Chapter 10: New Friendship
Shalini had barely slept the night before. Her mind kept replaying Malika's voice, her teasing confessions, the shimmering confidence that seemed to pour off her like a rare perfume. By morning, Shalini's chest felt tight with nervous excitement, and an unfamiliar anticipation tugged at her belly.
She picked a deep maroon kurta that hugged her waist, ignoring a tiny voice that scolded her for trying to look appealing. She tried to pass it off as a coincidence, but she caught herself checking her reflection a dozen times before leaving.
When she reached Malika's apartment again, her heart galloped. Malika opened the door with a laugh, her smile almost predatory in its warmth. Today she wore a black off-shoulder dress, tight and unashamed, every curve highlighted like a bold invitation.
"Darling, you came!" she purred, pulling Shalini into a hug so warm, Shalini felt her cheeks burn.
Inside, the apartment smelled of incense and something deeper — a musky, intimate note, like warm skin. Malika had arranged plush pillows on the floor around a low table, with a bottle of dark rum half-finished from last time.
"You look tense," Malika observed, pouring drinks without waiting for permission.
"I'm…not used to all this," Shalini admitted, voice small.
Malika laughed softly, handing her a glass. "And yet you came back. That tells me you're braver than you think."
Shalini's hand trembled as she took a sip. The rum was strong, hot, dangerous. A few minutes in, her lips loosened, and she found herself telling Malika small things she'd never told another living soul — about her husband's absence, about the stale, aching emptiness she'd tried to ignore, about nights where she wanted to scream from frustration.
Malika listened with an intensity that felt like a gentle violation. Her eyes were deep and endless, swallowing every confession.
"You deserve to be seen," Malika murmured finally, voice like a caress. "All of you. Even the parts you think are shameful."
Shalini swallowed, dizzy. "How do you do it? Live so freely?"
Malika smiled slowly, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass. "Because I refuse to let guilt own me. And because I learned men — young, old, in-between — will do anything to please a woman who knows her power."
Shalini shifted uncomfortably, a sharp heat flooding her at the image. "You really let them—"
"Kneel?" Malika finished. "Lick my shoes? Obey my smallest wish?" She laughed. "Yes, darling. Why should I deny myself? They want it."
Shalini's thighs clenched, shocked by how that single sentence twisted something inside her. Malika seemed to notice, eyes glittering.
"You don't have to say it aloud," she teased gently, leaning closer. "But I can see you imagining it."
Shalini could barely breathe. The idea — some young man, eager, desperate, worshipping her body — it was too much, too thrilling, too terrifying.
Malika took her hand, their fingers locking. "Don't be scared of what you want," she whispered.
They sat for a moment in charged silence, Shalini's pulse hammering.
---
Later, Malika flicked on her music system, soft rhythms filling the air like a second heartbeat. She stood, rolling her shoulders, then began to sway to the beat.
"Come on," she invited, offering her hands. "Dance with me."
Shalini hesitated, but the rum was working its magic. She stood, awkward at first, until Malika guided her gently, swaying their hips together.
Their bodies brushed, almost innocent, yet Shalini felt every spark through the thin cotton of her kurta. Malika's perfume seemed to sink into her lungs, dizzying.
"Relax," Malika coaxed, hands at her waist, warm and firm.
Shalini let herself lean closer. The beat pulsed under her skin. For a moment, it felt like she was someone else — a woman unbound, unburdened, alive.
She laughed, giddy, and Malika laughed too, pulling her into a spinning hug that left both of them breathless, their cheeks flushed.
---
They collapsed back on the cushions, giggling, heads pressed close. Shalini felt Malika's hand brush her thigh, casual but not accidental.
"Look at you," Malika teased. "The teacher, the mother, the saint — and you still move like a goddess."
Shalini's face went hot, but she couldn't help the shy grin.
"You know," Malika added, lowering her voice, "there are boys out there who would worship just your feet for hours if you let them."
The words hit Shalini like a jolt. Ravi's lingering stares, Prayush's flustered attention — the memory of those hungry eyes came flooding back.
"Don't," she tried to protest, but Malika wouldn't stop.
"You deserve worship," Malika repeated, voice darkly gentle. "You deserve to be adored. You deserve to break every rule if it means you finally breathe."
Shalini couldn't reply. Her throat was dry, her heart thundering.
---
Malika poured another drink, and this time, Shalini took it without protest. She felt a wildness building inside her, something hungry and reckless.
They sat talking for hours, Malika telling stories of stolen kisses, forbidden touches, how a young lover had begged to taste her armpits, to kneel and clean her heels with his tongue.
Shalini shivered, torn between horror and an unbearable curiosity.
"Did you ever feel…guilty?" she asked, voice trembling.
"Of course," Malika admitted. "But guilt is just a cage. Pleasure is freedom."
Those words carved deep into Shalini's bones. Pleasure is freedom.
---
By the time she left, night had fallen thick and quiet over the street. Malika hugged her goodbye, pressing their cheeks together, leaving Shalini dizzy with that warm scent again.
"Next time," Malika whispered in her ear, "we'll go deeper."
Shalini nodded, almost afraid of how much she wanted that.
---
On the lonely walk home, Shalini replayed everything. The dancing, the confessions, the suggestion that she was more than a teacher, more than a wife, more than a mother — that she was a woman deserving of devotion.
The thought twisted through her, sparking heat between her thighs, making her gasp alone in the night air.
When she reached home, Avi was already asleep. The house was still and silent. She stood in front of her mirror, studying her flushed face, the gleam of a wildness she'd almost forgotten.
She let her hand drift down her own body, caressing the swell of her hip, the arch of her waist, remembering Malika's voice: You deserve to be worshipped.
And for the first time, Shalini didn't push the thought away.
She let herself linger on the image of someone kneeling at her feet — a young, wide-eyed boy, eager and trembling — and felt a sinful thrill ripple through her core.
It scared her.
But it also made her feel more alive than she had in years.
---