His breath tight. His fists clenched.
That night, Kalpana lay between Avinash and Amit again holding their dick and giving them handjob, their hands warm on her waist, their kisses soft against her neck.
But her mind wandered.
To a pair of eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
Burning.
She reached down, guided Avinash inside her slowly, let Amit kiss her mouth while her thoughts drifted to the boy in the next room—not a boy anymore, but a man who had stopped hiding.
A man who saw her as a woman and not a mother.
And who no longer looked away.
Chapter XXXII: One Breath Closer
The power cut happened just after sunset.
The hum of the refrigerator died. The lights blinked out. The fan wound down to a halt with a lazy, dying whirr.
A storm was brewing outside, thunder crawling across the sky like something alive. But inside, it was warm, still, and humming with its own electricity.
Kalpana lit candles around the living room—soft, golden light flickering on the walls, making shadows dance across the floor.
The house felt… suspended.
No Avinash.
No Amit.
Just quiet.
And Vivek.
She found him in the kitchen, standing near the window, watching the rain start. His silhouette framed in pale light. Barefoot. Thoughtful.
He didn’t turn as she entered.
“Looks like we’re stuck without power,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he replied. “And without noise.”
She smiled. “Sometimes that’s a gift.”
He turned now, slowly, leaning against the sink. Their eyes met.
It had become a habit lately—this holding of glances. Not too long. But not brief either.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Out. They said they’d be late. Maybe the storm held them up.”
He nodded.
A pause.
Long.
Uncomfortable only if they let it be.
Kalpana moved to the counter, lit a single candle there. The flame glowed between them.
She was wearing a loose, sleeveless kurti and soft pajama pants that clung a little too perfectly in the candlelight. Her neckline dipped just enough to catch his eyes—and hold them.
He didn’t try to look away.
And this time, she didn’t pretend not to notice.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said.
“So have you.”
“Sometimes quiet says more.”
He nodded.
Then: “Do you ever think about… things that shouldn’t happen?”
Her breath caught slightly.
“Define shouldn’t,” she said, stepping closer.
His voice lowered. “The kind of things that… once you see them, you can’t unsee. Once you imagine them… they start to live inside you.”
She was in front of him now. Not touching. But close.
Her skin was warm, the scent of her hair mixing with the candle wax and distant thunder.
“I think about a lot of things,” she said. “Some of them more than I should.”
He exhaled slowly, like the weight of months had just pressed into his lungs.
“I can’t stop,” he whispered.
She tilted her head.
“Stop what?”
He swallowed. “Thinking about you. At night. In the hallway. When I hear you. When I know… they’re with you.”
Her lips parted. Her fingers flexed at her sides.
“And what do you imagine?” she asked, voice softer now. “Tell me.”
He hesitated.
Then stepped closer—close enough to feel her warmth.