct.

Too warm.

Too dangerous.

She looked down.

“Kaam ki aadat ho gayi, sir.”
*[I got used to the work, sir.]*

Arvind smiled.

“Of course.”

But both of them knew she had not answered the real question.

Simran left the room quickly that night.

In the corridor, she placed one hand on the wall and took a breath.

Her heart was beating too fast.

She whispered to herself:

“Bas kaam hai.”
*[It is only work.]*

But the words did not sound as strong as before.

Inside the bedroom, Arvind looked at the closed door.

Then at the oil bottle on the table.

His smile returned.

The trap was no longer outside Simran.

It had begun to speak in her own voice.

[zeus90]

So beautiful 
Got a bit delay in the update but that is completely fine as per your schedule, superb illustration and slow seduction update

Thinking about how would be the real episodes going forward can't even imagine 

Thanks for the update and your ever best writing skills

Happy writing dear writer!!!

its all about more time i get more things i can write in week i will try to post 3 to 4 days as per i find time if i got more time i will try to give more chapter. i dont like to rush things so all  things which happing will make more sense in future chapter its all about feeling driven story how things work in real world.

[zeus90]

Chapter 8: The Vitamin Bottle



Arvind was on the phone before breakfast.

The house was still quiet. The servants had not arrived. Billa was somewhere near the back garden, sweeping leaves that did not need sweeping.

Arvind stood near the study window, one hand in his pocket, voice low.

“Haan, woh flibanserin wali table 300 wali mutivitamin ke pack me  bhej dena.”
[Yes, send that bottle.]

The voice on the other side laughed.

“Phir se? Is baar kaun hai?”
[Again? Who is it this time?]

Arvind’s face did not change.

“Zyada sawaal mat pooch.”
[Don’t ask too many questions.]

“Last time bhi tumne bola tha bas flibanserin hain.”
[Last time also you said they were just flibanserin .]

Arvind looked toward the kitchen door.

Simran had not come in yet.

“Is baar bhi wahi samajh lo.”
[Consider it the same this time too.]

The man on the phone went quiet for a second.

“Careful rehna, Arvind. Aaj kal log seedha security officer pahunch jaate hain.”
[Be careful, Arvind. These days people go straight to the security officer.]

Arvind smiled faintly.

“security officer tab aati hai jab koi samajhta hai ki uske saath kuch galat hua hai.”
[security officer come when someone understands that something wrong happened to them.]

He paused.

“Yahan sab help ke naam pe hoga.”
[Here everything will happen in the name of help.]

The man laughed again, but this time softer.

“Bottle shaam tak pahunch jayegi.”
[The bottle will arrive by evening.]

Arvind cut the call.

For a moment, the room stayed still.

Then he placed the phone on the desk and looked at his own reflection in the glass.

There was no guilt in his face.

Only planning.

A House Without Rest

Simran’s day began before sunrise now.

At five, she woke up in the outside room while the sky was still grey. Ravi was usually returning from the farm around that time, tired and silent, his clothes smelling of milk cans and damp night air.

She made tea for him first.

Then food for both of them.

Simple food.

Roti.

Sabzi.

Sometimes rice.

Sometimes leftover dal stretched with water because groceries had to last.

After that, she changed quickly and went to the main house.

Arvind’s tea.

Breakfast.

Kitchen cleaning.

Lunch preparation.

Laundry.

Floor.

Dishes.

Study tea.

Evening snacks.

Dinner.

Then after dinner, the extra work.

Massage.

By the time she returned to the outside room, it was usually eleven.

Sometimes midnight.

Then she had to prepare something for herself and Ravi for the next day.

Sleep came late.

Morning came early.

Her body had begun to move like a tired machine.

One morning, while cutting onions, the knife slipped from her hand.

It clattered on the counter.

Simran froze.

Arvind, sitting at the dining table, looked up.

“You okay?”

“Ji sir.”
[Yes sir.]

She picked up the knife quickly.

But her fingers were slow.

Her shoulders were bent.

Her eyes looked dull, like someone had dimmed the lamp inside her.

Arvind watched carefully.

This was the state he had wanted.

Not broken enough to run.

Tired enough to accept.

Ravi Tries, Then Falls

Ravi had promised to stop drinking.

For two days, he did.

On the third day, he returned from the farm with anger sitting on his face.

Simran was kneading dough in the outside room.

“You ate?” she asked.

Ravi dropped his bag.

“Pehle sawaal mat kiya karo.”
[Don’t start with questions.]

Simran stopped.

“I only asked if you ate.”

“Tumhara tone hi aisa hota hai.”
[Your tone is always like that.]

She stared at him.

“My tone?”

Ravi rubbed his eyes.

“Chhodo.”
[Leave it.]

Then she smelled it.

Faint.

But there.

Alcohol.

Her face fell.

“Phir pee li?”
[You drank again?]

Ravi looked away.

“Thodi si.”
[A little.]

Simran laughed once.

Sharp.

Empty.

“Thodi si se ghar barbaad ho raha hai.”
[A little is ruining the house.]

Ravi’s face hardened.

“Main jaan tod ke kaam karta hoon.”
[I work myself to death.]

“Aur main kya kar rahi hoon?”
[And what am I doing?]

“Tum toh ghar mein ho.”
[You are inside the house.]

That sentence cut her.

Inside the house.

As if walls made work easier.

As if heat, hunger, shame, fear, and tired bones did not exist under a roof.

She wiped flour from her hands.

“Ravi, tumhe pata bhi hai main kab soti hoon?”
[Ravi, do you even know when I sleep?]

He said nothing.

“Subah paanch baje uthti hoon. Tumhare liye chai. Tumhare liye khana. Phir main house. Phir raat tak kaam. Phir dinner. Phir extra kaam. Phir wapas aake tumhare liye khana. Main insaan hoon ya machine?”
[I wake up at five. Tea for you. Food for you. Then the main house. Then work until night. Then dinner. Then extra work. Then I come back and make food for you. Am I a human being or a machine?]

Ravi’s anger flickered.

For a moment, he looked ashamed.

But shame in him never stayed long. It always turned into defense.

“Extra kaam kisne bola karne ko?”
[Who told you to do extra work?]

Simran’s eyes sharpened.

“Paise chahiye na? Rent chahiye na? Ration chahiye na?”
[We need money, right? Rent, right? Groceries, right?]

Ravi looked at the floor.

The fight ended not because it was solved.

Because both were too tired to continue.

Ravi lay down and turned his face to the wall.

Simran finished the dough alone.

Her hands moved.

Her heart did not.

Peace In Work

After fights with Ravi, Simran began to feel strange relief when she entered the main house.

That frightened her.

The main house was the trap.

She knew that somewhere.

But it was also where nobody shouted at her in the morning.

Where her work was noticed.

Where Arvind said, “You look tired,” instead of “You don’t understand.”

Where a glass of water appeared without argument.

Where her pain had a listener.

Sometimes, while washing cups, she caught herself waiting for Arvind’s voice.

“Simran.”

Just her name.

Spoken softly.

Not angrily.

Not carelessly.

Softly.

And that softness became dangerous because it arrived exactly where Ravi had left bruises, both visible and invisible.

The Bottle Arrives

One evening, a small parcel came to the gate.

Billa brought it inside and handed it to Arvind in the study.

 
“Sir, packet.”
[Sir, packet.]

Arvind opened it after Billa left.

Inside was a mutivitamin for women bottle.


Daily Support Tablets

Arvind held it in his hand for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

Not because the bottle had power.

Because Simran trusted him enough to take it.

The next morning, he waited until she dropped a cup near the sink.

The cup did not break, but the sound made her flinch.

Arvind entered the kitchen.

“Simran.”

“Ji sir?”
[Yes sir?]

“You are very tired.”

She wiped her hands quickly.

“Thoda.”
[A little.]

“Thoda nahi. Bahut.”
[Not a little. A lot.]

She gave a weak smile.

“Kaam zyada ho gaya hai.”
[Work has become too much.]

Arvind placed the bottle on the counter.

“Take these.”



Simran looked at it.

“Kya hai?”
[What is it?]

“Multivitamin. Energy support. Keep it in the kitchen. Roz ek lena. You’ll feel better.”
[Multivitamin. Energy support. Keep it in the kitchen. Take one daily. You’ll feel better.]

She touched the bottle hesitantly.

“Sir, zarurat nahi…”
[Sir, there is no need…]

“Zarurat hai,” Arvind said gently. “You are overworking. Body ko support chahiye.”
[There is a need. You are overworking. The body needs support.]

The words sounded caring.

Simple.

Normal.

No pressure.

Just help.

Simran’s eyes softened.

“You think of everything, sir.”

Arvind looked away, as if embarrassed by the praise.

“Bas. Take care of yourself.”

Simran held the bottle with both hands.

“Thank you.”

She kept it near the spice shelf.

Beside turmeric.

Beside salt.

Beside things that belonged in daily life.

That was how danger entered the kitchen.

Not hidden in darkness.

Placed openly beside the haldi.

Seven Days

For seven days, Simran took the tablet every morning.

She did it because Arvind had said it would help.

Because she was exhausted.

Because she wanted to believe someone cared if she collapsed.

The first day, nothing changed.

The second day, she thought maybe her body felt slightly warmer, but Delhi summer was already cruel.

The third day, she finished work faster, but her mind start thinking about sexual thing more but she did not have any one to satistfied her as werk and timing of ravi.

The fourth day, during the evening massage, she found herself talking more than usual.


About how she had once believed love meant someone would always stand beside you.

Arvind listened.

Always listened.

He did not interrupt.

He did not laugh.

He did not tell her she was overthinking.

Then Arvind is laying and her saxual desire at peek but some how she control it.
By the sixth day, Simran noticed she despratly need some help with her bodies sexual needs but she cant do anything.


A strange ache in her chest when she was alone.

A need for closeness, not necessarily with anyone, but from somewhere. A need to be held without being blamed. A need to be wanted without begging for it.

She hated herself for it.

She tried to go near Ravi once.

He was asleep.

Another time, he was angry.

Another time, he smelled faintly of alcohol again.

Every door she tried with Ravi either closed or hurt her fingers.

Then Arvind would call.

“Simran, tea?”

“Simran, are you okay?”

“Simran, don’t work so hard.”

Her name sounded different in his mouth now.

Or maybe she had begun hearing it differently.

No Time For Marriage

Simran and Ravi had not been close for weeks.

Not properly.

Not like husband and wife.

At first, it was because of fights.

Then because of Ravi’s night shift.

Then because of tiredness.

Then because of anger.

Then because whenever they almost found a moment, the house swallowed it.

A call from Billa.

A bell from Arvind.

A guest.

A chore.

A missing book.

A dirty tray.

A floor that needed cleaning.

Their marriage had become a room with too many locked doors.

One night, Ravi returned slightly early.

Simran was sitting on the bed, rubbing her temples.

He entered quietly.

“You okay?”

She looked up.

“Headache.”

He sat beside her.

For once, he did not speak harshly.

He placed his hand near hers.

“Simran…”

She looked at his hand.

A part of her wanted to take it.

A part of her was too tired to forgive again.

Before she could decide, Billa knocked outside.

“Madam ji, Arvind sir bula rahe. Unko back pain ho raha.”
[Madam, Arvind sir is calling. His back is hurting.]

Ravi’s fingers closed into a fist.

“Abhi?”
[Now?]

Simran stood slowly.

“Extra work hai.”
[It is extra work.]

Ravi looked at her.

“Har waqt?”
[All the time?]

She turned.

“Paise chahiye, Ravi.”
[We need money, Ravi.]

Then she left.

Ravi stayed sitting on the bed.

This time, he did not shout.

That almost made it worse.

The Open Door



In Arvind’s room, the lamp was already on.

The oil bottle was on the side table.

The towel was folded.

Everything ready.

Too ready.

Simran entered and stopped near the door.

“Pain zyada hai?”
[Is the pain too much?]

Arvind turned from the window.

“Thoda. But if you are tired, leave it.”

He always said that.

Leave it.

No pressure.

You can go.

And every time, the words made her stay.

She stepped inside.

“I’ll do it.”

Arvind lay down.

Simran poured oil into her hands.

Her movements were no longer stiff.

They had become practiced.

Familiar.

That frightened her only when she thought about it.

So she stopped thinking.

After some time, Arvind said:

“You are quiet today.”

“Headache hai.”
[I have a headache.]

“Then why did you come?”

She paused.

“Kaam hai.”
[It is work.]

“Only work?”

Her hands stopped.

The room went still.

Outside, a fan hummed.

Inside, her heart climbed into her throat.

“Sir…”

Arvind’s voice stayed soft.

“I’m only asking.”

She did not answer.

He did not push.

That was how he pushed.

By not pushing.

Simran continued the massage, but her mind was no longer on pressure points or video lessons.

It was on the question.

Only work?

She wanted the answer to be yes.

She needed the answer to be yes.

But silence had already answered something else.

The Slow Change

The days after that became harder to understand.

Simran still worked.

Still cooked.

Still cleaned.

Still took the tablet every morning because Arvind said it would help.

Still fought with Ravi.

Still waited for him to become the man he had promised to be.

But her thoughts began turning toward Arvind more often.

Not cleanly.

Not happily.

With guilt.

With fear.

With curiosity.

With anger at herself.

He had not shouted at her.

He had not raised a hand.

He had not laughed at her pain.

He had given her money when she needed it.

He had given her a way to call her mother.

He had noticed her tiredness.

He had said she deserved peace.

And Ravi?

Ravi had loved her once.

Maybe still did.

But love that arrived drunk, late, tired, and defensive did not feel like shelter anymore.

It felt like another storm.

One afternoon, Simran stood alone in the kitchen, holding the vitamin bottle. and took 1 tablet

for her its hard and sexcual thourgh come in her mind all time and she cant stop thinking about it.

She think it must be she have not had sex in weeks and suddenly she is feeling so much and think about sexual thourghs all time.



(we will find out how she get relif from this in next part. it will be in few days big part it will be worth of your wait stay tune for more updates )

[zeus90]

Chapter 9: The Power Cut

Arvind woke before the house did.

The sky outside was still pale. Delhi had not fully opened its eyes yet, but heat was already sitting in the air, waiting for the day to begin.

He stood near the study window with his phone against his ear.

“Ravi ko aaj jaldi bula lena,” he said quietly.
*[Call Ravi early today.]*

The voice on the other side was plain.

“Kitna jaldi?”
*[How early?]*

“Shaam se pehle. Aur subah tak busy rakhna. Extra loading, checking, jo bhi reason banana ho bana lo.”
*[Before evening. And keep him busy until morning. Extra loading, checking, whatever reason you need, make it.]*

“Ho jayega.”
*[It will be done.]*

“No confusion,” Arvind said.

“Done.”

The call ended.

Arvind placed the phone on the desk and looked toward the back side of the house.

The outside room was still quiet.

Ravi would leave early.

Simran would stay.

And the house would become smaller around her.

A few minutes later, he called Billa.

Billa came through the side corridor, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Sir?”

Arvind shut the study door.

He spoke low.

Billa listened.

At first, his face was dull.

Then his eyes lit up.

A grin began spreading across his mouth.

“Samajh gaya, sir.”
*[I understand, sir.]*

Arvind opened the drawer and took out a small object, wrapped in an old cloth. He placed it in Billa’s hand.

“Careful. It should look natural.”

Billa weighed it in his palm.

“Power cut jaisa?”
*[Like a power cut?]*

“Exactly.”

“Kitne baje?”
*[What time?]*

“Eleven.”

“Wapas?”

“After five.”

Billa’s grin grew wider.

“Garmi mein kitchen jal jayega.”
*[In this heat, the kitchen will burn.]*

Arvind’s eyes became cold.

“Kitchen nahi. Patience.”

Billa nodded quickly.

“Ho jayega, sir.”

Arvind stepped closer.

“No noise. No mistake. Aur Simran ko kuch pata nahi chalna chahiye.”
*[No noise. No mistake. And Simran must not know anything.]*

Billa tucked the object into his pocket.

“Usko kuch pata nahi chalega.”

When Billa left, Arvind stood alone for a moment.

The plan was simple.

Simple plans were best.

Heat tired the body.

Tired bodies accepted help.

And help, in Arvind’s house, always came with a hidden price.

---

## Morning Work

Ravi left earlier than usual.

The farm had called him before lunch.

“Extra loading hai,” he told Simran while tying his shoelaces.
*[There is extra loading.]*

Simran looked surprised.

“Aaj itni jaldi?”
*[So early today?]*

“Haan. Bol rahe subah tak kaam rahega.”
*[Yes. They said work will continue until morning.]*

She frowned.

“Khaya bhi nahi tumne properly.”
*[You didn’t even eat properly.]*

“I’ll eat there.”

She packed two rotis quickly, wrapped them in cloth, and placed them in his bag.

Ravi watched her for a second.

“Thank you.”

Simran nodded.

He stood near the door, as if he wanted to say something more.

Maybe about yesterday.

Maybe about trying again.

Maybe about not drinking.

But the moment was thin, and Ravi was never good at holding thin things.

He picked up the bag.

“I’ll go.”

Simran watched him leave.

The garden swallowed him like always.

She stood there for a few seconds, then turned back toward the main house.

Work was waiting.

Work was always waiting.

---

## Eleven O’Clock

By eleven, the kitchen had become a furnace.

The summer sun pressed against the walls. The flame under the pan made the air thicker. Simran had tied her hair up, but loose strands stuck to her neck.

She was cutting onions when the fan stopped.

Then the fridge went quiet.

Then the small light above the counter blinked once and died.

Simran looked up.

“Light chali gayi?” she murmured.
*[Power went out?]*

From the corridor, Billa’s voice came casually.

“Lagta hai poore area ka cut hai, madam ji.”
*[Looks like the whole area has a power cut, madam.]*

She came to the doorway.

“Generator?”
*[Generator?]*

Billa shrugged.

“Sir ne bola tha last week mechanic ko dikhana hai. Abhi chal nahi raha.”
*[Sir said last week it needed a mechanic. It is not working right now.]*

Simran wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

“Kitchen mein bahut garmi ho rahi hai.”
*[It is very hot in the kitchen.]*

“Garmi toh sabko lag rahi hai,” Billa said, smiling too softly.
*[Everyone is feeling hot.]*

She did not like his smile.

But she had dal on the stove.

Rice to wash.

Vegetables to cut.

Lunch to prepare.

So she went back in.

The heat grew heavier.

By noon, her back was damp. Her hands slipped on the steel plates. The thin cloth of her suit clung uncomfortably to her skin. She kept adjusting her dupatta, then stopped, then adjusted it again when Billa passed near the back corridor.

At one, she served Arvind lunch.

He sat in the dining room with a hand fan, looking mildly inconvenienced.

“Power still gone?” he asked.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

“Too hot?”

“Bahut.”
*[Very.]*


He looked at her face. Sweat ran near her temple. Her eyes looked tired already.

“You should drink water.”

“Ji.”

“Add salt and lemon. Heat mein weakness ho jaati hai.”
*[Add salt and lemon. In heat, weakness happens.]*

His concern sounded clean.

That was the cruelty of it.

Simran nodded and went back to the kitchen.

Arvind watched her leave.

The day was working exactly as planned.

---

## The Long Afternoon

The power stayed gone.

Eleven became twelve.

Twelve became two.

Two became four.

The house turned slow and thick, like everything was melting but refusing to fall.

Simran’s clothes were damp by the time she finished washing the lunch dishes. Her arms felt weak. Her head throbbed lightly. Every task took twice as much effort.

Billa came twice to “check” the back corridor.

Once, he asked:

“Madam ji, paani chahiye?”
*[Madam, do you need water?]*

She refused.

The second time, he said:

“Sir ka evening tea time ho raha.”
*[Sir’s evening tea time is coming.]*

She wanted to say, Then make it yourself.

Instead, she said:

“Bana rahi hoon.”
*[I am making it.]*

At exactly five-twenty, the fan coughed once.

Then began turning.

The fridge hummed.

The kitchen light flickered back to life.

Simran looked up, exhausted.

“Finally,” she whispered.

Near the side corridor, Billa slipped something back into his pocket and walked away whistling.

---

## After Dinner

By dinner time, Simran looked worn out.

Not just tired.

Wrung.

She served Arvind quietly, then stood aside.

“Sit for a minute,” Arvind said.

She looked surprised.

“Sir?”

“You look like you will fall.”

“Nahi sir. Main theek hoon.”
*[No sir. I am fine.]*

“Today was too hot. Power cut made things worse.”

She gave a weak laugh.

“Kitchen toh aag ban gaya tha.”
*[The kitchen became fire.]*

“I can see that.”

She lowered her eyes, suddenly aware of how tired and uncomfortable she looked.

Arvind’s voice became gentle.

“After dinner, change before massage. You are already soaked from the heat. Fresh suit pehen lo. You’ll feel better.”
*[After dinner, change before massage. You are already soaked from the heat. Wear a fresh suit. You’ll feel better.]*

Simran hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Ji sir.”
*[Yes sir.]*

The suggestion sounded practical.

Normal.

Almost kind.

That was how Arvind placed every stone in the path.

One by one.

Flat enough to walk on.

Sharp enough to cut later.

---

## Fresh Clothes

Simran went to the outside room.

Ravi was not there.

Of course he was not there.

His bag was gone. His blanket was folded badly near the wall. The room was warm and quiet.

She washed her face at the small tap. The water was not cold, but it still felt better than the kitchen air. She changed into another suit and sat on the bed for a moment, breathing slowly.

Her body felt heavy.

Her mind felt softer than it should have.

Too tired to think sharply.

She looked at the oil bottle on the shelf.

For a second, she wished she could sleep instead.

Then she remembered the extra money.

The rent.

The groceries.

Ravi’s promises.

Arvind’s voice.

No pressure.

You can go.

She picked up the oil bottle.

“Bas ek ghanta,” she whispered.
*[Only one hour.]*

Then she walked back toward the main house.

---

## The Doorway

Arvind’s bedroom door was half open.

A warm lamp glowed inside.

Simran stood outside and knocked softly.

“Sir?”

“Come in.”

She stepped inside with the oil bottle in her hand.

Arvind stood near the bed, a towel folded beside him, his kurta removed and replaced with a plain undershirt and loose shorts.

Not improper enough to accuse.

Not formal enough to feel safe.

Simran’s hand tightened around the bottle.

Arvind noticed.

“Back pain is lower today,” he said calmly. “Legs also. Long sitting.”

Simran did not answer immediately.

The air in the room felt different.

Maybe because she was tired.

Maybe because the day had softened her guard.

Maybe because Arvind had planned every part of it.

He looked at her with that same gentle patience.

“If you are uncomfortable, leave it. No problem.”

There it was again.

The open door.

The clean escape.

The choice that never felt like a choice.

Simran looked down at the oil bottle.

Then at the towel.

Then at the floor.

Outside, the house was quiet.

Ravi was far away at the farm.

Billa was somewhere in the shadows, probably watching the corridor.

Inside, Arvind waited.

Simran swallowed.

“Main try kar leti hoon.”
*[I will try.]*

Arvind gave a small nod.

“Good.”

He turned toward the bed.

Simran stood near the doorway for one more second, feeling the heat of the day still trapped inside her bones.

Then she stepped fully into the room.

Behind her, the door remained open.

For now.






During the afternoon, while Simran was trapped in the hot kitchen, Billa slipped toward the outside room.

The power was still gone.

The fan was dead.

The corridor was empty.

He moved quietly, one eye on the garden path, one eye on the main house window.

The outside room door was not locked.

Simran had left in a hurry that morning.

Billa pushed the door open with two fingers.

Inside, the room was small and warm. Ravi’s blanket lay folded near the wall. Simran’s clothes were hanging on the rope near the cupboard. One white suit was folded on the bed, ready for later.

Billa smiled.

“Madam ji ka evening dress,” he whispered.

He pulled a small packet from his pocket.

Not a medicine.

Not something with a name.

Just a dirty trick wrapped in paper.

He opened it carefully and sprinkled a little fine powder near the folded suit. Some settled on the fabric like dust. Some fell onto the bedsheet.

Then he heard footsteps outside.

Billa froze.

For one second, even his breath stopped.

The footsteps passed.

Only a servant crossing the back lane.

Billa quickly folded the suit again, badly, then slipped out and shut the door.

But he did not notice one thing.

The powder had left a faint white line on the edge of the white fabric.

Small.

Almost invisible.

he apply under bra and panty as well. this power was for irritate skin and let body rub to reduce irritation

she wear that pink suit with black bra and in massage time she already high on thinking sexual and now she just wear that and start massage and today arvind was looking at her eyes and she noticed as well.

Today arvind look was like a lover look at his love and she losing control as irritation start she keep robing her arms and them she is rubing her back and strong irritation she fell on boobs.

Then arvind start talking to her. she was distracted by irritation then as she rubbing her body she is getting out of control sexual feel as arvind laying in from of her and almost naked.

after some time arvind asked whats wrong and then she said some body irrtation happing then arvind said you must have allarge take a bath go use my bathroom then she as red as she was rubbing body from almost.

she went to talk bath then while bath she cant control she feeling and start fingering and arvind herad noice and he take towel and went to bathroom its dont have lock as it was slide door with no lock and

she was busy in fingering and he see her first time full nude and she noticed arvind that time she said nothing .

arvind went to her and told her let me help you. she huged him and arvind told her let me help you properly.

Then he wash her and kiss her and grab her boobs and she did not said a word and later with towel both dry then in room went.

then arvind was so hard that simran look at his dick and surprised to see a good size.

Arvind told her to bend over she did and then love miking get started and it last long time and she was su hungry for sex she did not think for a sec that she is doing anything wrong or right.

after one session arvind ask her to suck dick she said she never did this.

arvind told her then you have not seen real sex yet and its always first time for everything she then aggred and arvind took control of her head as soon she took in mouth and

arvind hold her head and head in his hand and give her a push and she was unable to take at first but arvind know if she take out she will not do it so he did not let her out

and in out he control and after few mins she get used to it and then he is about to cum and he hold her head tight and while cum in her mouth he did not leave hear head

and he make sure she drink her cum all the way when he reliease her head she was bit angry but arvind said first few times it will look wierd but then you will enjoy and then

he make few more sessions that night and at 3 am she was totaly out of enorgy and arvind told her go to room also told come to work later around 9  and he will buy you few

more suits. she was happy as her sexual desire find a way to get satisfied and she went to sleep well today. that was an opening for her to a new world which look good for

now but it will take no time to turn world up side down.




she had best sleep of her life today and that change everything for her in that one night.

[zeus90]

# Chapter 11: The Morning After

Morning came with the smell of leftover smoke, spilled alcohol, cold chicken, and dirty glasses.

The house looked rich from outside.

Inside, it looked used.

The drawing room table was still covered with plates. Half-eaten pieces of chicken sat beside lemon wedges. Empty glasses stood in small groups like tired men after a party. Napkins were crushed on the floor. One cushion had fallen near the sofa. The guest rooms needed cleaning. The kitchen sink was full.

Simran woke early, but her body did not want to move.

Her feet still hurt from yesterday.

Her shoulders still felt heavy.

But inside her palm, folded under the edge of her pillow, were the notes from last night.

Money.

Extra money.

Earned money.

At least that was what she told herself.

She sat up slowly and looked toward Ravi’s empty side of the bed.

He had not returned yet.

The farm had kept him late again.

Or maybe life had.

Simran washed her face, changed, tied her hair, and went toward the main house.

The morning felt different.

Not peaceful.

Not dangerous either.

Something in between.

Like a road covered in fog.

---

## Men After Drinking

In the guest room near the front corridor, Rajeev was awake before the others.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead.

Mahesh stood near the window, buttoning his shirt. His face looked tired, but his eyes were clear.

Rajeev gave a low laugh.

“Arvind has found a perfect one.”

Mahesh looked at him.

“Perfect for what?”

Rajeev smirked.

“For housework. For night work. For making this dead house feel alive.”

Mahesh’s face tightened slightly.

“Talk properly.”

Rajeev ignored him.

“Her hands…” He stopped and laughed under his breath. “Last night, during massage, I understood why Arvind’s back pain disappeared.”

Mahesh turned away.

“You drank too much.”

“I drank enough to be honest.”

Mahesh lowered his voice.

“Careful. She is not one of your club jokes.”

Rajeev laughed.

“You controlled yourself too much, Mahesh ji. I saw your face after your massage.”

Mahesh’s expression hardened.

“I controlled myself because I know the line.”

Rajeev leaned back on the bed.

“Line? In Arvind’s house, lines move.”

The door opened quietly.

Arvind entered without knocking.

Both men became silent.

Arvind looked at Rajeev first.

“Still drunk?”

Rajeev smiled.

“Not drunk. Inspired.”

Arvind’s face did not change.

Mahesh adjusted his cuff.

“Morning, Arvind.”

Arvind closed the door behind him.

Rajeev pointed toward the corridor with his chin.

“She is useful. Very useful.”

Arvind’s eyes turned cold.

“Speak less.”

Rajeev raised both hands.

“Fine. But don’t act like a saint. You know what you are doing.”

Mahesh looked at Arvind carefully.

“What are you doing?”

Arvind walked to the table and picked up his watch.

“Managing the house.”

Rajeev laughed.

“Managing? You always call it management.”

Arvind turned.

His voice was quiet.

“That is because fools call everything desire. Smart men call it timing.”

Rajeev’s smile faded a little.

Mahesh said nothing.

Rajeev leaned forward.

“So what is the timing? You keep her close, make her trust you, then what? Keep the fruit locked in your own basket?”

Arvind looked at him slowly.

“Fruit is not eaten before it ripens.”

Rajeev grinned.

“And when it does?”

Arvind’s smile was thin.

“Jab tarbuj katega, sab ko hissa milega.”
*[When the watermelon is cut, everyone will get a share.]*

Mahesh’s face darkened.

“That is an ugly thing to say.”

Arvind looked at him.

“Then don’t listen.”

Rajeev chuckled, but even he felt the coldness in Arvind’s voice.

Outside the room, footsteps passed in the corridor.

Simran.

All three men fell silent.

Arvind opened the door and stepped out with his usual calm face.

The mask returned perfectly.

---

## Breakfast Tips

Simran served breakfast quietly.

Parathas.

Curd.

Pickle.

Tea.

She kept the plates in front of Rajeev and Mahesh. Both looked fresher now, dressed and ready to leave.

Rajeev smiled at her.

“Simran ji, kal raat ka massage kamaal tha. Shoulder light ho gaya.”
*[Simran, last night’s massage was amazing. My shoulder feels light.]*

Simran smiled politely.

“Good, sir.”

Mahesh placed his cup down.

“Thank you. Your work helped. You should not overwork yourself though.”

His tone was more respectful.

Simran noticed the difference.

Rajeev pulled out a five hundred rupee note and placed it near her tray.

“For massage.”

Simran hesitated.

Then Mahesh also placed five hundred beside it.

“For your time.”

Simran looked toward Arvind.

She did it automatically.

Not with words.

Only eyes.

Arvind gave a small nod.

Take it.

Simran accepted the money with both hands.

“Thank you, sir.”

Rajeev smiled wider.

“Sweet girl.”

Mahesh looked at Rajeev sharply, but Rajeev only laughed and sipped tea.

Simran felt awkward, but the money softened it.

One thousand rupees.

One thousand meant vegetables.

Dal.

Maybe oil.

Maybe phone balance.

Maybe a small breath.

After breakfast, Rajeev and Mahesh left.

Rajeev waved casually from the gate.

“Next time, same hospitality!”

Simran smiled because everyone else smiled.

Arvind stood near the door, calm and polished.

Billa opened the gate.

The car drove away.

The house became quiet.

Then Simran turned around and saw the mess waiting for her.

---

## Cleaning The Night

The drawing room looked worse in daylight.

Every stain had become clear.

Every glass had a smell.

Every plate had hardened food stuck to it.

Simran tied her dupatta tighter and began.

First glasses.

Then plates.

Then table.

Then floor.

Then sofa.

Then cushions.

Then ashtray.

Then guest rooms.

Rajeev’s room smelled of alcohol and cologne. She opened the window and stripped the bedsheet. One glass was on the floor. A towel had been thrown near the chair. She picked everything up and worked quickly.

Mahesh’s room was cleaner.

The bed was made badly but not destroyed. The glass was on the table. The towel was folded once. On the side table, she found a small note under a cup.

**Thank you. Take care.**

No money.

Just words.

She read it twice.

Then folded it and threw it in the dustbin.

She did not know why the note made her uncomfortable.

Maybe because it felt like warning without saying warning.

By noon, her back hurt again.

Her hands smelled of soap, onion, and yesterday’s party.

She went to the kitchen, washed her face, and took out the money.

One thousand.

She counted it once.

Then again.

This time, the number stayed beautiful.

She smiled faintly.

For the first time in many days, she did not feel completely helpless.

That was the dangerous thing about money.

It could make even a chain feel useful if it was made of notes.

---

## Arvind and Billa

Outside, near the garden wall, Arvind stood with Billa.

Billa was pretending to trim a plant.

The plant did not need trimming.

“Kal sab theek raha?” Arvind asked.
*[Did everything go well yesterday?]*

Billa grinned.

“Bahut theek, sir. Madam ji toh ab bilkul comfortable lag rahi.”
*[Very well, sir. Madam seems completely comfortable now.]*

Arvind looked toward the kitchen window.

“Comfort is not the same as surrender.”

Billa’s grin became smaller.

“Par plan track pe hai na?”
*[But the plan is on track, right?]*

Arvind turned to him.

“Yes. But excitement ruins plans.”

Billa nodded quickly.

“Main samajh gaya.”

“You don’t understand,” Arvind said quietly. “That is why I am saying again. Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”
*[Patience. Watch. Observe.]*

Billa repeated like a collegeboy:

“Sabar. Nazar. Observe.”

“Ravi?”

“Farm se late aayega. Thaka hoga. Din bhar soyega.”

“Good.”

“Simran?”

“Ab aap pe trust karti hai, sir.”

Arvind’s eyes stayed fixed on the kitchen.

“Trust is only the first door.”

Billa smiled again, unable to control himself.

“Phir second door?”

Arvind looked at him coldly.

“You will know when I open it.”

Billa lowered his eyes.

“Ji sir.”

“Until then, behave nicely. If she sees only dirt in you, she will keep distance. Today take her to market. Help her. Act useful.”

Billa looked surprised.

“Main?”

“Yes. Make her think even you can be decent when I want.”

Billa’s grin returned.

“Samajh gaya, sir.”

Arvind stepped closer.

“No dirty jokes. No touching. No mistake.”

“Ji sir.”

“And remember,” Arvind said, voice low, “she should feel that everything becomes easier when my people are around.”

Billa nodded.

This time, he understood.

---

## One Thousand Rupees

Simran stood in the kitchen, checking the jars.

Dal almost finished.

Rice low.

Onions enough for two days.

Tomatoes gone.

Oil low.

Green chilies finished.

She looked at the one thousand rupees in her hand.

This money had to stretch.

She walked to the dining room, where Arvind was reading a file.

“Sir?”

He looked up.

“Yes, Simran?”

“Vegetables aur dal khatam ho rahe hain. Market jana padega.”
*[Vegetables and dal are finishing. I need to go to the market.]*

Arvind glanced toward the window.

“Go today.”

She hesitated.

“Auto se?”
*[By auto?]*

“Billa is also going for shopping. Go with him. He knows better shops.”

Simran’s face changed slightly.

“Billa ke saath?”
*[With Billa?]*

Arvind noticed.

“He will behave. I’ll tell him.”

She still looked unsure.

Arvind’s voice softened.

“You don’t have to go alone in this heat. Market people cheat when they see someone new. Billa knows rates.”

That was practical.

Too practical to refuse easily.

Simran nodded.

“Ji. Theek hai.”
*[Yes. Fine.]*

“Take your time. Buy what you need.”

She almost said thank you.

Then stopped.

Why was she thanking him for sending her with Billa?

The thought came and went.

She returned to the kitchen.

---

## The Auto Ride

Billa was waiting near the gate.

For once, he did not smile in that oily way.

He held two cloth bags and stood a little away from her.

“Chalein, madam ji?”
*[Shall we go, madam?]*

Simran looked at him carefully.

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

They took an auto.

Simran sat on one side, Billa on the other, leaving space between them. The auto rattled through the Delhi streets, past fruit carts, tea stalls, cycle repair shops, and men standing in patches of shade.

For a few minutes, neither spoke.

Then Billa said:

“Market mein pehle dal lena. Wahan Sharma store mehnga deta hai. Gupta store se lena.”
*[Buy dal first in the market. Sharma store sells expensive. Buy from Gupta store.]*

Simran looked at him.

“You know rates?”

Billa puffed his chest a little.

“Garden ka aadmi hoon, madam ji. Ghar ka samaan bhi main hi laata tha pehle.”
*[I am the garden man, madam. I used to bring household items too before.]*

She did not answer.

He continued, sounding almost normal.

“Tamatar aaj mehnga hai. Par thoda aage wali stall se lena, sasta milega. Aur dhaniya free mein maangna. Nahi de toh mat lena.”
*[Tomatoes are expensive today. But buy from the stall a little ahead, you’ll get cheaper. And ask for coriander free. If they don’t give it, don’t buy.]*

Simran stared at him for a second.

This was the same Billa who had watched her like a street dog watches food.

Today he sounded like an uncle teaching market rates.

She did not trust it.

But she could use it.

“Theek hai,” she said.
*[Okay.]*

Billa looked pleased.

Not because he was helping.

Because behaving was also part of Arvind’s order.

---

## Market Eyes

The market was busy.

Loud bargaining.

Scooters squeezing through narrow gaps.

Women checking vegetables.

Men shouting prices.

Children running near carts.

Heat rising from the road.

Simran adjusted her dupatta before stepping out of the auto. The white suit she wore felt too light for the crowd, and the summer wind did not help. She pulled the cloth closer around herself and held the shopping bag in front.

Eyes found her quickly.

A fruit seller looked.

A man near the tea stall looked.

Two boys near a paan shop looked and whispered.

Simran’s shoulders tightened.

Billa noticed.

For once, he did not make it worse.

“Seedha chalo,” he said quietly. “Ignore karo.”
*[Walk straight. Ignore them.]*

She glanced at him.

He walked slightly ahead, clearing space.

“Gupta store udhar hai.”
*[Gupta store is there.]*

At the dal shop, the owner looked Simran up and down before looking at Billa.

“Billa bhai, nayi madam?”
*[Billa brother, new madam?]*

Billa’s face hardened slightly.

“Arvind sir ke ghar ka samaan hai. Rate seedha bol.”
*[This is for Arvind sir’s house. Say the proper rate.]*

The shopkeeper’s expression changed quickly.

Respect entered when Arvind’s name entered.

Simran noticed.

Arvind’s name worked like a key in places where she herself had no lock.

The shopkeeper gave the rate.

Billa leaned closer to the sacks.

“Jhooth mat bol. Kal kam tha.”
*[Don’t lie. Yesterday it was less.]*

The shopkeeper laughed.

“Market badal gaya.”

“Hum bhi badal denge shop,” Billa said.

The rate came down.

Simran bought dal.

Then rice.

Then oil.

Then spices.

Each time, Billa checked the rate, argued, and made sure she paid less.

Simran did not know what to feel.

Grateful?

Suspicious?

Both sat together inside her like two strangers sharing a bench.

---

## The Vegetable Stall

At the vegetable stall, the seller was young, maybe thirty, with sharp eyes and a smile that tried too hard.

“Madam ji, kya doon?”
*[Madam, what should I give?]*

“Tamatar, pyaaz, aloo, hari mirch,” Simran said.
*[Tomatoes, onions, potatoes, green chilies.]*

The seller began picking tomatoes.

“Soft wale ya hard wale?”
*[Soft ones or hard ones?]*

“Hard. Fresh.”

He smiled.

“Fresh toh sab hai. Bas dekhne wali nazar honi chahiye.”
*[Everything is fresh. One just needs the right eye to see it.]*

Simran understood the tone.

Her face became still.

Billa, standing nearby, looked at the seller.

“Sabzi bech. Shayari mat kar.”
*[Sell vegetables. Don’t recite poetry.]*

The seller laughed.

“Arre Billa bhai, mazaak tha.”
*[Billa brother, it was a joke.]*

Simran kept her eyes on the vegetables.

The seller placed coriander on top.

“Dhaniya free. Madam ke liye.”
*[Coriander free. For madam.]*

Billa picked up the bunch, checked it, and threw half back.

“Sada hua de raha hai? Achha wala de.”
*[You are giving rotten coriander? Give the good one.]*

The seller made a face but changed it.

Simran almost smiled.

Not at the seller.

At Billa scolding him.

The strange thing was, for a few minutes, she felt protected by the same man she had always avoided.

That confused her more than the market eyes.

When she paid, the seller said softly:

“Madam ji, roz aaya karo. Aap se market bright lagta hai.”
*[Madam, come every day. The market looks bright because of you.]*

Billa stepped forward.

“Zyada bright hua toh aankh band kar denge.”
*[If it gets too bright, we will shut your eyes.]*

The seller laughed nervously.

Simran turned away, hiding a small uncomfortable smile.

She did not like the joke.

But she liked that this time, it was not aimed at her.

It was aimed away.

That was enough for her tired mind to call it help.

---

## Returning Home

The auto ride back was full of bags.

Dal.

Rice.

Oil.

Vegetables.

Curd.

Spices.

Simran held the coriander in one hand and the money balance in the other.

Billa looked at the notes.

“Dekha? Arvind sir ke paise bach gaye.”
*[See? Arvind sir’s money got saved.]*

Simran corrected him.

“Mere paise.”
*[My money.]*

Billa looked at her.

Then laughed.

“Haan, madam ji. Aapke paise.”
*[Yes, madam. Your money.]*

She looked out of the auto.

The road moved past in heat waves.

For the first time, Billa had not made her feel trapped.

That made her uneasy.

Because in Arvind’s house, even good behavior felt planned.

But then she remembered the dal, the rice, the saved money.

Maybe everyone had different sides.

Maybe Billa was not always bad.

Maybe she had judged too quickly.

The thought came softly.

Exactly the way Arvind wanted.

At the gate, Billa carried the heavier bags inside without being asked.

“Kitchen mein rakh doon?”
*[Should I keep them in the kitchen?]*

Simran nodded.

“Ji.”
*[Yes.]*

He placed them near the counter and stepped back.

No joke.

No staring.

No lingering.

“Main garden mein hoon,” he said.
*[I am in the garden.]*

Then he left.

Simran stood in the kitchen, surprised by the silence he left behind.

A clean silence.

A useful silence.

From the dining room, Arvind’s voice came.

“Shopping done?”

She turned.

“Yes sir. Billa helped.”

Arvind smiled faintly.

“Good. He knows the market.”

Simran nodded.

“Rates bhi kam karwa diye.”
*[He got the rates reduced too.]*

“See? Not everyone is useless.”

She smiled a little.

“Maybe.”

Arvind watched that smile carefully.

Another small wall had moved.

---

## The House Smiles Back

That evening, Simran arranged the groceries in jars.

Dal in one.

Rice in another.

Oil near the stove.

Spices refilled.

Green chilies in a small steel bowl.

For the first time in days, the kitchen looked prepared.

She felt prepared too.

The thousand rupees had become food.

The market fear had become a story.

Billa had become slightly less frightening.

Arvind had become slightly more right.

That was how the house worked.

It did not change everything in one day.

It adjusted one feeling at a time.

One doubt.

One comfort.

One small kindness.

One useful lie.

By night, when Ravi left again for the farm, he asked:

“You went market?”

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“Alone?”

“With Billa.”

Ravi’s face changed.

“Billa ke saath?”

Simran turned toward him.

“Arvind sir ne bheja tha. He helped. Rates bhi kam karwaye.”
*[Arvind sir sent him. He helped. He got the rates reduced too.]*

Ravi looked unhappy.

“Tumhe uske saath jaana zaruri tha?”
*[Was it necessary for you to go with him?]*

Simran’s tiredness returned at once.

“Ravi, please. Aaj fight mat karo.”
*[Ravi, please. Don’t fight today.]*

“I am not fighting.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He had no answer.

She closed the jar lid harder than needed.

“Tum khud market le jaate? Tum toh din bhar sote ho. Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main karun kya?”
*[Would you take me to the market yourself? You sleep all day. If I go alone, problem. If I go with Billa, problem. What should I do?]*

Ravi looked down.

The farm call came.

He picked up his bag.

“I’ll go.”

Simran did not stop him.

This time, when he left, she did not feel only sadness.

She felt tired of his disappointment too.

And that frightened her less than it should have.

---

## The Chapter Closes

Later, after the kitchen was cleaned and the house grew quiet, Simran stood near the spice shelf.

The vitamin bottle sat beside the haldi.

The jars were full now.

Dal.

Rice.

Salt.

Survival.

She touched the one thousand rupees she had saved from the day, now reduced but not gone. She had managed. She had bought food. She had kept the house running.

With help.

Arvind’s help.

Billa’s help.

The thought should have felt strange.

Instead, it felt practical.

That was the most dangerous change of all.

Simran looked toward the main house corridor.

Arvind’s study light was still on.

For a moment, she thought of going to say the shopping was done properly.

Then she stopped.

Why did she want to tell him?

Why did his approval feel important?

The question rose.

This time, she heard it.

Then from the outside room, Ravi coughed in his sleep before leaving for the farm.

The sound pulled her back.

She closed the grocery jar and turned away.

“Bas kaam hai,” she whispered again.
*[It is only work.]*

But the house did not believe her anymore.

And somewhere inside her, neither did she.


## Massage Time

That night, Simran finished the kitchen earlier than usual.

The house had finally become quiet after a long day of shopping, cleaning, cooking, and arranging groceries. Ravi had already left for the farm, carrying his bag and his tired silence with him.

For once, Simran did not wait for Billa to call.

She went to the outside room, took a bath, changed into a clean suit, and tied her damp hair loosely behind her neck. The warm water had washed away the dust of the market, the smell of vegetables, and the heaviness of the day.

But it had not washed away the thoughts.

Arvind’s study light was still on.

The oil bottle stood on the small shelf.

Simran looked at it for a moment.

Then she picked it up.

“Bas massage,” she whispered.
*[Just massage.]*

But even she could hear that the words were weaker now.

She walked through the side corridor and stopped outside Arvind’s bedroom.

The door was half open.

She knocked softly.

“Sir?”

Arvind looked up from the chair near the lamp.

For a second, surprise crossed his face.

“You came?”

Simran lowered her eyes.

“Ji. Massage time ho gaya tha.”
*[Yes. It was massage time.]*

Arvind placed the file aside slowly.

Usually he had to send Billa.

Usually he had to ring the bell.

Usually she came with hesitation folded around her like another dupatta.

Tonight, she had come on her own.

That mattered.

Arvind smiled, but kept it soft.

“I thought you must be tired today. Market, cleaning, guests’ rooms, kitchen… long day.”

Simran stepped inside and placed the oil bottle on the side table.

“Tired hoon,” she said. “Par aadat ho gayi.”
*[I am tired. But I got used to it.]*

Arvind watched her carefully.

“To work?”

She did not look at him.

“To everything.”

The room became quiet.

Arvind stood slowly.

“You went with Billa today. He behaved?”

Simran nodded.

“Ji. Aaj theek tha. Market mein help ki. Rates kam karwaye.”
*[Yes. Today he was fine. He helped in the market. Got the rates reduced.]*

“Good.”

“Thoda ajeeb laga,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Woh usually…” She stopped.

Arvind finished gently.

“Uncomfortable karta hai?”
*[He makes you uncomfortable?]*

Simran looked down.

“Kabhi-kabhi.”
*[Sometimes.]*

Arvind’s voice became calm.

“I told him to behave. He will not trouble you.”

She looked at him then.

There it was again.

Safety.

Or something wearing safety’s clothes.

“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.

Arvind held her gaze.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

But she felt thankful anyway.

That was the trap working neatly.

Arvind lay face down on the bed, folding his arms near the pillow. Simran poured oil into her palms and rubbed them together.

Her hands were no longer nervous like the first night.

They moved with practice now.

Shoulders first.

Slow circles.

Pressure near the upper back.

Careful along the side, not on the bone.

Arvind closed his eyes.

“Pressure is good.”

Simran gave a faint smile.

“Ab seekh gayi hoon.”
*[Now I have learned.]*

“Yes. You learn fast.”

She stayed silent, but the praise reached her.

For a few minutes, only the sound of the fan filled the room.

Then Arvind asked:

“Ravi said anything about the market?”

Simran’s hands slowed.

“Haan.”
*[Yes.]*

“What?”

“Problem.” She gave a tired laugh. “Main akeli jaati toh problem. Billa ke saath gayi toh problem. Main kuch bhi karun, problem.”
*[Problem. If I went alone, problem. If I went with Billa, problem. Whatever I do, problem.]*

Arvind did not answer immediately.

Then he said:

“Some people don’t know how to protect, but they still want control.”

The sentence landed softly, but it cut.

Simran looked away.

“Ravi bura nahi hai.”

“I know.”

“Bas… weak hai.”

She said it before she realized.

Her hands stopped.

The word hung between them.

Weak.

Arvind opened his eyes slightly, but did not turn.

He let the word stay alive.

Simran quickly continued the massage.

“I shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is my husband.”

“Truth does not stop being truth because someone is your husband.”

She swallowed.

“Sir, please.”

“Okay,” Arvind said softly. “No more.”

He knew when to stop.

That was why she kept speaking.

After some time, Simran said:

“Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Thoda money bhi bach gaya.”
*[Today I felt good after shopping. I bought dal, rice, vegetables. Some money was saved too.]*

“That is good.”

“For the first time, kitchen looked full.”

“And you felt in control?”

She thought about it.

“Maybe.”

Arvind’s voice softened.

“You should feel like that more often.”

Simran’s hands slowed again.

Nobody had said that to her before.

Not Ravi.

Not Billa.

Not even life.

You should feel in control.

The words felt expensive.

Like something she could not afford, but wanted to touch.

The hour passed quietly.

When she finished, she wiped her hands with the towel and stepped back.

“Done, sir.”

Arvind sat up slowly.

“You came on your own today.”

Simran’s face warmed.

“Time ho gaya tha.”
*[It was time.]*

He smiled.

“Of course.”

She picked up the oil bottle.

she was standing towords look at door.

and arvind understood.

he unhook her bra hook.

she was like waiting for this signal.

arvind hold her from behind.



( story will update every sunday due to busy work now days i will try to write few chapter every week )

[zeus90]

Arvind held both her boobs and hugged her from behind.

she was almost surprised by this move and did not say anything.

arvind was aggressive today as he knew she was in control.

simran's suit was backless, and the bra back strap was visible.

arvind did not open her bra; he just held it with his hand and pushed it back,

that tight her chest and bra got loose a bit from that sudden push.

arvind turned her to his face and started kissing her lips, and with both hands held her ass,

simran had no idea how to respond.

as soon kiss finish arvind open simran suit and salwar; she was in a bra and panty in no time.

arvind open bra and told her to go on neck and she did and arvind was already in underwear,

arvind told simran take it in her mouth and she was bit hassitent, but later she held his dick, which was full eratic,

today she seen his full size and was surprised by that,

arvind held her hair with his hand until she started; then arvind today using more force.

she was bit surpirse but arvind keep telling her will will enjoy.

simran was taking half dick and in out but today arvind was in full mood,

arvind wait until her mouth get tried then arvind hold simran head with both hand and try to push and not let her out of her mouth,

as Arvind knew she will stop him, Arvind kept pushing and it was enter almost all in her throt and her eyes were tearing but Arvind ignored it,

arvind getting time of her life that movement but not sure about simran.

arvind used her mouth fully today around 15min when he was about to cum then arvind told simran be ready and she was not sure ready for what,

arvind hold her mouth full force and start cum and that cum was going diract in throut.

arvind make sure head was hold properly when simran breath needed arvind did not leave it so she take air whatever space left in mouth and also drink cum fully.

arvind left her head after he empaty fully and then before simran could say something arvind put finger in her pussy and told simran you are wet and enjoying which simran said yes.

arvind told this is real enjoyment and she believes it.

arvind took a break and in between they did not have any conversations and then arvind asked ready and she said yes,

arvind told her he will lay down and sit on top and Simran hesitated but agreed and then arvind was in and told her to jump like their is no tomorrow,

simran started jumping small but later on she was in full and dick was big and it was hitting her inner part which make pain for her but Arvind was in full flow and she managed it,

simran was already tired after few mins then Arvind took advantage and put her down and he goes on top leg on shoulder pose where arvind was in full control,

arvind as soon in that pose, he became breast mode and start stocking hard and first she did not make sound but Simran couldn't control and started screaming a lot which arvind ignoored,

arvind was in the start only pushing half but later he started pushing full, that hit her inside and she joy screma tern into pain scream, which Arvind noticed but did not care,

start stoke more hard like their is no tomorrow and that trip last around 25min.

arvind know she cant do anymore after this as this is style is arvind and that was main reasion of his divorce.

arvind told Simran you enjoy na and you look tired today we should stop today which simran agreed and start wearing clothes,

when she wore a bra, she noticed it got loose a lot but she waer and went to her room for bath.

arvind call billa which was hiding in store room and billa said all picture taken very well and hand over camera to arvind.

after look arvind was happy as he had something for future events.

billa asked sir when i will get chance which arvind reply soon you will get on her.



# Chapter 12: The Number Trap

That night did not end with massage.

It ended with a line being crossed.

No shouting.

No force.

No struggle.

Only silence, warmth, weakness, and the strange comfort of being wanted by someone who had learned exactly where Simran was lonely.

By the time Simran returned to the outside room, the house was asleep.

The corridor was dark. The garden was quiet. Even Billa’s shadow was nowhere near the walls.

She closed the outside room door softly and stood still for a moment.

Her breathing was slow.

Her mind was not.

She took a bath at the outside tap, letting the warm water run over her face, neck, arms, and tired shoulders. The night air touched her skin, but it did not cool the heaviness inside her.

She looked at herself in the small cracked mirror.

Her eyes looked different.

Not innocent like before.

Not fully guilty either.

Just confused.

Like someone who had walked into a room and forgotten why she came there.

“Bas… aaj ka din bohot lamba tha,” she whispered.
*[It was just… a very long day today.]*

She pressed one hand to her lower back and winced slightly.

Her body ached from work, from cleaning, from standing all day, from carrying bags, from too many hours without rest.

And from the night she was not ready to name.

Her jaw felt sore too. She touched it lightly and frowned.

“Thakawat hai,” she told herself.
*[It is tiredness.]*

Then she sat on the bed.

For a moment, she smiled.

Small.

Private.

Then the smile faded.

Ravi’s side of the bed was empty.

Again.

Simran lay down slowly. When she turned, pain pulled at her lower back and she made a soft sound through her teeth.

She stared at the ceiling.

A question came.

What am I doing?

Then another thought came quickly after it.

But I was happy.

She held that second thought tighter.

Like a blanket over a stain.

Outside, the night stayed silent.

Inside the main house, Arvind slept peacefully.

And between the two rooms, something invisible had shifted.

---

## Morning Limp

Morning came sharp and hot.



Simran woke before sunrise, but her body resisted every movement. Her lower back still ached. Her legs felt heavy. When she stood, she leaned against the wall for a moment until the room stopped spinning softly around her.

“Bas thoda pain hai,” she murmured.
*[It is just a little pain.]*

She made tea slowly.

When she walked toward the main house, her steps were not even.

Not obvious enough for everyone.

But enough for Arvind.

He was sitting at the dining table when she entered with the tray.

His eyes moved from her face to her walk.

Then back to her face.

“Good morning, Simran.”

“Good morning, sir.”

She kept the cup near him and turned quickly toward the kitchen.

Too quickly.

She almost stumbled.

Arvind’s fingers tightened around the cup.

From the back corridor, Billa had also seen it.

For one second, Arvind and Billa looked at each other.

Billa’s mouth twitched.

A small, ugly smile.

Arvind’s face remained calm, but his eyes gave warning.

Not here.

Not now.

Billa lowered his gaze and moved away.

Simran did not see the exchange.

She was already at the stove, holding the counter with one hand while lighting the flame with the other.

Her face was tired, but not unhappy.

That was what Arvind noticed most.

Not the limp.

The softness.

The secret had not scared her away.

It had pulled her inward.

He took a slow sip of tea.

The day had begun well.

---

## Ravi Returns

Ravi returned after ten.

His shirt was dusty. His eyes were swollen from staying awake all night. He pushed open the outside room door and dropped his bag inside.

Simran was not there.

The room smelled faintly of soap and folded clothes.

He sat on the bed and rubbed his knees. His body hurt. His mind hurt more.

Outside, Billa was working near the garden wall.

Or pretending to.

He had been waiting for Ravi’s door.

The moment Ravi stepped out to wash his face, Billa called softly:

“Ravi bhai.”

Ravi looked over.

“Haan?”
*[Yes?]*

Billa came closer, carrying a small spade.

“Kaam kaisa chal raha hai?”
*[How is work going?]*

Ravi splashed water on his face.

“Bas chal raha hai.”
*[It is going.]*

“Health ka kya haal? Bohot thak jaata hoga.”
*[What about health? You must get very tired.]*

Ravi looked at him, surprised by the concern.

“Thak jaata hoon. Raat bhar khada rehna easy nahi hai.”
*[I get tired. Standing all night is not easy.]*

Billa nodded like an elder brother.

“Haan, bhai. Body machine nahi hoti.”
*[Yes, brother. The body is not a machine.]*

Ravi wiped his face with the towel.

For a moment, he looked toward the main house.

“Ghar bhi…” He stopped.

Billa caught it.

“Ghar bhi kya?”
*[What about home?]*

Ravi shook his head.

“Chhodo.”
*[Leave it.]*

Billa lowered his voice.

“Nahi, bol. Main tera dushman thodi hoon.”
*[No, say it. I am not your enemy.]*

Ravi gave a bitter laugh.

“Sab theek nahi chal raha.”
*[Everything is not going well.]*

Billa did not answer quickly.

He let Ravi feel heard.

Then he said:

“Simran se problem?”
*[Problem with Simran?]*

Ravi looked away.

“Pata nahi. Woh alag ho gayi hai. Hamesha busy. Hamesha main house. Main kuch bolun toh main galat.”
*[I don’t know. She has become different. Always busy. Always in the main house. If I say anything, I am wrong.]*

Billa made a sympathetic face.

“Dard hota hai jab apni biwi apni na lage.”
*[It hurts when your own wife doesn’t feel like yours.]*

The sentence struck Ravi.

He did not speak.

Billa leaned against the wall.

“Paise ka pressure bhi hoga.”
*[There must be money pressure too.]*

Ravi laughed without humor.

“Paise? Paise hi toh sabse bada problem hai.”
*[Money? Money is the biggest problem.]*

Billa looked around once, then spoke more softly.

“Kal main dus hazaar jeeta.”
*[Yesterday I won ten thousand.]*

Ravi turned.

“Kya?”
*[What?]*

Billa shrugged like it was nothing.

“Bas luck. Number ka khel hai.”
*[Just luck. A number game.]*

Ravi stared at him.

“Kaunsa number?”
*[What number?]*

Billa smiled.

Not too wide.

Just enough.

“Matka.”

Ravi’s eyes changed.

Interest entered before caution could stop it.

“Illegal hota hai na?”
*[Isn’t that illegal?]*

Billa laughed quietly.

“Delhi mein aadhi cheezein illegal hain, aadhi zaroori. Farq bas itna hai kaun pakda jaata hai.”
*[In Delhi, half the things are illegal, half are necessary. The only difference is who gets caught.]*

Ravi stayed silent.

Billa continued:

“Main tujhe bol nahi raha khel. Bas dekh le. Samajh le. Kabhi luck chal gaya toh ek raat mein salary se zyada paisa.”
*[I am not telling you to play. Just watch. Understand. If luck works, one night can give more than salary.]*

Ravi swallowed.

“Risk?”
*[Risk?]*

“Risk toh doodh ke cans uthane mein bhi hai. Back toot jaaye toh kaun paisa dega?”
*[There is risk even in lifting milk cans. If your back breaks, who will give money?]*

Ravi looked toward the main house again.

Billa followed his gaze.

“Simran ko mat batana.”

Ravi frowned.

“Why?”

“Because woh mujhe pasand nahi karti.”
*[Because she does not like me.]*

Ravi almost smiled.

“Usko lagta hai tu mujhe daaru pilata hai.”
*[She thinks you make me drink.]*

Billa placed a hand on his own chest, acting hurt.

“Main? Arre bhai, main toh hamesha help karta hoon. Job ka connection, market ka kaam, advice… aur badnaam main?”
*[Me? Brother, I always help. Job connection, market work, advice… and I get blamed?]*

Ravi nodded slowly.

“You do help.”

“Then trust me. Aaj before work, chal. Bas dekhna. Ek paisa mat lagana. Agar pasand na aaye toh wapas.”
*[Then trust me. Come today before work. Just watch. Don’t put even one rupee. If you don’t like it, come back.]*

Ravi hesitated.

His tired mind saw only one thing.

Ten thousand.

One night.

Rent.

Respect.

Maybe Simran would look at him differently if he brought money.

Maybe Arvind would stop treating him like a failed man.

Maybe he could stand straight again.

“Simran ko nahi batana,” Billa repeated.

Ravi looked toward the kitchen where Simran was working somewhere inside.

Then he said:

“Main nahi bataunga.”
*[I won’t tell her.]*

Billa smiled.

The hook had touched.

---

## Before Work

That afternoon, Ravi tried to sleep but could not.

Every time he closed his eyes, the number came back.

Ten thousand.

Billa had won ten thousand.

His monthly salary was seven thousand.

Simran worked all day for seven thousand.

Arvind counted their rent in front of them like they were children.

Ten thousand could change things.

Or at least that was how temptation spoke.

It never showed the pit first.

Only the ladder.

At five, Ravi got ready for work earlier than usual.

Simran noticed.

“Today early again?” she asked.
*[Today early again?]*

Ravi did not look at her properly.

“Haan. Farm pe thoda kaam hai.”
*[Yes. There is some work at the farm.]*

She was cutting vegetables.

“Khaya?”

“I’ll eat later.”

She frowned.

“You always say that.”

Ravi became irritated.

“Simran, please. Har baat pe question mat karo.”
*[Simran, please. Don’t question everything.]*

She stopped cutting.

He regretted the tone immediately, but he did not apologize.

The lie had already made him defensive.

Simran looked at him for a moment.

“Theek hai. Jao.”
*[Fine. Go.]*

Ravi picked up his bag.

At the door, he paused.

He almost told her.

Almost.

Then he remembered Billa’s words.

Simran would stop him.

Simran would call him foolish.

Simran would look at him the way Arvind looked at him.

Like a man who could not handle responsibility.

So he left without telling her.

Billa was waiting near the corner lane.

“Chal?”
*[Shall we go?]*

Ravi nodded.

“Bas dekhne.”
*[Only to watch.]*

“Bas dekhne,” Billa agreed.

Both men knew that watching was how many traps began.

---

## The Matka Lane

Billa took Ravi through lanes Ravi had never entered before.

Past a welding shop.

Past a shuttered medical store.

Past a tea stall where men spoke in low voices and stopped when strangers passed.

The lane became narrower.

At the end, behind a paan shop, there was a small room with a half-curtain over the door.

No signboard.

No noise from outside.

Inside, four men sat around a wooden table. A ceiling fan turned lazily. Smoke hung in the air. A small notebook lay open near a steel cash box.

Ravi stopped at the entrance.

Billa placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Relax. Apne log hain.”
*[Relax. They are our people.]*

One man looked up.

He was heavy, dark-skinned, with a thick gold chain and cold eyes. His hair was combed back with oil. Everyone else seemed to speak around him, not over him.

Billa smiled.

“Jagga bhai.”
*[Brother Jagga.]*

The man looked at Ravi.

“Naya hai?”
*[New?]*

“Dost hai. Sirf dekhne laya hoon.”
*[He is a friend. I brought him only to watch.]*

Jagga leaned back.

“Dekhne wale zyada khatarnak hote hain. Pehle dekhte hain, phir sochte hain, phir ghar bechte hain.”
*[People who watch are more dangerous. First they watch, then they think, then they sell their homes.]*

The men laughed.

Ravi did not.

Billa quickly said:

“Seedha aadmi hai. Dairy farm mein kaam karta hai. Paise ki tension hai.”
*[He is a simple man. Works at a dairy farm. Has money pressure.]*

Jagga’s eyes stayed on Ravi.

“Paise ki tension toh sabko hai. Farq yeh hai koi mehnat karta hai, koi number pe bharosa karta hai.”
*[Everyone has money pressure. The difference is, some work hard, some trust numbers.]*

Ravi swallowed.

“I am only watching.”

Jagga smiled slightly.

“Good. Watching is free. Losing is expensive.”
*[Good. Watching is free. Losing is expensive.]*

Billa laughed.

“Jagga bhai darata bohot hai.”
*[Jagga brother scares people a lot.]*

Jagga looked at him.

“Dar zaroori hai. Dar ke bina aadmi limit bhool jaata hai.”
*[Fear is necessary. Without fear, a man forgets his limit.]*

Ravi did not know why, but he liked Jagga immediately.

Not as a good man.

As a strong man.

A man nobody interrupted.

A man who had money on the table and fear in the room.

Ravi wanted that feeling.

Even for one day.

---

## Billa Wins

Billa did not ask Ravi to play.

That was the clever part.

He only played himself.

He spoke to one of the men in a low voice, placed some folded notes on the table, and gave a number.

Ravi watched everything carefully.

He did not fully understand the game.

He only understood the hope in the room.

Men waited like their lives were tied to invisible digits.

One man kept tapping his foot.

Another whispered a prayer.

Another cursed softly under his breath.

After some time, a phone rang.

Everyone became quiet.

The man near the cash box listened, wrote something, then looked up.

Billa grinned before anyone said anything.

“Bola tha,” he whispered.
*[I told you.]*

The man counted money and pushed it toward Billa.

Two thousand.

Ravi stared.

It had happened so quickly.

No milk cans.

No night shift.

No body pain.

No Arvind counting rent.

Just a few notes turning into more notes.

Billa picked up the money and slapped it lightly against his palm.

“Luck,” he said.

Jagga looked at Ravi.

“Dekha?”
*[Saw?]*

Ravi nodded.

His mouth had gone dry.

Jagga leaned forward.

“Abhi jo feeling aa rahi na, uska naam paisa nahi hai. Uska naam lalach hai.”
*[The feeling you are having right now is not called money. It is called greed.]*

Ravi looked embarrassed.

Jagga continued:

“Greed ko control kar sakta hai toh game khel. Greed tujhe control kare toh bhaag ja.”
*[If you can control greed, play. If greed controls you, run away.]*

Billa laughed.

“Jagga bhai lecture bhi free deta hai.”
*[Jagga brother gives lectures for free too.]*

Jagga ignored him.

“What do you need money for?” he asked Ravi.

Ravi hesitated.

“Rent.”

“Wife?”

Ravi looked down.

“Yes.”

Jagga smiled without warmth.

“Wife ke liye aadmi sabse zyada bewakoofi karta hai.”
*[A man does the most foolish things for his wife.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“I just want to stand on my feet.”

Jagga looked at him for a long moment.

Then he said:

“Then first learn to stand still.”

The room laughed softly.

But Ravi did not feel insulted.

He felt challenged.

Billa noticed.

Good, he thought.

Ravi was no longer looking at the door.

He was looking at the table.

---

## The First Invitation

When they stepped out, evening had begun turning orange.

The lane smelled of dust, paan, diesel, and fried snacks.

Billa counted his two thousand again.

Ravi watched from the side.

“Lucky day,” Billa said.

Ravi nodded.

“Can someone win more?”

Billa looked at him.

“Much more.”

“Lose more too?”

“Obviously.”

Ravi became quiet.

Billa folded the notes and kept them in his pocket.

“Tu smart khel sakta hai. Small amount. No greed. Bas thoda extra. Rent ka pressure kam.”
*[You can play smart. Small amount. No greed. Just a little extra. Rent pressure reduced.]*

Ravi said nothing.

Billa added:

“Par Simran ko mat batana. Women panic. Woh samjhegi tu barbaad ho gaya.”
*[But don’t tell Simran. Women panic. She will think you are ruined.]*

Ravi looked away.

“She already thinks I am useless.”

Billa’s voice softened.

“Then show her you are not.”

That was the poison.

Not the game.

The sentence.

Show her.

Earn fast.

Become a man again.

Ravi looked back toward the hidden room.

“When next?” he asked.

Billa smiled.

“Kal bhi ho sakta hai.”

Ravi nodded slowly.

“Before work?”

“Before work.”

Ravi took a breath.

“Only small.”

Billa placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course. Bas small.”
*[Of course. Only small.]*

But Billa’s smile said something else.

Small is only the first bite.

---

## Back To The Farm

Ravi reached the farm late.

The supervisor shouted at him.

“Time dekha hai?”
*[Have you seen the time?]*

Ravi apologized quickly and lifted the first milk can.

His body complained.

His back hurt.

His arms burned.

But his mind was not at the farm anymore.

It was in the room behind the paan shop.

The table.

The notebook.

The cash box.

Jagga’s gold chain.

Billa’s two thousand.

The sound of money sliding across wood.

For the first time in weeks, Ravi did not feel only tired.

He felt possibility.

Danger often entered poor men like that.

Not with horns.

With hope.

---

## Simran Does Not Know

At the house, Simran worked late.

She prepared dinner.

Cleaned the kitchen.


Arranged Arvind’s tea.

Checked the groceries.


Her body still ached from the previous day, but her mind kept moving between two rooms.

Ravi’s room.

Arvind’s room.

One full of duty.

One full of attention.

She did not know that while she was cleaning rice, Ravi had stepped into another trap.

A trap made of numbers.

A trap that did not smell like alcohol yet.

A trap that promised money before it asked for blood.

That night, when Simran stood near the spice shelf, she touched the vitamin bottle without thinking.

Then she pulled her hand away.

For a second, a doubt returned.

No proper label.

No real name.

Only Daily Support Tablets.

She looked at it.

Then Arvind called from the dining room.

“Simran?”



She turned at once.

“Ji sir?”
*[Yes sir?]*

“Tea?”

She closed the spice shelf.

“Abhi banati hoon.”
*[I’ll make it now.]*

The doubt stayed inside the cupboard.

Beside the haldi.

Beside the salt.

Waiting.

And far away, in a narrow room behind a paan shop, Ravi’s name had quietly been added to another list.


# Chapter 13: The Winning Number

Ravi told himself he would only go once more.

Just once.

Only to understand.

Only to watch.

Only small.

That was how the trap kept its first promise.

It never asked for everything on the first day.

It asked for a little.

A little time.

A little money.

A little secrecy.

Then it waited for the hunger to grow by itself.

---

## Day One: Small Number

The next evening, before work, Ravi met Billa near the corner lane again.

Billa was already waiting, chewing gum, hands in his pockets.

“Aaya hero?”
*[You came, hero?]*

Ravi looked around.

“Bas small.”
*[Only small.]*

Billa smiled.

“Bilkul small. Smart aadmi pehle hawa dekh ke pair rakhta hai.”
*[Absolutely small. A smart man first checks the air before stepping.]*

Ravi did not fully understand the line, but he nodded.

They went through the same narrow lane.

Past the welding shop.

Past the shuttered medical store.

Past the tea stall.

Behind the paan shop, the curtain moved, and the hidden room opened like a mouth.

Jagga was already there.

Gold chain.

Cold eyes.

Notebook.

Cash box.

He looked at Ravi and smiled faintly.

“Watcher became player?”
*[Watcher became player?]*

Ravi looked down.

“Thoda sa.”
*[A little.]*

Jagga leaned back.

“Thoda sa poison bhi poison hota hai.”
*[A little poison is still poison.]*

The men laughed.

Ravi forced a smile.

Billa placed a small amount for him. Ravi’s fingers were nervous when he handed over the money.

The room waited.

Numbers were spoken.

Notes moved.

A phone rang.

A man wrote something in the notebook.

Ravi’s number came close but did not win.

He lost.

Not much.

Small.

But still loss.

His face tightened.

Billa clapped his shoulder.

“First day hai. Game samajh.”
*[It is the first day. Understand the game.]*

Ravi nodded.

But inside, he had already made a decision.

Tomorrow he would try again.

Not because he had lost.

Because he had almost won.

Almost is the gambling man’s first ghost.

---

## Day Two: First Win

The next day, Ravi returned.

This time he placed a little more.

Not much.

Still small enough to tell himself he was careful.

Billa stood beside him like an elder brother.

“Dar mat. Number feeling se aata hai.”
*[Don’t fear. The number comes from feeling.]*

Jagga heard and laughed.

“Feeling se sirf barbaadi aati hai. Number paper pe aata hai.”
*[Only ruin comes from feeling. Numbers come on paper.]*

Ravi smiled nervously.

The men waited.

The phone rang.

The notebook man wrote.

Then Billa’s eyes widened.

“Ravi bhai,” he whispered, “tera lag gaya.”
*[Ravi brother, yours hit.]*

Ravi stared.

“What?”

The cash box opened.

Money came toward him.

Not a fortune.

But enough.

More than one night of lifting milk cans.

More than his tired body had expected.

Ravi held the notes like they were proof.

Proof that maybe he was not useless.

Proof that luck could respect him when people did not.

Billa grinned.

“Bola tha na? Luck ko chance dena padta hai.”
*[I told you, right? You have to give luck a chance.]*

Ravi smiled for the first time in days.

A real smile.

Jagga watched him carefully.

“Smile sambhal ke rakh,” Jagga said. “Kal yahi smile ro bhi sakti hai.”
*[Keep that smile carefully. Tomorrow the same smile can cry too.]*

Ravi did not listen.

Winning makes warnings sound like jealousy.

---

## The First Drink

That night, instead of going straight to work, Billa took Ravi to a small drinking place behind the main road.

“Celebration,” Billa said.

Ravi hesitated.

“I told Simran I stopped.”

Billa ordered two glasses anyway.

“Tu har din peeta tha. Aaj jeeta hai. Difference samajh.”
*[You used to drink every day. Today you won. Understand the difference.]*

Ravi looked at the money in his pocket.

He should have saved it.

He should have taken vegetables home.

He should have given it to Simran.

Instead, he sat down.

“One only,” he said.

Billa smiled.

“One only.”

By the time Ravi reached the farm, the winning money had already become smaller.

Some lost to drink.

Some to food.

Some to pride.

But Ravi did not feel guilty.

He felt alive.

---

## Day Four: Luck Walks Beside Him

For the next few days, luck stayed close enough to fool him.

One day he won small.

The next day he lost small, then won it back.

Then he won more.

Not huge.

But enough to keep the fire burning.

Each win made him stand straighter.

Each loss made him return with more hunger.

Billa watched quietly.

He did not push too much.

That was the art.

Let the fish pull the hook deeper by itself.

One evening, Ravi entered the hidden room more confidently.

Jagga looked at him.

“Ab toh purana aadmi lag raha hai.”
*[Now you look like an old player.]*

Ravi smiled.

“Thoda seekh gaya.”
*[I have learned a little.]*

Jagga’s eyes sharpened.

“Game seekha ya greed?”
*[Did you learn the game or greed?]*

Billa laughed.

“Jagga bhai, aap har baat mein philosophy daal dete ho.”
*[Jagga brother, you put philosophy in everything.]*

Jagga ignored Billa.

He looked only at Ravi.

“Jo aadmi do din jeet ke khud ko master samajhta hai, woh teesre din udhar maangta hai.”
*[The man who wins for two days and thinks he is a master asks for credit on the third day.]*

Ravi’s smile faded.

“I am careful.”

Jagga nodded.

“Good. Careful aadmi kabhi yeh line nahi bolta.”
*[Good. A careful man never says that line.]*

The room laughed again.

Ravi laughed too, but something in him tightened.

He wanted to prove Jagga wrong.

That was the second hook.

---

## Simran’s Days

While Ravi chased numbers, Simran chased time.

Her days had become a circle.

Wake before sunrise.

Tea for Ravi.

Food for Ravi.

Main house.

Tea for Arvind.

Breakfast.

Cleaning.

Lunch.

Laundry.

Study work.

Evening snacks.

Dinner.

Then oil bottle.

Massage.

Extra work.

Sometimes Arvind spoke kindly.

Sometimes he gave money.

Sometimes he only watched her with the patience of a man counting invisible steps.

Simran did not know about Ravi’s gambling.

She only noticed small things.

Ravi leaving earlier.

Ravi coming home more restless.

Ravi sometimes smiling to himself.

Ravi sometimes smelling of alcohol again, but calling it “work tiredness.”

One morning, she asked:

“Ravi, tum farm pe hi jaate ho na?”
*[Ravi, you do go to the farm only, right?]*

Ravi looked up sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“Bas poochha.”
*[I just asked.]*

“Tumhe har cheez mein doubt kyun hota hai?”
*[Why do you doubt everything?]*

Simran became quiet.

He regretted snapping, but not enough to tell the truth.

The secret stayed safe.

And secrets, once kept, need more secrets to protect them.

---

## Arvind Notices

Arvind noticed Ravi too.

He noticed the early exits.

The changing mood.

The nervous eyes.

One afternoon, he called Billa near the side gate.

“Ravi?” Arvind asked.

Billa smiled.

“Number room jaa raha hai roz.”
*[He is going to the number room every day.]*

“Playing?”

“Pehle small. Ab thoda confidence aa gaya.”

“Winning?”

“Thoda thoda. Aur jo jeetta hai, usi se drink bhi kar leta hai.”
*[A little. And whatever he wins, he drinks with it too.]*

Arvind looked toward the outside room.

“Good.”

Billa grinned.

“Ab phas jayega.”
*[Now he will get trapped.]*

Arvind’s eyes stayed calm.

“Not yet. Winning is not trapping. Losing is.”

Billa nodded slowly.

“Samajh gaya.”

“No,” Arvind said. “You don’t. Make sure he gets enough taste to believe. Then let the floor move.”

Billa’s grin returned.

“Jagga bhai ko bol doon?”

Arvind looked at him.

“Jagga knows business. He does not need teaching.”

Billa lowered his eyes.

“Yes sir.”

Arvind turned back toward the house.

Inside, Simran was cleaning the dining table.

She had no idea that while one trap was wrapping around her softly, another was opening under Ravi’s feet.

That was the beauty of Arvind’s plan.

Two people.

Two cages.

Different doors.

Same house.

---

## The Ten Thousand Win

It happened on a Thursday.

Ravi had gone before work, telling Simran the farm had called him early again.

This time he placed more money than usual.

His hand shook slightly.

Billa saw it.

“Dar raha?”
*[Are you scared?]*

“Bas… this is more.”

“More risk, more result.”

Jagga looked from behind the table.

“Or more loss.”

Ravi ignored him.

The room waited.

The fan turned slowly.

One man whispered numbers under his breath.

Another smoked near the window.

The phone rang.

The notebook man answered.

Listened.

Wrote.

Then looked at Ravi.

Billa slapped Ravi’s shoulder.

“Lag gaya!”
*[It hit!]*

Ravi stood still.

For a second, he did not understand.

Then the cash box opened.

Notes came out.

More than before.

Much more.

Ten thousand.

Ravi stared at the money.

Ten thousand rupees.

Rent money.

Respect money.

Proof money.

His hands closed around it.

The room changed.

He was no longer Ravi the tired dairy worker.

He was Ravi who had won ten thousand.

Billa lifted his arms.

“Hero!”

Ravi laughed.

Loud.

Too loud.

Jagga watched him with a cold smile.

“Ab master ban gaya?”
*[Now you became a master?]*

Ravi looked at the money.

“Maybe.”

Jagga leaned forward.

“Remember this feeling. This is the feeling people chase until they lose their name.”

Ravi did not care.

His mind had already become bright with plans.

He would not tell Simran yet.

First he would win more.

Then one day he would place money in front of her and say:

See?

I can manage.

I am not weak.

That night, he drank with Billa.

Not small.

Not one glass.

He spent from the winning money because it did not feel like salary.

Salary felt earned.

This felt created.

Magic money.

And magic money disappears faster.

---

## The Fall

The next day, Ravi went back.

He should have stopped.

He should have saved the ten thousand.

He should have paid rent early.

He should have hidden the money somewhere safe.

Instead, he went back to prove the win was not luck.

That was the third hook.

He placed the same amount again.

His logic was simple.

If it happened yesterday, it could happen today.

If he won once, he could win again.

If he won again, ten would become twenty.

Twenty would change everything.

Jagga looked at the notes.

“Sure?”

Ravi nodded.

“Sure.”

Billa stood beside him, but quieter today.

The room waited.

The phone rang.

The notebook man wrote.

Ravi’s number did not come.

The money disappeared.

Just like that.

No milk cans.

No sweat.

No argument.

No sound.

Ten thousand gone.

Ravi stared at the table.

His mouth went dry.

Billa placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Bad luck.”

Ravi shook his head.

“One more.”

Jagga looked at him.

“With what?”

Ravi swallowed.

“Udhar.”
*[Credit.]*

The room became quiet.

Jagga leaned back.

“Ab asli game shuru hua.”
*[Now the real game has started.]*

Ravi’s face tightened.

“I’ll return. Salary aayegi.”

“When?”

Ravi hesitated.

“Three weeks.”

Jagga laughed once.

“Three weeks mein aadmi gaayab bhi ho sakta hai.”
*[A man can disappear in three weeks.]*

“I won’t.”

Billa spoke softly:

“Jagga bhai, apna aadmi hai.”
*[Jagga brother, he is our man.]*

Jagga looked at Billa.

“Apna aadmi paise se hota hai. Baaton se nahi.”
*[A man becomes ours through money, not words.]*

Ravi felt sweat on his back.

“Just ten. I will win it back.”

Jagga stared at him for a long moment.

Then he nodded to the cash box man.

Ten thousand on credit.

Ravi played again.

And lost again.

This time, silence did not feel empty.

It felt like a hand around his throat.

Jagga closed the notebook.

“Ten thousand owed.”

Ravi’s voice came out thin.

“I’ll pay.”

“Ten days,” Jagga said.

Ravi looked up.

“Ten days? Salary after three weeks.”

Jagga’s eyes hardened.

“That is your problem. Not mine.”

Billa did not speak.

Ravi looked at him.

“Billa…”

Billa avoided his eyes.

Jagga tapped the notebook.

“Ten days. After that, reminder will come.”

The word reminder did not sound like a phone call.

Ravi understood.

Fear finally entered.

Too late.

---

## Billa Steps Back

Outside the lane, Ravi grabbed Billa’s arm.

“You said small. You said smart. You said luck.”

Billa pulled his arm away.

“Tu khud khela.”
*[You played yourself.]*

“You took me there.”

“I took you to watch.”

Ravi stared at him.

“Help me. Please. Ten thousand. I’ll return when salary comes.”

Billa laughed bitterly.

“Main khud kal sab haar gaya.”
*[I myself lost everything yesterday.]*

“You said you had savings.”

“Tha. Gaya.”
*[I had. Gone.]*

Ravi’s face fell.

Billa looked around, then lowered his voice.

“Listen. Jagga se panga mat lena. Ten days mein arrange kar. Salary advance le.”

“I can’t. Already took advance before. This time if I ask, farm owner will throw me out.”

“Then ask Arvind sir.”

Ravi’s face tightened at once.

“No.”

Billa watched him carefully.

“Pride rakhega ya body?”
*[Will you keep pride or your body?]*

Ravi said nothing.

Billa stepped back.

“Main help nahi kar sakta. Aur Simran ko mat batana. Woh seedha drama karegi.”
*[I can’t help. And don’t tell Simran. She will create drama immediately.]*

Ravi’s breathing became heavy.

Ten days.

Ten thousand.

No salary for three weeks.

No advance.

No help.

No truth.

He had entered the room behind the paan shop to become a man.

He left it owing money to men who did not smile with their eyes.

---

## Days Of Hiding

The next ten days began.

Day one, Ravi barely slept.

He returned from work, lay on the bed, and stared at the wall.

Simran placed tea near him.

“Tabiyat kharab hai?”
*[Are you unwell?]*

“Bas tired.”

She looked at him.

“Tum ajeeb lag rahe ho.”

“Raat ka kaam hai. Ajeeb hi lagunga.”
*[It is night work. I will look strange.]*

She did not push.

She had her own exhaustion.

Main house.

Cooking.

Cleaning.

Arvind.

Oil bottle.

Soft words.

Secret guilt.

By evening, she was gone again.

Ravi watched her leave.

He wanted to tell her.

But if he told her, she would ask where the money went.

She would ask why he went there.

She would ask why Billa was involved.

She would look at him with that tired disappointment.

He could not bear it.

So he stayed silent.

Silence, once again, became the third person in their room.

---

## Day Three

On the third day, Billa came near Ravi while he washed his face.

“Arrange hua?”
*[Did you arrange it?]*

Ravi glared.

“From where?”

“Think.”

“I am thinking.”

“Think faster.”

Ravi grabbed the towel too tightly.

“Can you talk to Jagga?”

Billa shook his head.

“No. Ten days means ten days. Uske baad interest, pressure, insult, sab start.”
*[After that interest, pressure, insult, everything starts.]*

Ravi’s face turned pale.

“Interest?”

Billa looked away.

“You thought debt stays the same?”

Ravi leaned against the wall.

The ground felt loose.

From inside the kitchen, Simran called:

“Ravi, chai thandi ho rahi hai.”
*[Ravi, tea is getting cold.]*

Billa smiled faintly.

“Biwi ko kuch pata nahi?”

Ravi’s jaw tightened.

“Nahi.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Billa walked away.

Ravi picked up the tea.

His hands shook.

Simran noticed.

“Ravi?”

“Cup garam hai,” he lied.

The tea was not hot.

---

## Simran’s Parallel Life

Simran did not know Ravi was drowning.

She only saw the surface.

He was quiet.

Irritated.

Tired.

Sometimes too gentle.

Sometimes too sharp.

But she had stopped trying to understand every mood.

A person can only knock on a closed door so many times before their knuckles learn silence.

Her own life had become strange too.

At night, she went to Arvind’s room.

Sometimes for massage.

Sometimes for “extra help.”

Sometimes just because Arvind said he had back pain and she no longer waited to be called twice.

The scenes stayed quiet.

Non-graphic.

Emotional.

Complicated.

She told herself she was choosing.

She told herself she was happier.

She told herself Ravi had pushed her away first.

Arvind never corrected these thoughts.

He watered them.

One night, while she pressed his shoulder, he asked:

“You look distracted.”

“Ravi ajeeb behave kar raha hai.”
*[Ravi is behaving strangely.]*

“Again?”

“Haan. Kabhi gussa, kabhi chup.”
*[Yes. Sometimes angry, sometimes silent.]*

Arvind kept his voice calm.

“Maybe he is hiding something.”

Simran’s hands stopped.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I am only saying, people who feel guilty become restless.”

She looked toward the floor.

“Guilty?”

Arvind turned his face slightly.

“Do you trust him?”

Simran did not answer.

Arvind did not ask again.

He did not need to.

The question itself was enough.

---

## Day Six

On day six, Ravi tried to ask the farm supervisor for advance.

He stood near the loading area after shift, hands blackened with dirt and milk residue.

“Sir… thoda advance mil sakta hai?”
*[Sir… can I get a little advance?]*

The supervisor looked at him sharply.

“Again?”

Ravi lowered his eyes.

“Emergency hai.”
*[There is an emergency.]*

“Pichli baar bhi emergency thi.”
*[Last time also there was an emergency.]*

“I’ll manage.”

The supervisor stepped closer.

“Listen, Ravi. You are already slow. Late bhi aaya tha pichle week. Advance chahiye toh kaam strong hona chahiye. Yahan charity nahi chalti.”
*[Listen, Ravi. You are already slow. You were late last week too. If you want advance, your work has to be strong. This is not charity.]*

Ravi swallowed.

“So no?”

“No. Salary three weeks later. Usse pehle mat poochna.”
*[No. Salary is three weeks later. Don’t ask before that.]*

Ravi walked away with his face burning.

Three weeks.

Jagga gave ten days.

The numbers did not fit.

Nothing in Ravi’s life fit anymore.

---

## Arvind’s Plan Continues

That afternoon, Billa reported everything to Arvind.

They stood near the side wall again.

“Ravi ne advance maanga. Mila nahi.”
*[Ravi asked for advance. He did not get it.]*

Arvind nodded.

“Debt?”

“Ten thousand. Ten days. Ab six days baaki.”
*[Ten thousand. Ten days. Now six days left.]*

“Good.”

Billa smiled.

“Ab woh khud aapke paas aayega?”
*[Now he will come to you himself?]*

Arvind looked toward the outside room.

“Maybe. Or he will break somewhere else first.”

“Simran ko pata nahi.”

“Keep it that way.”

Billa scratched his chin.

“Sir, agar Ravi ne bata diya toh?”

Arvind smiled faintly.

“He won’t. Shame is a stronger lock than fear.”

Billa nodded, impressed.

“And Simran?”

Arvind’s eyes moved toward the kitchen.

“She is busy believing she is happy.”

Billa grinned.

“Plan perfect hai.”

Arvind’s face hardened.

“No plan is perfect. That is why we watch.”

---

## Day Eight

On day eight, Ravi snapped at Simran over nothing.

She had placed food in front of him.

He looked at the sabzi and said:

“Salt zyada hai.”

Simran stared.

“Itna bhi nahi.”

“Main bol raha hoon zyada hai.”

She picked up the plate.

“Mat khao.”

He grabbed her wrist, not hard, but sudden.

She froze.

He let go immediately.

Both looked at her wrist.

A memory moved between them.

The slap.

The fear.

The mark.

Ravi’s face broke.

“Sorry.”

Simran pulled her hand back slowly.

“What is wrong with you?”
*[Tumhare saath problem kya hai?]*

Ravi almost said it.

Ten thousand.

Jagga.

Billa.

Debt.

Fear.

But the words became stones in his throat.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she said, tired. “Everything is nothing with you.”

She left the room.

Ravi sat there alone, staring at the plate.

He hated himself.

Then he hated the debt.

Then he hated Billa.

Then, because it was easiest, he hated Arvind.

But none of those feelings made ten thousand appear.

---

## Day Ten Nears

By the ninth day, Ravi had stopped sleeping properly.

His eyes looked hollow.

His hands shook when he tied his shoelaces.

The farm work became harder because fear had stolen his strength.

Billa found him near the side gate.

“Tomorrow last day.”

Ravi glared at him.

“I know.”

“Arrange?”

“No.”

Billa sighed.

“Then talk to Arvind sir.”

Ravi looked toward the big house.

“No.”

“Then Jagga will talk.”

Ravi’s face went pale.

Billa lowered his voice.

“Listen, Ravi. I am saying as friend. Before Jagga sends someone, go to Arvind sir. Better insult from sahib than beating from street.”
*[Listen, Ravi. I am saying as a friend. Before Jagga sends someone, go to Arvind sir. Better insult from a rich man than beating from the street.]*

Ravi clenched his jaw.

“You are not my friend.”

Billa smiled sadly, acting hurt.

“Maybe. But I was right about one thing.”

“What?”

“Paise ke bina aadmi ki biwi bhi door ho jaati hai.”
*[Without money, even a man’s wife becomes distant.]*

Ravi stepped closer.

“Shut up.”

Billa lifted both hands.

“Truth hurts.”

Ravi walked away before he did something foolish.

But the sentence followed him.

Like all of Billa’s sentences did.

---

## Simran Still Does Not Know

That night, Simran stood in Arvind’s room, folding a towel after the massage.

“You are quiet,” Arvind said.

She nodded.

“Ravi se fight ho gayi.”

“What happened?”

“He is hiding something. I can feel it.”

Arvind looked at her carefully.

“Then ask him.”

“I did. He says nothing.”

“Then maybe he does not trust you.”

The line hurt.

Simran looked up.

“I left everything for him.”

Arvind’s voice became very soft.

“Sometimes people take the biggest sacrifices and still do not value the person who made them.”

Her eyes filled, but she blinked quickly.

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Then don’t.”

“I am tired.”

“I know.”

Again.

I know.

The same two words.

Still working.

Simran sat on the edge of the chair for a moment, head lowered.

Arvind did not touch her.

He only waited.

And waiting, from him, felt like care.

When she left, he walked to the window and looked toward the outside room.

Ravi was somewhere in the dark, owing money.

Simran was somewhere between guilt and comfort.

Billa was watching both.

The house breathed quietly.

Everything was on track.

---

## The Last Night Before Payment

Ravi returned from the farm before sunrise on the tenth day.

He did not enter the room immediately.

He stood outside under the dull grey sky, looking at the main house.

Arvind’s window was dark.

The gate was closed.

The garden was still.

Ten thousand.

Today.

His chest felt tight.

He could not ask Simran.

He could not ask the farm.

Billa had refused.

Jagga would not wait.

And Arvind…

Ravi looked at the big house again.

His pride fought his fear.

Fear won slowly.

Inside the outside room, Simran slept, turned away, her face peaceful for once.

Ravi looked at her.

For a moment, he wanted to kneel beside the bed and tell her everything.

But then he imagined her eyes.

Disappointment.

Anger.

Maybe disgust.

He stepped back.

“No,” he whispered.

He would handle it.

Somehow.

That word again.

Somehow.

It had carried them to Delhi.

It had carried them into Arvind’s house.

Now it carried Ravi toward another door.

A worse one.

By afternoon, the decision had already begun forming inside him.

He would ask Arvind.

Not as a man asking for help.

As a man surrendering another piece of himself.

And somewhere nearby, unseen, the trap waited with its mouth open.