A pause.
Then all three of them laughed—quietly, but completely.
The kind of laughter that breaks tension without needing to explain anything.
Kalpana appeared moments later, wrapped in a thin robe, hair wild, expression unreadable.
She looked between the three of them. Her breath hitched—but she didn’t retreat.
She stood taller.
“Say it,” she said, chin lifted.
Avinash shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing to say.”
Amit added gently, “You deserve to be seen. And loved. All of you. If it’s him, or us, or all of us—what matters is that it’s real.”
Kalpana’s lips parted. “And you’re… okay?”
Avinash stepped forward, brushed a hand over her cheek, his touch familiar and tender.
“You’ve given each of us something none of us knew how to ask for. Love. Fire. Truth. How can we punish you for that?”
Vivek stepped beside her, unsure.
But Amit reached out, clasped his shoulder, and said, “Looks like you finally stopped pretending, brother.”
Vivek met his gaze. “I didn’t know it was allowed.”
“Now it is.”
And that’s how the walls fell.
There were no more secrets.
No more roles.
No more masks.
Only a strange and beautiful honesty.
The house became a sanctuary for all of them.
A space where passion didn’t need permission.
Where no one judged what someone needed.
Where love was loud.
And lust was welcome.
They ate meals shirtless.
They flirted openly.
They kissed without checking who was in the room.
And sometimes—without plans, without shame—they shared her.
Not like men taking turns.
But like men sharing a flame they all respected.
Kalpana didn’t belong to anyone.
She belonged to herself.
And they were simply lucky enough to be invited in.
Chapter XXXVI: The Fire That Stayed
It was the weekend of the monsoon’s final storm.
Outside, the sky poured like the gods were cleansing the last secrets of the earth.
But inside the house, there were no more secrets left to purge.
Only skin.
Only breath.
Only fire.
Kalpana lay on the terrace chaise, the rain close enough to smell but far enough to leave her dry, her robe loose around her waist. Her eyes were half-closed, body still humming from the morning’s pleasure.
Vivek sat at her feet, tracing lazy patterns over her ankle with the tips of his fingers.
Amit came out with two glasses of wine and placed one in her hand. “Celebrating what?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Us,” he said simply.
Avinash followed behind him, shirtless, with a speaker humming a slow jazz groove, the kind that made hips move before thoughts did.
And move, they did.
That afternoon blurred into something mythic.
The kind of day people write poetry about but never admit happened.
Bodies intertwined in every room—on the bed, on the floor, against the window.
Kalpana, worshipped again and again.
Vivek, wild and hungry and finally whole.
Avinash, strong and grounded, letting her ride him until she screamed.
Amit, slow and teasing, kissing every inch of her while the others watched—then joined.
There were no limits.
Only waves.
No jealousy.
Only breath.
They came for her.
They came with her.
They came watching each other, then laughing, then starting again.