Chapter 2

I looked into her eyes, searching for a sign, for anything. There was no resentment there, no resistance, just silence. Gently, I reached out and cupped her face with one hand, still caressing her breasts softly.

“What are you thinking?” I asked quietly.

“We ... shouldn’t,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Why?” I asked, gently guiding her gaze back to mine. “You don’t want to?” slightly applying pressure on her breasts.

She gasped and closed her eyes, her breath catching.

“I ... I ... He’ll be home soon,” she said, her voice trembling.

I glanced at the clock on the wall- 7:45.

“There’s still time,” I said, my voice low, pressing her against the kitchen counter.

I moved closer, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Then, as I brushed her hair from her face, I saw that flicker of conflict, of longing, and guilt. She looked up at me, pleading silently.

“Please...” she said.

“Please what?” I asked, my voice softening.

“I don’t know,” she admitted reluctantly, looking down, her words heavy with uncertainty.

I pressed my body onto hers, forcing her to look at me.

“I want to” I said firmly.

I raised both hands slowly, slipping them under her nightie, pausing just long enough to let her stop me if she wanted to. My palms met the warmth of her bare breast, and as I cupped her gently, she let out a soft, surprised sound and looked up at me, half breathless, half unsure.

Leaning in, I kissed her—deeper this time, with a need I couldn’t hide. She gasped softly against my mouth, her lips parting to welcome my forcing tongue in. My hands brushing her nipples gently for the first time, she moaned loudly.

I felt her hesitation melt into something uncertain but willing, her hands rising to my head, trying to follow the rhythm I set. There was a tenderness in her inexperience, a raw emotion that made the moment feel more intimate than I’d expected.

Her body trembled slightly beneath my touch. The intensity of it all—the closeness, the quiet hunger, the conflict—was overwhelming, she surrendered meekly. I could feel it in her kiss, in the way she clung to me, in the way she didn’t quite know what to do but wanted to stay connected.

And then, gently, she placed her hands over mine, the ones still on her chest, and pulled them away, reluctant but clear. Her lips broke from mine, her breath trembling.

She looked at me, eyes wide and full of unspoken thoughts.

“Please,” she whispered.

I didn’t push. I just nodded and stepped back, the warmth of her skin still lingering on my hands.

“You should go,” she said softly.

I nodded, slowly backed way toward the door. When I looked back, she hadn’t moved. Her expression was unreadable.

Upstairs, I sat and ran everything through my mind again and again. I knew she wasn’t experienced, and I shouldn’t rush her.

About ten minutes later, I heard the gate outside. Her husband was home.

By 9 PM, I was debating whether to order something on a food delivery app or ride out to a hotel. A trip would help clear my mind. I grabbed my keys and went downstairs.

In the parking space, I saw her with her husband and child, sitting together. When I smiled and nodded at her husband, he nodded back.

As I opened the gate, he called out, “Where are you off to at this hour, brother?”

“Just going to get some dinner,” I replied.

“This late? There’s nothing close by.”

I paused. He was right, the place was almost nowhere, the nearest decent place was 3 km away.

“I forgot,” I laughed awkwardly. “Might just order something.”

“It’ll take food delivery an hour to get here,” he said, I checked the time—9:20 PM. He wasn’t wrong.

“Eat with us,” he offered warmly, glancing at his wife.

Ramya looked up briefly. “Uhh ... sure,” she said, distracted.

I tried to refuse politely, but he insisted—like any good South Indian host would.

Eventually, I agreed. She looked up at me again, briefly. I smiled and shifted my gaze to her husband.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“I’ll make dosa,” she replied, carrying her child inside.

I stayed outside with him. We chatted about work, interests, and cricket. Since he was my age, the conversation flowed easily.

Soon, she came to the door. “Dinner’s ready,” she said.

He excused himself to wash up, leaving me alone in the hall.

She gestured toward the kitchen. “Wash there.” With a glint in her eyes.

As I walked past her to the sink, again, things that happened at this place ran through my eyes. I kept my movements normal, careful not to linger, though our closeness stirred something unspoken. I washed up, brushed lightly past her— intentionally—and returned to the hall.

At dinner, he was feeding his child while he ate. Whenever he was busy, she came closer to serve. I felt her linger a moment longer, standing just a bit closer than necessary.

I finished before him and got up to wash my hands. The baby wanted to come with me and asked to be picked up. Her parents gently scolded her, but I said it was okay and lifted her in my arms, heading to the sink.

While I awkwardly tried to wash my hands with the child still in my arms, Ramya came over to take her. I glanced at her husband; he was still busy watching the cricket match on TV.

As I handed the baby to Ramya, I stepped closer and let my hand brush lightly against her waist and stomach. She stiffened but didn’t move away. Her eyes widened slightly. I let my fingers rest just for a moment, then finished washing my hands and returned to the table, smiling subtly at her. She stood still for a moment, gathering herself, then returned to the table with the baby.

He told her to eat and said he would take care of the child. He seemed to care for her. We watched cricket and spoke casually. As she sat and ate, I noticed her glance at me now and then.

While we were talking, the baby started to fall asleep. He stood to put her to bed in the other room, which was at the far end of the hall, out of sight from the kitchen. Ramya also finished eating and went to wash her plate.

Feeling a little bold and curious after what had happened, I walked into the kitchen, pretending to ask for water. She was near the sink again, washing the utensils, just like earlier.