The upload was smooth. But what followed wasn’t.
Ankit leaned back in his chair, expecting to see something arousing, something thrilling. Instead… his heart stopped.
His hand dropped from the mouse.
The curve of her lips. The shape of her shoulders. The faint mole beneath her collarbone.
She’s kneeling on her bed, nothing between her and the soft cotton sheets but her own skin. Her hair is loose, messy — cascading over one shoulder. The light in the room is golden, low, like late sunset or a bedside lamp. Her body is curved forward slightly, arms resting on her thighs, palms open, as if offering her vulnerability. Her back is straight, posture proud yet inviting. No shame. No hiding.
Her eyes are not in the frame.
But her body… is everything she had held back, now bared.
Soft shadows fall between her breasts. Her nipples are firm, flushed. Her stomach tightens just slightly, caught mid-breath. One knee dips into the bed, creating a ripple in the sheets that leads the eye downward, between her thighs — where her body rests open but unexposed, teasing light and shadow.
She looks like surrender and power, in the same breath.
Eyes wide. Frozen.
The photo wasn’t just any woman.
It was Medha.
His sister.
Completely… naked.
His stomach twisted. Blood drained from his face. A hot wave of disbelief, then horror.
Monk29 has logged off.
Undone — Part 8: Silence
[Next Morning, Medha’s Hostel Room – Mumbai]
Medha stared at the screen.
“Monk29 has logged off.”
No response. No message. No reaction.
Just silence.
Her heart thudded in her ears. Did he not like the photo? Did she cross a line?
She’d never sent a full nude before. She’d only done it because… she trusted him. Needed him.
But now? Nothing.
She stared at the blinking cursor for hours. Waiting.
Undone — Part 9: Fracture
[Ankit’s Apartment – Delhi, 4:32 AM]
He hadn’t moved.
The screen was still open. Her body still displayed. But now covered by shaking hands and shame.
His throat was dry. His mind racing.
How could this happen?
How could I not have known?
He tried to breathe, but every gasp felt like betrayal.
The conversations. The slow burn. The trust. The confessions.
The way he had touched himself to her words.
The picture.
He shut the laptop violently. Then reopened it. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.
He wanted to throw up.
He needed to tell her.
But what would he even say?
Undone — Part 10: Echoes in the Inbox
[Medha’s Chat Window – 6:13 AM]
Message received from Monk29:
I know who you are.
Medha…
I saw your face.
Typing…
SilverDust:
Wait. What?
What do you mean you “know who I am”?
Monk29 is typing…
Then stops.
Then starts again.
Monk29:
That photo.
The angle. Your room. Your necklace.
It’s you. Medha.
My sister.
[A full minute of silence. Then Medha replies.]
SilverDust:
No.
No. No. No.
You’re lying.
This isn’t funny.
Monk29:
I wish I was.
[Typing…]
SilverDust:
Ankit?
No reply.
SilverDust:
Oh my god.
Tell me this isn’t real.
Tell me I didn’t say those things to you.
Tell me you didn’t read them and—
Monk29:
I didn’t know.
Not until now.
SilverDust:
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
I’m going to be sick.