The first time I saw Divya Shukla, she stood at a boutique in South Bangalore. Her dark hair caught the sunlight like silk.
She was dressed in a simple yet elegant salwar kameez. The fabric hugged her curves in a way that made my breath hitch. I approached her, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Hi,” I said. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing, and she turned away without a word. It was like I didn’t even exist. Cold, I thought. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
Weeks later, I saw her again. She was at a cafe, drinking a steaming cup of chai. I walked up to her, my confidence masking the uncertainty swirling inside me. “I sent you a request on Instagram,” I said quickly before she could react. I didn’t wait for her response. I just turned and walked away.
That night, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown account. It was her. Divya. “Why did you send me a request?” her message read, sharp and to the point.
I hesitated, then typed back. “To talk to you.”
Her reply was immediate. “I don’t talk to rogues and flirts who search for someone and text her without her consent.”
I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside. “I just sent a request. You’re the one who texted me.”
There was a pause before she responded. “Fair enough. But to let you know, I’m not single. I’m a married woman in my early 30s with a kid. I hope you understand.”
My heart sank, but the fire inside me burned brighter. “It’s not wrong to be friends, is it?”
Another pause. “I accept. Okay, let’s try to be friends, but remember, I’m married. ”
I typed back quickly, my fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you, madam.”
“Call me Divya,” she replied. “Don’t be so formal.”
“Sure, Divya dear.” I sent the message, a small smile playing on my lips.
She sent back a 👊 with a ☺️. “Good night.”
Over the next few weeks, our chats grew more frequent. She gave me her number, and soon, we were talking on the phone for hours. She shared everything about her life—her husband, her child, her daily routines. Jealousy burned inside me every time she mentioned her husband.
That bastard got to have her, to touch her. I shook the thought away, focusing on the present. One night, during one of our calls, I decided to test the waters. “Divya,” I said, my voice soft, “you know, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She laughed a light sound that sent shivers down my spine. “You’re such a flirt.”
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “You are incredible.”
She paused, and I could almost feel her hesitation through the phone. “I’m married, remember?” she said. Her voice was tinged with something I couldn’t quite place.
“I know,” I replied, my voice dropping lower. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t hang up either. It was enough to fuel my desire.
A few weeks later, after much persistence, she finally agreed to meet me. We met at a quiet coffee shop. The air was thick with tension.
“Hi,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“Hi,” she replied, her gaze flickering over me before settling on my face.
We talked for hours—about her family, her life, everything except what was really on my mind. But I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Divya, you’re breathtaking.”
She blushed, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “Stop it,” she said, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I mean it,” I insisted, my eyes locking onto hers. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked down, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
I smiled, my heart racing. Maybe I am.
When it was time to leave, I stood up, my body tense with anticipation. She hesitated for a moment before standing as well. Without thinking, I pulled her into a hug, my arms wrapping around her waist. Her body was soft, warm, and inviting. I wanted to hold her forever.
“Bye,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear.
She pulled away, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “Bye,” she said softly before turning and walking away.
That night, I texted her. Thanks for meeting. You made my day.
It took a few minutes, but she replied. “You’re not the bad guy I thought you were. Hehe.”
I smirked, my fingers flying over the keyboard. That hurts. So you want me to be the bad guy?
There was a long pause before her response came through. “What will you do?”
My heart pounded in my chest as I typed back. “I don’t know. Today, after hugging you, my mind has become so pure. Your soft body and pure heart changed me.”
Divya’s fingers hovered over her phone screen, her heart racing as she typed out her reply. “Am I doing wrong?” she sent. The five-minute pause felt like an eternity, the weight of her husband snoring softly beside her, pressing down on her chest.
The notification chimed almost instantly. “Yes, by asking like this. You are my Divya. Her stomach flipped.” She bit her lip, her mind a whirlwind of guilt and something else—something warm, dangerous, and electric.
“I’m gonna slap you for talking like this,” she typed, her fingers trembling. The more you talk, the more I lose myself to you.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself. Her phone buzzed again almost immediately. “How was the hug?”
Divya stared at the screen, her cheeks burning. She shouldn’t answer. She shouldn’t even be having this conversation. But his words tugged at something deep inside her, something she hadn’t felt in years. She glanced at her husband, his steady breathing a reminder of the life she’d built. But it didn’t stop her. “Good night, my hubby is calling. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the hug, kiss, and so on with my hubby.” The reply was swift, sharp.
She put her phone down, her mind spinning. Goodnight, she whispered to herself, though she knew sleep would be impossible.
For the first time, she was feeling horny for a person other than her husband. Her hands started pressing her boobs. Divya didn’t know to masturbate, but she could feel the wetness in her pussy. She slightly started rubbing her pussy. She tried to insert two fingers, but it was painful, so she slept off.
The next morning, Divya woke up with a start, her phone buzzing on the nightstand. She grabbed it, her heart skipping a beat as she saw his name on the screen. “Morning, Divya. Did you sleep well?”
She hesitated, glancing at her husband, still asleep beside her. “Not really,” she typed back, her fingers trembling. “You’ve been on my mind.”
The reply came almost instantly. “Good. I like knowing I’m in your thoughts.”
Her cheeks flushed, her body betraying her again. “You’re such a flirt,” she typed, her tone teasing despite herself.
“Only with you.”
Divya’s mind raced with thoughts she shouldn’t be having. “You’re dangerous,” she admitted finally.
“And yet, you’re still here.”
She stared at the screen, her heart pounding. “I told you I’d think about it,” she typed finally.
The reply was swift, the words sending a shiver down her spine. “And have you?”
Divya hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. She should say no. She knew she should. But instead, she typed, Yes.
The reply came almost immediately, the words sending a thrill through her. “Then meet me. Tonight. Same coffee shop.”
“I shouldn’t,” she typed, her fingers shaking.
“But you will.”
He was right. She would.
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. Until tonight, Divya.”
She put her phone down, her mind spinning. This was wrong. So wrong. And yet… she couldn’t deny the thrill that surged through her at the thought of seeing him again.
That evening, Divya walked into the coffee shop, her heart pounding. She spotted him immediately, sitting in the same corner booth as before. He looked up as she approached, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You came.”
She forced a smile, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped at the sight of him. “I did.”
He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”
She hesitated for a moment before sliding into the booth. Her hands were trembling as she clasped them together in her lap. “This is crazy,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers. “Crazy good or crazy bad?”
Divya swallowed hard, her mind racing. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. “Then let’s find out.”
This was it. The moment she’d been both dreading and craving. She should pull away. She knew she should. Instead, she let her fingers intertwine with his, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down her spine.
“This is wrong,” she whispered, though her body was betraying her.
“Then why does it feel so right?” he countered, his voice low and husky.
Divya’s mind was racing. She didn’t have an answer. Not one that would make sense, anyway. All she knew was that she couldn’t pull away. Not now. Not when he was looking at her like that—like she was the most important thing in the world.
“What do you want from me?” she asked finally, her voice trembling.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Everything.”
Her heart raced, her mind spinning. She should say no. She knew she should. But instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was as forbidden as it was irresistible.
The world around them disappeared, the coffee shop fading into the background as their lips moved together in a slow, tantalizing dance. His hand cupped her cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine. She should stop. She knew she should.
But instead, she deepened the kiss, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up. When they finally pulled apart, Divya’s breath was ragged, her heart pounding in her chest.
“What now?” she asked finally, her voice trembling.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Whatever you want.”
Divya glanced at her watch. “An hour,” she thought. “My husband will be home in an hour.” The realization made her stomach twist with guilt. But the heat from his body, the way his gaze lingered on her lips, made it impossible to think clearly.
She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting around the nearly empty parking lot. The dim lighting cast long shadows. The faint hum of distant traffic was the only sound breaking the silence.
“I should go,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “My son is with the neighbours, and my husband…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
He nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes that told her he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. “Okay,” he said, his voice calm, too calm. “Let me walk you to your bike.”
Divya hesitated. She knew she should say no and should walk away while she still could. But the way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t protest as he guided her toward her bike, his presence both comforting and unnerving.
When they reached the spot where her bike was parked, he turned to her, his expression unreadable. The space between them felt charged electric. Divya’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat of his body even though they weren’t touching, and the air seemed to thicken with unspoken words.
“Mrs. Shukla,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as if the name itself were a secret.
Divya’s cheeks flushed, and she instinctively glanced around. Is anyone watching? she wondered, her eyes scanning the empty parking lot. But there was no one. Just the two of them, standing in the shadows, the tension between them palpable.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I should go.”
But she didn’t move. Instead, she found herself tilting her head up just an inch as if drawn to him by some invisible force. He noticed, of course. His lips curved into a faint smile. He leaned in and captured her lips with his.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative as if testing the waters. But when Divya didn’t pull away, when she kissed him back with a hunger that surprised even herself, it deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel the hard planes of his body pressing against hers.
She moaned softly, her hands clutching at his shoulders as his tongue teased her lips, seeking entrance. She opened for him willingly, her tongue tangling with his in a dance that was both familiar and exhilarating. His kiss was everything she hadn’t realized she was missing—passionate, demanding, intoxicating.
He tasted like coffee and something darker, something forbidden, and Divya couldn’t get enough. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers curling his shirt as she pressed herself against him. His hips moved against hers, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her breath hitch.
She could feel his arousal pressing against her stomach. The knowledge that she was the cause of it sent a thrill of power through her.
“Divya,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire.
The sound of her name on his lips was like a spark, igniting something deep inside her. She kissed him harder, her nails digging into his shoulders as she lost herself in the sensation. His hands slid down to her hips, gripping her tightly. He ground against her, the friction making her gasp.
For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the feel of his lips, the heat of his body, the intoxicating scent of his cologne. But then, reality came crashing back.
Divya broke the kiss abruptly, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her lips felt swollen, her body tingling with need, but the guilt was already creeping in.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She turned away from him. She was fumbling with her bike keys as she tried to steady her trembling hands. “I can’t do this. I’m married. I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t try to stop her. He just stood there, watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Divya didn’t look back as she got on her bike and started the engine. She didn’t look back as she drove away, leaving him standing in the shadows. But she could feel his gaze on her long after she was out of sight.
When she got home, her husband wasn’t back yet. Her son was still at the neighbour’s, and the house was eerily quiet. Divya locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her legs trembling. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart, but the memory of the kiss lingered, haunting her.
She grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling as she typed out a message.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared at the screen for a long moment before hitting send. Then, without thinking, she attached a photo—a selfie she had taken earlier that day. Her thighs were exposed, her body wrapped in a towel, her expression a mix of desire and guilt.
She hit send and immediately blocked him, her heart pounding. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t over. Not yet. Her phone buzzed, and she hesitated before looking at the screen. It wasn’t him, of course—she had blocked him—but the notification still made her heart skip a beat.
Unknown Number: You’re not sorry, Divya. And you know it.
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