Chapter 3

The last two months of my university life flew by. Late nights filled with studying. Caffeine became my best friend. Latha and I didn’t have a physical connection. But we stayed friends. We were too busy with final assignments to think about anything else.

We went to the library together. Sometimes, we grabbed takeout, eating in tired silence. We both understood. What had happened between us was in the past. It felt like an old textbook, gathering dust.

I only spoke to my mom once in those two months. Mostly, we texted. When she called, it was quick. Just enough time for her to catch the tiredness in my voice.

“Too busy,” I said, rubbing my temples. My laptop buzzed with unfinished assignments.

My mom didn’t push me. Just said softly, “Eat something, Kittu,” before letting me off the hook.

Graduation came fast. The ceremony was a blur. My cap slipped sideways.

Latha fixed it with a quiet laugh. “Still clumsy,” she teased. That familiarity stung a bit, but I smiled back.

Afterward, my phone buzzed. A photo message from her. My mom and I, arms around each other, were grinning. “Proud of you,” the caption read.

I swallowed hard. “Couldn’t be here without you.” I typed back, sending a picture of myself in my cap—crooked again.

The reply came fast: a heart emoji and three kisses.

“Flight booked. See you next week.” I hit send and stared at the screen, waiting for my mom’s reaction.

The three dots appeared, paused, then disappeared. My stomach twisted. Finally, a message flashed on my screen: “See you soon. I love you, Kittu.”

Those words burned hotter than the blush creeping up my neck. I pressed my thumb against the screen until the pixels blurred, wishing I could crawl through that glowing rectangle and into her arms.

Latha nudged my shoulder. “Coffee,” she said. Her eyes flicked to my phone, then back to me. “You look like you need it.”

I smiled—small, knowing—before walking away with her.

The day before our flight, Latha and I packed in silence. I folded shirts and stacked books. My hands worked without thought. But my mind was elsewhere. Mumbai. My mom. I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. It had been a long time since I last saw her. Would she be the same? Would I be the same?

Latha smiled as she folded her clothes, her fingertips lingering on the material. She smiled softly as she watched me. She seemed to sense my inner turmoil and suddenly threw what was in her hand, a bra, to gain my attention.

I looked up, startled, as she laughed and said, “Check whether that will fit your mom.”

I blinked; her remark shocked me, equal parts shame and desire swirling in my stomach.

She chuckled gently at my silence. “Or perhaps, when she wears it,” she said, whispering, “you’ll close your eyes and imagine it’s me?”

I gulped, my hands holding onto her bra midair. The proposal was ridiculous, but my heart betrayed me. I was confused. Was she truly jealous of like my mother? My throat ran dry. Latha’s bent over to shut her luggage, her ass softly swaying.

She straightened slowly. “Enjoying the view?” she asked. Her eyes were intense as she waited for my response, even though her voice was joking.

My cock twitched. Two months without sex after my birthday left me on edge. Even more terribly, every other night, I had a jerk-off session driven by looking at my phone, swiping through pictures of my mom.

“One last fuck,” I blurted, grasping her bra possessively, desperate. “Not strings. Just ... relief.” Even as I spoke the words, I knew it was pathetic, but my cock tightened in my pants.

Latha shook her head and laughed—not sarcastically but sorrowfully. She murmured, “The only pussy your cock should get is your mom’s,” then added, “Call me when you’ve sorted yourself out, motherfucker.” Her tone had such finality that bargaining was not possible.

I smirked at my own situation—how awful it was that her words made my cock twitch more and that humiliation felt like arousal. Latha walked out. I started packing the last of my clothes. I shoved her bra inside my suitcase.

The flight back to Mumbai felt endless. When we landed, the jolt woke me up. The arrivals area was a frenzy. Families reunited. Drivers waved signs. Then I saw her. Vidya. My mother. Her eyes were searching me in the crowd.

Finally, when she found me, a shy smile crept onto her face. But her fingers twisted nervously around her purse. She wore a sleeveless violet blouse paired with an upscale sari. It hugged her waist, showcasing her shape. She waved at me.

My throat tightened. I wanted to run to her. Instead, I walked slowly, dragging my luggage behind me. My heart was pounding. When I reached her, I dropped my bags and pulled her close. I hugged her so tight that made her surprised.

My hands slipped down her back, fingers brushing over the curve of her ass. I quickly moved my hands to her waist. At first, her body stiffened. Then, with a shaky laugh, she melted into me. She pulled back first, her hands pressing my shoulders. Her fingers traced my muscles through my shirt—slow and careful.

Then she smiled. But it wasn’t her usual smile. This one was softer, more private. “You’ve become a man, Kittu,” she murmured.

I grinned. “Still your boy,” I said, pressing her palm to my cheek.

“Let’s go home,” she said softly, pulling away. Her fingers brushed against mine. Too long. Too close.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I grabbed my bags.

The drive home was silent. Mom sat beside me in the passenger seat, hands neatly folded in her lap. Yet, her eyes were glued to me. Every few minutes, she’d glance away, then sneak another look. It felt like she was trying to memorize my face.

“You’ve gained a lot of muscle,” she finally murmured. Her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to touch my shoulder.

At a red light, she turned fully toward me. “Your beard,” she said, her voice softer. “It suits you.”

She brushed my jaw so quickly I almost imagined it. The light turned green. I didn’t move. Her hand dropped, but her eyes stayed locked on me. A horn blared from behind. I jerked the car forward, causing her pallu to drop. Mom laughed—a nervous sound.

“Ma,” I said, my voice rough. “Wear your seatbelt.”

I reached over instinctively to adjust her sari pallu. My knuckles grazed her collarbone. She went still. My fingers lingered near her throat. I felt her swallow. Her lips parted. She didn’t look away. After I finally clicked her seatbelt into place, I forced my hand back to the wheel. I gripped it tighter.

Mom let out a shaky breath. She smoothed her pallu, moving deliberately, her fingers following the same path I took. “I was bossy before you left,” she said softly. Her cheeks turned red. “Now, you’ve become one.”