Chapter 21: Late Night Chats

The night had a suffocating sweetness to it, clinging to Shalini's skin like a fine veil of sweat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive — so torn between guilt and a raw, electric anticipation.

It was past midnight now. The house was silent except for the gentle whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional distant horn of a truck rolling through the deserted street outside. Avi had long since gone to bed, and Shalini found herself alone in her room, cross-legged on the mattress, phone in hand, heart pounding.

She had changed again before settling in for the night — slipped out of the loose nightgown she normally wore and chosen a fitted, sleeveless cotton kurti in a deep royal blue, paired with black leggings so tight they might as well have been painted on. Her hair was left open, falling in waves across her shoulders, teasing the tops of her breasts. She had never dressed like this for bedtime before, but tonight it made sense. Tonight, she wanted to feel seen, even if no one was there.

Except Malika was there, on her phone, her voice a sly, hungry whisper through the speaker.

"Show me. Go on," Malika urged, coaxing her like a patient lover. "Don't act shy now, Shalini. Let me see what's making those boys so stupid in your class."

A nervous, sinful laugh slipped from Shalini's lips. With trembling fingers, she positioned the camera just so, capturing the curve of her thighs encased in the tight leggings, the hem of her kurti hugging her breasts like a second skin. She hit send before her courage could break.

The message traveled, and she held her breath, pulse hammering.

Malika: Look at you, teacher-turned-seductress. Those leggings look like they'll burst if you so much as bend over.

Shalini bit her lip, imagining exactly that — bending to pick up a piece of chalk in class, feeling the fabric pull tight across her backside, hearing the tiny intake of breath from Ravi or Prayush as they stared.

Malika continued, voice low and intoxicating.

"Tell me what they'd do if you bent down like that. Think of Ravi's face… how he'd swallow hard. How Prayush would lick his lips."

Shalini's hand moved on its own, skimming over her hip, down between her thighs. She felt a quiver, shame mixing with delight.

Shalini: They'd stare. I know they would. They already do.

"And?" Malika prodded.

Shalini: And I like it.

There. She had said it. The words felt like a dam bursting inside her chest.

Malika hummed, a purr of approval.

"Good. You should like it. You've earned it. Let them look. Let them ache."

A hot flash of memory shot through Shalini — that day Ravi had stumbled over his own words when she'd leaned across his desk, her dupatta falling aside to show the upper swell of her breast. He'd been too stunned to look away, and she'd let him, thrilling in the power of it.

Another memory — Prayush, eyes glued to her bare arm as she reached to adjust the overhead fan, his nostrils flaring like a hungry animal catching her scent.

God, she thought, what am I becoming?

But the wetness gathering between her legs answered her more honestly than any excuse could.

Malika didn't stop there.

"Listen to me, Shalini," she said, voice tightening with excitement, "next time, don't just tease. Test them. Brush your hand against their knees. Let your hair fall across their shoulders. Let them taste your perfume."

Shalini shivered, letting her head fall back. Her other hand cupped one breast through the thin fabric, kneading softly until her nipple peaked under the cotton.

Shalini: It's wrong.

"Is it?" Malika countered without missing a beat. "They're men. Grown enough to choose what they want. And what they want… is you."

The mirror across from the bed reflected her flushed, trembling form, the dark shadows around her eyes, the raw hunger in her parted lips. A goddess in chains, ready to break free.

She couldn't help it — she pushed a hand under the waistband of her leggings, finding herself slick and needy. The thought of Ravi's eager tongue, Prayush's bold breath, it made her moan into the quiet night.

Malika listened, a satisfied chuckle echoing through the phone.

"That's it. Show them who you are. Next time, stand in front of them with no dupatta. Let your breasts move under the kurti. Let them wonder if they might see more."

Shalini gasped, her fingers stroking faster, lost in the storm of images flooding her mind:

Ravi on his knees, eyes glazed over with worship,

Prayush behind her, bold enough to press closer, to breathe against the curve of her neck,

her own hands guiding them, letting them, owning them.

It sent a tremor through her that left her boneless and weak, collapsing to her side on the bed, her chest heaving.

Malika sighed happily through the speaker.

"Beautiful. You're becoming beautiful, Shalini."

Shalini tried to slow her breathing, swiping a damp hair strand off her forehead.

Shalini: I feel… dangerous.

"You are dangerous," Malika said gently, "and you should be. Women like us were never meant to be kept meek."

The silence between them grew heavier, rich with a twisted sisterhood.

Shalini: What should I wear tomorrow?

Malika considered for a moment.

"Tight leggings again, but pair them with a short kurti, sleeveless, with a deep neck. And no dupatta. Let them see you."

Shalini's heart lurched at the suggestion. It was scandalous. It was unthinkable.

It was perfect.

She found herself smiling.

Shalini: Okay.

"And Shalini?" Malika added, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, "if you catch them staring, don't look away. Stare right back. Own them."

Shalini laughed, a raw and honest laugh, startled by the new version of herself that was breaking through.

Shalini: You're corrupting me.

"Maybe," Malika teased, "but you love it."

They stayed on the phone a little longer, their breathing eventually softening into a comforting hush. Finally Malika signed off, promising more plans for the coming week.

Alone again, Shalini stood before the mirror, studying her reflection in the half-moon glow. Her nipples showed dark through the kurti's thin fabric, her hips bold and curved where the leggings clung. She looked… dangerous. She looked powerful.

She looked alive.

Something inside her refused to be buried again.

As she pulled the bedsheet over her, a slow, electric grin formed on her lips.

Tomorrow, she thought, I will own every stare. Every hungry eye. Every stolen breath.

And if they tried to follow her too far, well… she'd deal with that when it came.

Tonight, she would sleep with dreams full of warm hands and worshipful gazes, of boys turned into men by her scent alone.

Tomorrow, she would rise as their goddess.

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