The late afternoon sun slanted across the quiet courtyard of the Sharma household, warming the red-tiled floor and the small rented outhouse tucked against the far wall. Radhika Rehman - a mother of three, living as a tenant in Sharma’s property - sat on the edge of the old charpoy, six months pregnant, her rounded belly straining gently against the soft cotton of her pale green maternity salwar kameez. Toddler Shahid, two years old and full of restless energy, perched happily on her lap, clutching a toy truck while she absentmindedly arranged cushions on the nearby sofa set, smoothing them with mehendi-faded hands. Ayaan and Farhaan, the older kids, were at school; Taushif, her husband, wasn’t at home either. The house felt peaceful, almost intimate, with only the distant hum of neighbourhood life filtering in.
Vanshika, nineteen, Radhika’s Landlord’s daughter, stepped into the courtyard in her simple cream kurti and fitted leggings that traced the gentle swell of her 32C-26-34 figure. Her long hair was tied in a loose braid, and her fair skin caught the light like fresh cream. She paused, smiling at the sight of toddler and his mother.
The tenancy itself had not come easily. Mr. Sharma - Radhika’s father, with deep-rooted conservative views, had been firmly against renting to a Muslim family - especially one with three young boys and another child already on the way. Whispers of cultural differences, noise, and “what will the neighbours say” had filled the house for weeks. It was only through the persistent efforts of Mrs. Sharma’s distant cousin, Sunita Sharma - a 27-year-old college senior of Radhika’s who had once shared a girls' hostel with her - that the decision shifted. Sunita vouched passionately for Radhika’s character, her quiet decency, and the family’s reliability, reminding everyone how hard it was to find good tenants these days. Reluctantly, after much discussion, Mr. Sharma had given his grudging approval, though the unease still hovered like an unspoken shadow whenever Taushif’s name came up.
“Bhabhi, you're looking so fresh today," Vanshika said, settling on the other end of the charpoy. "Even with this heat."
Radhika laughed softly, shifting Shahid so he could play with the toy on her thigh. “Thank you, Vanshika. Come, sit. How is your college life going?”
They chatted easily at first - about Vanshika's upcoming exams, the rising price of vegetables, and how Shahid had started saying full sentences. Vanshika's gaze drifted to the framed family photo hanging on the wall: Radhika beaming in the center, flanked by little Ayaan, Farhaan, and Shahid, while Taushif stood behind them like a wall—close to a foot taller than Radhika’s 5'3" frame, his broad, bearded figure making Radhika look too delicate beside him. In the picture, he towered over the entire family, arms protectively around them, his presence commanding even in stillness.
“Which standard are they in, Bhabhi?" Vanshika asked, tilting her head, looking away from the family photo.
“Farhaan is in Kinder Garden, Ayaan is now in first standard,” Radhika replied.
Vanshika was shocked a little, “Did Ayaan fail once? He looks older for his age.” She asked, surprisingly.
Radhika laughs, “No, he didn’t fail, he is only six years old and growing too fast, these boys take after their father.” Pride flickered in her eyes when she talked about Taushif - her husband.
Vanshika smiled. "He does look strong. Just six years old and already so tall.”
Radhika's expression softened further, a dreamy look crossing her face as she gazed toward the outhouse door. "Taushif always says our boys will be tall like him. But this one," she patted her belly, "I keep hoping for a girl this time. Taushif is convinced it'll be another boy. He says he can feel it in his bones."
Vanshika laughed lightly. "Fathers always want boys, don't they? But a girl would be sweet."
The conversation drifted, comfortable and warm, until Vanshika asked the question that had been hovering since the first time she'd seen Radhika's glowing face and multiplying family. “Bhabhi… tell me something about your love life, na, how did you two meet? I really want to know."
The courtyard seemed to be still as the past unfolded in Radhika's gentle recounting. She had been a bright, sheltered girl from a good family, studying the arts in college. Taushif - thirty-four then, already weathered by life - used to stand outside the college gates every evening, selling seek kebabs from a small roadside cart. Dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, slightly out of shape with a protruding paunch hiding powerful muscles beneath, a long, graying beard framing his face (no moustache), he was nothing like the boys Radhika had grown up around.
Radhika started, voice dropping to a fond whisper. "One day, some boys were troubling me near the college gate - eve-teasing, following me. Taushif stepped in. Didn't say much, just stood there like a wall until they ran off. After that... I started noticing him. He'd look standing by his stall, our eyes would meet, and I'd feel this pull. One day, he handed me a letter. Old-school, no phone numbers or anything fancy."
She paused, cheeks faintly flushed. "I said yes to one date. Just to be polite."
Radhika - drifting into memory as she continued in a low, intimate voice. "After that first evening - sitting on a quiet bench in the park, him barely speaking but looking at me like I was precious - we couldn't stay away. We'd sneak out after college, pretending I had extra classes or group projects. I'd tell my mother I was at the library studying late, then slip away to meet him at one place or the other. Sometimes he'd wait for hours just to hold my hand for ten minutes before I had to rush back. Once, during a family wedding, I faked a headache and left early so I could spend the afternoon in his tiny rented room, lying on his cot while he read me Urdu poetry he barely understood himself. Another time I lied about visiting a sick friend just to ride pillion on his borrowed bike through empty lanes at dusk, my arms around his waist, feeling his heartbeat through his kurta. Every stolen moment felt dangerous and alive - his rough fingers brushing my cheek, the way he'd whisper my name like a prayer. I lived for those excuses, those little rebellions. They made everything else fade."
Radhika's breathing had deepened slightly as she spoke. Vanshika noticed it - the way Radhika's full breasts rose and fell, the thin fabric of her kameez tightening over suddenly peaked nipples, betraying the heat those memories still stirred in her. Vanshika felt an unfamiliar flutter deep in her stomach, a subtle excitement she couldn’t quite name.
"He wasn't rich, wasn't handsome by magazine standards," Radhika continued. "But the way he looked at me... like I was the only thing in the world worth having. I fell hard. When my family found out, there was chaos. But I couldn't imagine life without him. We ran, got married quietly. And now it's been five years, and my love for him has only grown deeper."
Vanshika blinked, doing the quick math: Ayaan was six. The timeline settled like a quiet thunderclap in her mind, leaving her stunned. The realisation hits her like a secret current - Taushif had gotten Radhika pregnant before the wedding. Ayaan hadn't waited for vows. How could someone as strikingly beautiful as Radhika - fair, graceful, college-educated - choose this man? A roadside vendor, older, rough-edged - everything her own strict upbringing had taught her to view with polite distance. And yet, here Radhika sat, radiant and pregnant again, nipples taut under her dupatta simply from remembering him - a living contradiction to everything Vanshika thought she understood about love and longing.
The thought and the sight - sent a strange flutter through her stomach - not disgust exactly, but something hotter, more curious. For the first time in her nineteen years, a man - specifically this man - sparked real interest in her. Not the clean-cut boys in college who flirted politely, but him: older, bearded, unpolished, potent enough to claim a girl like Radhika so thoroughly she never looked back.
"Vanshika! Beta, come here a minute!"
Mrs. Sharma's voice called from the main house, and Radhika rose carefully, Shahid clinging to her leg.
"Coming, Mumma!” Vanshika called back, then turned to Radhika with a warm smile. “We’ll talk more later.” Vanshika picked up the toddler gently kissed him on the cheek, for a brief moment a strange image appeared in her mind - holding a baby of her own in her arms - standing next to Taushif. She shakes the thought off her mind and handing the toddler over to Radhika she leaves.
Inside, Mrs. Sharma pressed a folded grocery list into her hand - sugar, a packet of jeera, and a few other staples from the corner grocery shop. Vanshika nodded, then excused herself to the small bathroom off the hallway. Seated on the commode, she slipped her panties down and relieved herself, the quiet trickle echoing softly in the tiled space. As she stood to pull them back up, her fingers brushed against something unexpected: a small, distinct wet patch darkening the cotton crotch, slick and warm, unmistakable even in the dim light. She froze for a second, staring at it, puzzled. Her pulse quickened - not from embarrassment, exactly, but from the sudden awareness of her own body responding in a way it never had before. She wiped carefully, tugged the fabric back into place, and smoothed her kurti down, telling herself it was only the heat of the afternoon, the intimacy of Radhika's stories, nothing more. Yet deep inside, a quiet awakening had begun to stir - subtle, insistent, like the first slow seep of monsoon rain through parched earth. She didn't yet understand its depth, only that something irreversible had been set in motion.
Open for discussion in private.