The flat was quiet except for the sound of running water and the low conversation in the hall.
But something had already changed in the small 1BHK.
And none of them — not even Divyansh — fully understood how far it was going to go.
After tea and snacks, Santi freshened up in the bathroom. When she came out, the three boys fell silent for a moment.
She had changed into a simple light pink cotton nighty. It was sleeveless, reached just above her knees, and was thin enough that the outline of her bra and the curve of her hips were visible. The neck was a little low, showing the soft upper swell of her breasts. At 39 she still looked like a woman in her early thirties — fair skin glowing after washing, hair let down loosely over one shoulder, no makeup except a light moisturiser. The nighty clung slightly to her body as she moved. Himanshu and Ajay tried not to stare, but both noticed.
Santi went straight to the small kitchen like it was her own house. “Main lunch bana deti hoon. Tum log baitho.”
She cooked quickly and efficiently — dal, rice, aloo-gobi, and fresh rotis. The smell filled the flat. The boys helped cut vegetables and set the plates. They ate together on the floor around the small table. The food tasted like home. Himanshu and Ajay kept praising her. “Aunty, aapka haath lag gaya toh bahut swadish hai.”
After lunch they played some old songs on Ajay’s phone — Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar. For a while the flat felt warm and normal. Santi even hummed along while washing the dishes.
By 3:30 in the afternoon everyone was sleepy from the heavy lunch and the tiring week. Himanshu and Ajay spread their mattresses in the hall. They lay down, chatting softly about coaching and the new test schedule. Within minutes both of them were dozing.
Santi looked at Divyansh. “Chalo beta, bedroom mein chalo. Main thodi der aaram karungi. Tum bhi aa jao.”
They went into the bedroom and closed the door. The two boys in the hall were already half-asleep and didn’t notice.
Inside the bedroom, Santi sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at her son.
“Ab bata… Veet laga ke nahaya tha na? Kaise hua?”
Divyansh stood near the wall, looking down. “Laga toh liya tha… lekin jalta bahut tha. Main 5 minute bhi nahi rakh paya. Jalta tha toh maine dhokar nikal diya. Baal abhi bhi hain thode.”
Santi’s face showed mild frustration. She exhaled sharply.
“Arre yeh kya kiya? Veet se jal raha tha toh mujhe bolna chahiye tha. Ab yeh baal kaise saaf honge? Lice phir se aa jaayenge.”
She thought for a moment, then said firmly, “Jao, newspaper le aao. Jaldi.”
Divyansh brought an old newspaper from the hall and spread it on the floor near the bed as she instructed.
“Pants kholo,” she said, sitting on the floor in front of him, her nighty riding up slightly on her thighs.
Divyansh hesitated again but obeyed. He pushed down his lowers and underwear. His cock was already half-hard from nervousness and the situation. Santi didn’t react to that. She took a small razor and a little water in a mug she had brought from the kitchen.
