Chapter 3: The Girl Next Door

Nancy had known Sanju since they were five years old. They had grown up in adjacent flats in the same society, their windows facing each other, their lives intertwined in a perpetual dance of conflict and camaraderie. She had been the annoying girl who always beat him at board games. He had been the infuriating boy who always knew the answers in class. They fought over everything--who got the last piece of gulab jamun, whose turn it was to walk the neighbor’s dog, which channel to watch on the TV.

But beneath the bickering, there had always been something else. A spark. A tension. A deep, unspoken affection that neither had ever acknowledged.

Nancy was twenty-five now, and she was stunning. Her body was had perfect curves--massive, gravity-defying breasts even larger than Harleen’s, a tiny waist that seemed physically impossible given the weight of her chest, and wide, childbearing hips that swayed hypnotically with every step. Her face was cherubic, with big, expressive eyes and pouty lips that she constantly chewed when she was nervous.

She was nervous now, standing at her window, watching Sanju return home at dawn with a stupid, satisfied grin on his face.

She knew that grin. She’d seen it before, on the faces of men who had just gotten laid. And the thought of Sanju--her Sanju, the boy she’d fought with and secretly loved for twenty years--fucking some other woman made her blood boil.

Her enormous breasts, clad only in a thin nightie, heaved with the force of her emotions. Her nipples, thick and sensitive, hardened against the silk. She was jealous. Furious. Aroused.

She had to do something.

That evening, Nancy waylaid him in the corridor.

“Late night, Sanju?” she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Sanju paused, key in hand. “Nancy. Yeah, I was ... out.”

“Out where? And with whom?” She crossed her arms under her massive chest, a deliberate move that she knew would draw his eyes. And it did--for just a fraction of a second, his gaze flicked down to the incredible expanse of cleavage she was presenting before snapping back to her face.

“None of your business,” he said, but there was no heat in it.

“Oh, I think it is my business.” She stepped closer, her perfume--jasmine and something muskier--enveloping him. “I’ve known you forever, Sanju. I know when you’re hiding something. Who is she?”

“Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air. Nancy’s bravado flickered. “Because ... because...”

“Because what?”

“Because I hate the thought of you with someone else, okay?” The words burst out of her, raw and unplanned. “I hate it. I’ve always hated it. Even when we were kids and you were more interested in your stupid computer than in me, I hated it. And now you’re out all night with some random girl, and I can’t ... I can’t stand it.”