Incest Ek Toofan Mein Phasi Anjali Mom Son Special

[allelboss]

Update 1

Main apne desk par baithi hoon, haath mein pen ka wazan usse zyada bhari lag raha hai jitna hona chahiye. Yeh journal ke pages, jo ab tak khaali the, apni pristine emptiness ke saath mujhe taunt karte hain, mujhe challenge dete hain ki main woh sach likh doon jo maine itna gehra dafn kiya hai ki ab khud bhi use pehchaan nahi paati. Mera naam Anjali hai, aur main ek 41 saal ki widow hoon, ek maa hoon, ek aisi aurat jo apne emotions ke jaal mein phasi hai j Clive mein suljha nahi paati. Yeh meri kahani hai, ya shayad meri confession, jo main raat ke chupke waqt mein likhti hoon jab duniya so rahi hoti hai, aur main apne khayalon ke saath akeli reh jati hoon. Yeh khayal dost nahi hain. Yeh jalate hain, yeh twist karte hain, yeh sunne ki demand karte hain.


Ghar aaj raat chup hai, bas air conditioner ka faint hum aur purane wooden floors ka occasional creak sunai deta hai. Mumbai ka monsoon hawa ko thick kar gaya hai, khidkiyan condensation se fogged hain, jaise mere dimaag ka haze mirror kar rahi ho. Main yahan apne bete Aryan ke saath rehti hoon, jo 22 saal ka hai, aur uski presence is sprawling bungalow ko ek aisi warmth se bhar deti hai jo mujhe sukoon bhi deti hai aur bechain bhi karti hai. Mera bada beta, Vikram, apni wife Meera ke saath city ke doosre end mein ek sleek apartment mein rehta hai, jo unki modern, untethered zindagi ko reflect karta hai. Lekin yeh ghar, mera ghar, yaadon ka bojh uthata hai—meri, mere late husband ki, aur ab Aryan ki.


Rohan, mera husband, do saal pehle ek plane crash mein guzar gaya. Yeh khabar ek thunderclap ki tarah aayi, hamari zindagi ke fragile equilibrium ko tod ke. Woh mera anchor tha, jo mere chaos ko samajhta tha, jo mujhe meri flaws ke bawajood pyar karta tha. Uski maut ne mujhe adrift chhod diya, ek rudder-less ship, jo grief aur responsibility ke samundar mein tair rahi thi. Aryan tab 20 ka tha, apni architecture degree khatam kar raha tha, uske sapne uske sketches ke blueprints jitne bade the. Vikram, jo bada aur zyada settled tha, ne family ke construction business ko stoic resolve ke saath sambhal liya, lekin Aryan mere saath ruka, mujhe is ghar mein akela chhodne ko taiyaar nahi tha jahan Rohan ki absence echo karti thi.


Mujhe shuru se shuruaat karni chahiye, ya kam se kam us moment se jab maine pehli baar shift notice kiya, hamare maa-bete ke rishte ki foundation mein ek crack. Yeh sudden nahi tha, koi bijli ka jhatka nahi, balki ek slow seep tha, jaise pani pathar ke andar apna rasta dhundta hai. Aryan hamesha mera saaya raha, woh baccha jo mujhse chipakta tha, jaisa Vikram kabhi nahi karta tha. Jahan Vikram independent tha, Aryan sensitive tha, uski aankhein hamesha meri aankhon mein approval, reassurance dhundti thi. Bachpan mein, woh mere paas couch par curl up karta, uska sir mere kandhe par, duniya ke sawal poochta jo main hamesha jawab nahi de paati. Main usse fiercely, protectively pyar karti thi, jaise ek maa apne bacche mein apni vulnerabilities dekh kar karti hai.


Lekin ab woh baccha nahi raha. Woh ek mard hai ab, tall aur broad-shouldered, apne papa ki sharp jawline aur meri dark, searching aankhon ke saath. Woh ghar mein ek quiet intensity ke saath move karta hai, uski presence un spaces ko bhar deti hai jo mujhe pata bhi nahi tha khaali the. Aur main, God help me, usse aise notice karne lagi hoon jo ek maa ko nahi karna chahiye.


Yeh sab chhe mahine pehle shuru hua, Diwali ke waqt. Ghar lights se jagmaga raha tha, hawa marigolds aur incense ki khushboo se bhari thi. Vikram aur Meera aaye the, apni hasi aur Pune ke naye project ke plans ke saath. Family ek saath thi, ek rare moment of unity hamare loss ke baad. Maine ek deep green saree pehni thi, Rohan ka favorite, uska silk mere frame se chipak raha tha, mujhe ek pal ke liye waisi aurat banaya jo main pehle thi—vibrant, desired, alive. Maine Aryan ko dekha jab main diyas jala rahi thi, uski nazar na diyon ki flickering flames par thi, balki mujh par, apni maa par.


“Ma, tu aaj… different lag rahi hai,” usne kaha, uski awaaz low, almost hesitant, jaise usne kuch galat bol diya ho.


Main has di, apne baalon ki ek strand chehre se hataate hue. “Different? Yeh bas saree hai, beta. Tere papa hamesha kehte the green mujhe suit karta hai.”


Usne smile nahi kiya. Balki, woh palat gaya, sweets ko table par arrange karne laga, lekin maine uske cheeks par flush dekha, uske haathon ka slight tremble. Yeh ek pal tha, fleeting, lekin isne mujh mein ek unease ka seed bo diya. Maine khud ko kaha yeh kuch nahi, main ek bete ke admiration ko zyada read kar rahi hoon. Lekin us raat, jab main bistar par leti thi, uski nazar ki yaad mere dimaag mein jal rahi thi, aur mujhe ek aisi warmth mehsoos hui jo main saalon se nahi janti thi.


Maine khud se nafrat ki iske liye. Kaisi maa apne bete ki nazron mein apna dil race karta mehsoos karti hai? Kaisi aurat aise khayalon ko apne dimaag mein aane deti hai? Maine unhe dhakel diya, guilt aur denial ke layers ke neeche dafn kiya, lekin woh linger karte rahe, jaise ek stain jo wash out nahi hota.


Hamare din ek rhythm mein settle ho gaye uske baad, ek fragile dance of normalcy. Aryan ne freelance projects liye, ghar se kaam karta, uska drafting table Rohan ke study mein set up tha. Main Rohan ke naam par shuru kiye charity foundation mein busy ho gayi, underprivileged bacchon ke liye fundraisers organize karti. Lekin yeh ghar, apne high ceilings aur endless rooms ke saath, ek mausoleum jaisa lagta tha, memories ko preserve karta jo main cherish bhi karti thi aur darti bhi thi.


Maine Aryan ke habits notice karne shuru kiye, chhoti-chhoti baatein jo usse mere bete se zyada kuch banati thi. Jaise woh old Hindi songs hum karta tha sketches ke waqt, uske fingers ka precision designs par, ya jab main uske liye chai laati thi toh uska smile. Yeh innocent moments the, lekin inka wazan main ignore nahi kar paayi. Main darti thi evenings se jab hum dinner ke baad saath baithte, old movies dekhte ya uske latest project par baat karte. Hamare beech ka air charged lagta tha, words se nahi, balki kuch unspoken, kuch dangerous se.


Maine void ko distractions se bharne ki koshish ki. Main ek book club join kiya, yoga classes shuru kiye, aur Meera ke kehne par dating bhi consider kiya. “Anjali, tu abhi bhi young hai,” usne ek din coffee ke waqt kaha, uski aankhein concern se bhari. “Rohan nahi chahega tu hamesha akeli rahe.” Lekin kisi aur mard ka khayal ek betrayal laga—na sirf Rohan ka, balki kuch aur gehre ka, jise main naam nahi de sakti thi.


Aryan bhi apne aap mein retreat kar gaya. Woh hours study mein bitata, sirf khane ke waqt bahar aata, uski aankhein ek aisi shadow ke saath jo main decipher nahi kar paayi. Main sochti thi kya woh bhi yeh undercurrent feel karta hai, jo humein ek line ki taraf kheench raha tha jise hum cross nahi kar sakte. Main usse poochhna chahti thi, confront karna chahti thi jo bhi yeh tha, lekin words mere gale mein atke rahe. Main kya kehti? “Aryan, kya tu bhi yeh feel karta hai? Yeh cheez jo mere dil ko dard deti hai aur meri skin ko jalati hai?” Yeh khayal absurd tha, shameful, impossible.


Doosra shift April ke ek rainy evening mein aaya, jab city relentless downpour mein doobi thi. Aryan late tak kaam kar raha tha, uska desk community center ke sketches se bhara tha jo woh design kar raha tha. Main ek fundraiser se wapas aayi thi, meri heels soaked, meri saree meri skin se chipki hui. Woh living room mein tha, ek glass whiskey haath mein—ek rare sight, kyunki woh kabhi-kabhi hi peeta tha.


“Ma, tu puri bheeg gayi hai,” usne kaha, suddenly khada hote hue, uski aankhein mujhe scan karti hui ek intense concern ke saath. “Tujhe sardi ho jayegi.”


“Main theek hoon,” maine kaha, sir hilaate hue, lekin woh already bathroom se towel la raha tha. Usne towel mere shoulders par daala, uske haath ek moment zyada der tak linger kiye, uski fingers meri damp saree ke fabric ko brush karte hue. Main freeze ho gayi, meri saans atak gayi, na thand ki wajah se balki uske touch ki heat ki wajah se.


“Aryan,” maine shuru kiya, meri awaaz trembling, lekin woh peechhe hat gaya, uska jaw tight.


“Sorry,” usne mutter kiya, palat ke. “Main bas… tujhe worry karta hoon.”


Yeh words hamare beech heavy lagne lage, ek meaning ke saath jo hum dono hi unpack nahi karna chahte the. Main chahti thi usse keh doon ki yeh okay hai, ki ek bete ka apni maa ke liye care karna natural hai, lekin yeh jhooth mere muh mein bitter laga. Instead, maine nod kiya aur apne room mein chali gayi, darwaza lock kar diya.


Us raat, mujhe neend nahi aayi. Main khidki ke paas baithi, baarish ko glass par lash karte dekha, mera dimaag khud ka ek toofan. Maine Rohan ke baare mein socha, un raaton ke baare mein jab hum ek doosre mein tangled hote the, uski hasi hamare beech ke spaces ko bhar deti thi. Maine Aryan ke baare mein socha, jo baccha tha aur jo mard ban gaya, aur guilt mujhe sharp aur unrelenting tarah se claw karta tha. Main uski maa thi. Mujhe uski protection karni thi, uska guide karna tha, na ki yeh… yeh pull, yeh ache jo koi naam nahi rakhta tha.


Maine journal mein likha, words jagged aur uneven: Main khud ko kho rahi hoon. Main usse dekhti hoon, aur ek mard dekhti hoon, na sirf apna beta. Main iske liye khud se nafrat karti hoon, lekin ruk nahi sakti. Yeh kya hai? Kya yeh grief hai, jo mere dil ko kuch perverse mein twist kar raha hai? Ya yeh kuch real hai, jo maine itna lamba samay dafn kiya hai?


Agla kuch hafte avoidance ka study the. Main kaam mein jhonk di khud ko, foundation mein late tak rukti, din meetings aur reports se bhar leti. Aryan bhi distance banane laga. Usne zyada projects liye, city ke apne studio mein raatein bitayi, mujhe ghar mein akela chhod diya. Lekin yeh silence uski presence se bhi bura tha. Isne mere khayalon ko grow karne, fester karne, aur fantasies weave karne ka mauka diya jinse main escape nahi kar paayi.


Maine uske chhote-chhote changes notice kiye. Woh zyada quiet, zyada introspective ho gaya, uski hasi rare lekin aur precious jab aati thi. Usne mujhe “Ma” kam bulana shuru kiya, “Anjali” zyada use karne laga jab hum akela hote, ek shift jo intimate bhi laga aur galat bhi. Maine usse correct nahi kiya. Karna chahiye tha, lekin nahi kiya.


Ek shaam, woh late ghar aaya, uski shirt rumpled, aankhein thaki hui lekin bright. Woh ek client meeting mein tha, usne kaha, lekin usme ek restlessness thi, ek tension jo meri waisi hi thi. Hum dining table par baithe, late dinner ke leftovers share karte, hamare beech ka silence unspoken words se thick.


“Anjali,” usne suddenly kaha, uski awaaz soft lekin deliberate. “Kya tu kabhi sochti hai… starting over ke baare mein? Sirf kaam ke saath nahi, balki zindagi ke saath?”


Main freeze ho gayi, mera fork muh tak jate-jate ruk gaya. “Kya matlab?” maine poochha, halanki mujhe exactly pata tha uska matlab kya tha.


Usne shrug kiya, apni plate ki taraf dekha. “Pata nahi. Bas… tu akeli hai. Main akela hoon. Kabhi-kabhi sochta hoon hum dono stuck hain, kisi cheez ka wait kar rahe hain jo kabhi nahi aayega.”


Uski baaton ne mujhe chhote se zyada cut kiya. Main table ke us paar haath badhana chahti thi, uska haath pakadna, usse kehna ki woh akela nahi hai, ki main yahan hoon, hamesha rahungi. Lekin maine nahi kiya. Instead, maine kaha, “Hum ek doosre ke paas hain, Aryan. Yeh kaafi hai, na?”


Usne mujhe dekha, uski aankhein meri aankhon mein kuch dhund rahi thi, aur ek pal ke liye mujhe laga shayad woh kuch bolega jo hamari banayi hui fragile walls ko tod dega. Lekin usne nahi bola. Bas nod kiya aur khane mein wapas lag gaya, mujhe mere khayalon mein doobne chhod diya.


Final shift June ki ek raat aayi, jab monsoon apne peak par tha, baarish ka drumbeat roof par relentless. Main pura din restless thi, mera dimaag hamari baat, uske stuck hone aur starting over ke words replay karta raha. Maine shaam apne room mein bitayi, book padhne ki koshish ki, lekin pages ke words meaningless shapes mein blur ho gaye. Main ladne se thak gayi thi, deny karne se, pretend karne se ki main woh nahi feel karti jo main feel karti thi.


Aryan study mein tha, late tak kaam kar raha tha, as usual. Pata nahi kya hua, lekin main uske paas chali gayi, mere bare feet thande floor par silent. Woh apne drafting table par tha, uska sir sketch par jhuka hua, light uske chehre par shadows daal rahi thi. Usne mujhe dekha jab main andar aayi, uski aankhein thodi widen hui.


“Anjali? Sab theek hai?” usne poochha, uski awaaz concern se bhari.


Maine jawab nahi diya. Nahi de sakti thi. Bas wahan khadi rahi, mera dil dhadak raha tha, mere haath sides mein tremble kar rahe the. Main wapas jana chahti thi, bhaagna chahti thi, lekin mere pair nahi hile. Instead, main ek kadam aage badhi, phir doosra, jab tak main uske paas nahi thi, itni kareeb ki main uske body ki warmth feel kar sakti thi.


“Ma,” usne kaha, uski awaaz toot rahi thi, aur woh ek shabd mujhe undo karne ke liye kaafi tha. Maine haath badhaya, uske gaal ko chhua, aur woh peechhe nahi hata. Usne bas mujhe dekha, uski aankhein dark aur unreadable, aur us pal mein maine dekha—wohi conflict, wohi desire, wohi guilt jo mujhe andar se kha raha tha.


“Main darr rahi hoon,” maine whisper kiya, meri awaaz baarish ke shor mein barely audible. “Mujhe nahi pata yeh kya hai, Aryan. Mujhe nahi pata main kya kar rahi hoon.”


Woh khada hua, uski chair floor par scrape karti hui, aur phir woh mere samne tha, uske haath mere shoulders ke paas hover kar rahe the, abhi touch nahi kiya. “Main bhi darr raha hoon,” usne kaha, uski awaaz raw. “Lekin main tujhe sochna band nahi kar sakta. Maa ke roop mein nahi, balki… tujhe.”


Yeh words hamare beech latak gaye, ek confession jo mujhe andar se tod gaya. Mujhe wahan rok dena chahiye tha, wapas chal dena chahiye tha, lekin maine nahi kiya. Instead, main aage jhuki, mera forehead uske chest par rest kiya, aur usne apne arms mujhe around kar liye, pehle tentative, phir tight, jaise darr tha ki main disappear ho jaungi.


Hum wahan eternity jaisa lamba waqt khade rahe, baarish hamari ekmatra witness. Koi kiss nahi hua, koi final line cross nahi hui, lekin woh embrace kaafi thi. Yeh ek promise thi, ek surrender, ek aisi territory mein kadam jahan hum dono navigate nahi kar sakte the.


Main us raat apne room mein wapas aayi, mera dil guilt aur longing ka toofan. Maine journal mein likha, words jagged aur uneven: Maine kya kiya? Main kya ban rahi hoon? Woh mera beta hai, mera Aryan, aur phir bhi main usse apni bones mein, apne khoon mein feel karti hoon. Main uski protection karna chahti hoon, usse bachaana chahti hoon, lekin main usse seen bhi hona chahti hoon, wanted hona chahti hoon. Kya yeh pyar hai, ya yeh madness hai?


Agli subah, humne ek doosre ki aankhon se eye contact avoid kiya, hamari baatein stilted aur formal. Lekin hamare beech ka air badal gaya tha, ek nayi awareness se charged. Mujhe pata tha hum wapas nahi ja sakte, lekin aage kaise badhna hai yeh bhi nahi pata tha. Bas itna pata tha ki main ab sirf Anjali, widow, maa nahi thi. Main ek aurat thi, raw aur exposed, ek forbidden cheez ke edge par khadi, jo hum dono ko destroy kar sakti thi.


Aur phir bhi, mera ek hissa—jise main nafrat aur crave karti hoon—girna chahta tha.

 

[allelboss]

Update 2: Monsoon ke Parde ke Neeche


June ki us raat ke baad ke din ek nazuk nritya ki tarah the, har kadam naapa-tula, har nazar ek khatra. Ghar, jo kabhi ek surakshit sthaan tha, ab ek bhedbhari bhaoolbhulaiyaa ban gaya tha, jahan har kona humare gale milne ki goonj rakhata tha. Main, Anjali, har raat apne desk par baithti, mera journal meri tooti hui aatma ka aaina, syahi meri chhupi baaton ko panno par ugal rahi thi. Aryan aur main apne routines mein ek zabardasti ka normalcy ke saath chalte, lekin humare beech ka hava usse bhari tha jo hum nahi kehte, jo hum keh nahi sakte. Bahar monsoon zoron par tha, uski relentless baarish humare andar ke toofan ke liye ek munasib parda tha.


Main yeh vishwas karna chahti thi ki hum wapas ja sakte hain, ki hum maa-bete ki deewarein dobara bana sakte hain, lekin har pal jo hum saath bitate, woh bhrama toot jata. Uski presence ek chumbak thi, mujhe uski taraf kheenchti thi jabki main door hatne ki koshish karti thi. Aur woh—Bhagwan, woh bhi mujhse zyada resist karne mein behtar nahi tha. Uski aankhein, meri hi tarah kaale aaine, ek chuppi bhari bhook rakhti thi jo mujhe dara bhi deti thi aur thrill bhi. Hum chhup rahe the, na sirf duniya se, balki khud se bhi, aur phir bhi yeh chhupna intimacy ko aur gehra karta, har interaction mein ek nishiddh romance ka taar bun raha tha.


Us gale milne ke baad pehla hafta, maine apne aap ko distractions mein itni shiddat se jhonk diya ki yeh obsession ki hadd tak chala gaya. Charity foundation underprivileged bacchon ke liye ek gala plan kar raha tha, aur maine khud ko budgets, guest lists, aur venue arrangements mein dafn kar diya. Main office mein der tak rukti, ghar late lautati, ummeed karti ki thakan mere seene ke dard ko kam kar degi. Lekin ghar ab koi sharan nahi tha. Yeh Aryan ka utna hi tha jitna mera, uske sketches study mein bikhre hue, uski khushboo hawa mein basi hui, uske kadmon ka chhupa rhythm meri raaton ko haunt karta tha.


Aryan bhi doori banane ki koshish karta laga, lekin zyada door nahi. Usne ek naya project liya, Bandra mein ek community center, jo usse drafting table par subah tak rakhta. Phir bhi woh hamesha ghar par hota jab main wapas aati, jaise koi ankhuli sandhi usse kheenchti thi. Ek shaam, main ek meeting se wapas aayi, mera blouse baarish se bheega, mere baal ek mess of curls. Woh living room mein tha, ek kitab uski god mein, ek lamp ka glow uske chehre par chhaya daal raha tha.


“Tu late ho,” usne kaha, uski awaaz narm lekin ek aisi cheez se bhari jo main naam nahi de sakti thi. Woh khada hua, kamre ke us paar aaya jahan main darwaze ke paas khadi thi, mera bag abhi bhi kandhe par latka hua.


“Lamba din,” maine jawab diya, uski aankhon se bachti hui. “Gala agle hafta hai. Yeh… bahut kaam hai.”


Usne nod kiya, lekin uski nazar thehri, meri jaw ki curve ko trace karti, bheega fabric jo mere kandhon se chipka hua tha. “Tujhe change karna chahiye,” usne kaha, uski awaaz ab aur neeche, almost ek whisper. “Tujhe sardi ho jayegi.”


Main has di, ek nervous awaaz jo mujhe betray kar gayi. “Tu mujh jaisa sound kar raha hai, jab tu chhota tha tab main tere liye worry karti thi.”


Uske honth thodi si hile, bilkul smile nahi. “Main ab chhota nahi hoon, Anjali.”


Mere naam ka use, “Ma” nahi, mujhe ek shiver de gaya. Main palat gayi, shower ke baare mein kuch mutter karti hui, lekin uske haath ne meri wrist pakdi, narm lekin firm. “Ruk,” usne kaha, aur main freeze ho gayi, meri pulse uske touch ke neeche race kar rahi thi. “Tu thaki hui lagti hai. Main tere liye chai banata hoon.”


Yeh ek simple offer tha, lekin ek lifeline jaisa laga, ek tarika humein un roles se bandhe rehne ka jo humein nibhana tha. Maine nod kiya, aur usne mujhe chhoda, kitchen ki taraf grace ke saath chala gaya jo mere seene ko tight karta tha. Main darwaze se usse dekhti rahi, uske kandhe uski shirt ke neeche kaise move karte, uske haath chai ko naapte hue usi precision ke saath jo uske sketches mein dikhta tha. Yeh domestic tha, ordinary, aur phir bhi ek romance scene jaisa laga jo mujhe imagine karne ka haq nahi tha.


Hum dining table par baithe, chai ki steam humare beech curl karti hui, ek nazuk barrier. “Gala ke baare mein bata,” usne kaha, uski awaaz steady lekin aankhein ek gehri cheez ka flicker dikhati hui.


Maine baat ki, silence ko sponsors aur speeches ke details se bharte hue, lekin mere shabd khokhle lage. Uski nazar mujh par thi, na chai par, na table par, balki mujh par—mere haathon par, mere honthon par, jaise maine baal ka ek strand kaan ke peeche tuck kiya. Main apne shabdon mein stumble hui, mere cheeks warm ho gaye, aur usne table ke us paar haath badhaya, uski fingers meri fingers ko brush karti hui jab usne mujhe ek biscuit diya.


“Careful,” usne kaha, uski awaaz teasing lekin narm. “Tu blush kar rahi hai.”


“Main nahi,” maine jhooth bola, apna haath wapas kheench liya, lekin woh contact linger karta raha, ek spark jo fade nahi hua. Hum wahan baithe, chai sip karte, bahar baarish drum karti hui, aur maine uski pull feel ki, woh khatarnak closeness jo mere dil ko guilt aur longing dono se dard deta tha.


Gala ek hafta door tha, aur maine isse ek bahana banaya ghar se bahar rehne ka, un moments se bachti hui jo mujhe unravel kar sakte the. Lekin Aryan apni presence mein relentless tha, overt nahi balki subtle, jaise ek melody jo tu hum karna band nahi kar sakta. Woh fridge par notes chhodta—“Dinner skip mat kar, Anjali”—ya jab main living room mein late tak kaam karti, woh coffee lata, uski fingers meri fingers ko brush karti jab woh mug rakhta. Har touch, har glance, ek secret tha jo hum bina bole share karte, ek romance jo silence mein buna gaya tha.


Ek dopahar, main study mein thi, donor lists review karti hui, jab woh aaya, uski shirt sleeves rolled up, kaan ke peeche pencil tucked. Woh mere kandhe ke upar jhuka papers dekhne ke liye, uski saans mere neck par warm. “Tu bahut hard work kar rahi hai,” usne kaha, uski awaaz low, intimate.


Main stiff ho gayi, mera pen sentence ke beech mein ruk gaya. “Kisi ko toh karna hai,” maine kaha, apni awaaz ko light rakhne ki koshish karti hui, lekin meri awaaz tremble kar gayi. Woh nahi hila, uski presence ek wazan jise main ignore nahi kar sakti thi. Maine apna sir thoda sa ghumaya, aur humare chehre inches door the, uski aankhein meri aankhon mein ek intensity ke saath dhund rahi thi jo meri saans chura gayi.


“Tujhe yeh akela nahi karna hai,” usne kaha, aur ek pal ke liye, mujhe laga uska matlab gala se zyada tha, foundation se zyada. Main uski taraf jhukna chahti thi, humare beech ka distance collapse kar dena chahti thi, lekin main khadi ho gayi, phone call ka bahana mutter karti hui.


Us raat, maine journal mein likha: Woh har jagah hai, is ghar ke har kona mein, har saans mein jo main leti hoon. Main khud ko kehti hoon yeh galat hai, ki main uski maa hoon, lekin mera dil nahi sunta. Yeh usse dekhta hai, usse feel karta hai, usse chahta hai. Main usse chhup rahi hoon, khud se chhup rahi hoon, lekin yeh chhupna humein aur kareeb kheenchta hai.


Gala ki raat aayi, South Mumbai ke ek five-star hotel mein ek glittering affair. Maine ek navy-blue saree pehni, uske sequins light catch karte hue, mere baal ek bun mein swept up jo Meera ne style karne ki zid ki thi. “Tu stunning lag rahi hai, Anjali,” usne kaha, uski smile warm lekin thodi si concern se bhari. “Tujhe aaj raat shine karna hai.”


Vikram aur Meera wahan the, donors ke saath mingle karte, unki hasi mere andar ke toofan ke bilkul opposite. Aryan bhi aaya tha, meri zid par, halanki mujhe usse suit mein dekhte hi regret hua, uske baal swept back, uski aankhein crowded ballroom ke us paar meri aankhon se milti hui. Woh jawani mein Rohan jaisa dikhta tha, lekin ek aisi aag ke saath jo sirf uski thi.


Maine khud ko speeches aur handshakes mein busy rakha, ek poised widow, dedicated philanthropist ka role nibhati hui. Lekin har baar jab main palat ti, Aryan wahan hota, meri vision ke edge par ek chhaya. Woh paas nahi aaya, baat nahi ki, lekin uski presence ek constant thi, ek pull jisse main escape nahi kar sakti thi.


Ek chhupke pal mein, main balcony par chali gayi, mujhe hawa chahiye thi, space chahiye tha. Niche city sparkles karti thi, ab baarish ek soft drizzle, lights ek kaleidoscope of color mein blur ho rahi thi. Mujhe footsteps sunai diye aur mujhe pata tha woh usse pehle hi tha jab usne bola.


“Anjali,” usne kaha, uski awaaz narm, almost city ke hum mein khoyi hui. Woh mere paas khada tha, itna kareeb ki main uske arm ki warmth meri saree ke zariye feel kar sakti thi. “Tune aaj raat amazing kaam kiya. Papa proud hote.”


Rohan ka zikr ek chaku ki tarah tha, mere gut mein twist karta hua. Main uski taraf palti, meri aankhein sting karti hui. “Mat kar,” maine kaha, meri awaaz se zyada sharp jo maine intend kiya tha. “Unhe isme mat la.”


Uska chehra gir gaya, lekin usne nazar nahi hatayi. “Sorry,” usne kaha, aur kareeb aaya, uska haath railing par mere haath ke paas hover karta hua. “Main bas… main tujhe dekhta hoon, Anjali. Sirf apni maa ke roop mein nahi, balki tujhe. Aur yeh mujhe maar raha hai pretend karna.”


Meri saans atak gayi, mera dil itni zor se dhadak raha tha ki mujhe laga woh sun lega. “Aryan,” maine whisper kiya, meri awaaz toot rahi thi. “Hum nahi kar sakte. Tu janta hai hum nahi kar sakte.”


Usne jawab nahi diya, lekin uska haath mere haath par band ho gaya, uski fingers warm aur steady. Hum wahan khade the, niche city spread hui thi, baarish humare around ek soft curtain, aur ek pal ke liye, sirf hum the—do log, na maa aur beta, ek aise pyar mein phanse jo hum naam nahi de sakte.


Woh pal toot gaya jab Meera ki awaaz andar se aayi, mujhe bula rahi thi. Maine apna haath kheench liya, mera seena tight, aur ballroom mein wapas chali gayi, Aryan ko balcony par chhod kar, uska silhouette baarish ke against etched.


Chuppi ka Tanaav


Gala ke baad ke din restraint ka study the. Hum kam bole, hamari baatein clipped, lekin chuppi shabdon se zyada tez thi. Har glance, har accidental brush of hands, ek confession tha jo hum bolne ki himmat nahi karte the. Maine notice karna shuru kiya kaise woh mujhe dekhta tha jab usse lagta tha main nahi dekh rahi—jab main khana banati, jab main padhti, jab main TV par kisi cheez par hasti. Uski aankhein ek chhupi reverence rakhti thi, ek longing jo meri hi tarah thi.


Ek shaam, main kitchen mein thi, sabzi kaat rahi thi dinner ke liye, jab woh aaya, uski shirt untucked, baal shower se damp. Woh counter ke against lean kiya, mujhe dekhta hua, uski chuppi meaning se bhari. “Help chahiye?” usne poochha, uski awaaz low, almost intimate.


Maine sir hila diya, knife par focus karti hui, lekin mere haath tremble kar rahe the. Woh kareeb aaya, ek carrot ke liye haath badhaya, uska arm mera arm brush karta hua. “Tu kaanp rahi hai,” usne kaha, uski awaaz barely whisper ke upar.


“Kuch nahi,” maine jhooth bola, lekin woh door nahi hata. Instead, usne knife mere haath se li, use neeche rakha, uski fingers meri fingers par linger karti hui. “Anjali,” usne kaha, uski awaaz raw, “hum yeh kyun kar rahe hain? Pretend karna?”


Maine usse dekha, mera dil gale mein. “Kyunki humein karna hai,” maine kaha, meri awaaz toot rahi thi. “Kyunki aur koi rasta nahi hai.”


Usne argue nahi kiya, lekin hila bhi nahi. Hum wahan khade the, inches door, kitchen ek warmth aur khatre ka cocoon. Main uski soap ki khushboo smell kar sakti thi, uske body ki heat feel kar sakti thi, aur ek pal ke liye, main distance close karna chahti thi, guilt, darr, sharm ko chhod dena chahti thi. Lekin main peechhe hati, stove ki taraf palti, mere haath counter ko pakadte hue khud ko steady karne ke liye.


Us raat, maine likha: Main usme doob rahi hoon. Har touch, har nazar, mujhe aur gehra kheenchti hai. Main khud ko kehti hoon yeh galat hai, yeh pagalpan hai, lekin mera sharir nahi sunta. Mera dil nahi sunta. Main usse aise chahti hoon jo main nahi keh sakti, aur chhupna isse aur bura karta hai.


Monsoon aur teevra ho gaya, baarish humare unspoken pyar ka constant saathi. Humne bina admit kiye kareeb rehne ke tareeke dhundne shuru kiye, ek secret dance of proximity. Woh movie nights ke dauraan couch par kareeb baithta, hamare kandhe brush karte, hamare haath inches door rest karte. Main study mein linger karti jab woh kaam karta, uske designs ke baare mein poochhti, meri awaaz ek bahana uske paas rehne ka. Har pal ek chhupa hua khazana tha, ek romance ka piece jo hum claim nahi kar sakte the.


Ek raat, power chali gayi, ghar andhere mein doob gaya. Main living room mein thi, ek kitab meri god mein bhooli hui, jab Aryan ek candle ke saath aaya, uski flame deewaron par flickering shadows daal rahi thi. “Yeh kitchen mein mila,” usne kaha, use table par rakhte hue. Woh mere paas baitha, zaroori se zyada kareeb, candlelight uske features ko soft kar rahi thi.


“Yaad hai jab hum yeh karte the?” usne kaha, uski awaaz nostalgic. “Jab main chhota tha, aur power chali jati thi, tu mujhe stories sunati thi.”


Main muskurayi, yaad bittersweet. “Tujhe woh prince aur dragon wali story pasand thi.”


Woh hasa, ek awaaz jo andhere ko warm kar gayi. “Haan, kyunki tu dragon ko aisa banati thi jaise usse bas ek dost chahiye tha.” Usne pause kiya, uski aankhein meri aankhon se milti hui. “Tu hamesha sab kuch safe feel karati thi, Anjali. Ab bhi.”


Yeh shabd humare beech latak gaye, meaning se bhari. Main usse kehna chahti thi ki woh bhi mujhe safe feel karata hai, lekin shabd mere gale mein atak gaye. Instead, maine uska haath pakda, meri fingers tremble karti hui jab unhone uska haath dhunda. Usne haath nahi kheecha, uska thumb meri knuckles par brush karta hua, ek chhupa hua promise.


Hum wahan baithe, haath mein haath, candle low jal rahi thi, bahar baarish ek soft roar. Yeh almost innocent tha, lekin nahi tha. Yeh pyar tha, unspoken, unacknowledged, lekin real.


Hafte ek saath blur ho gaye, har din ek aisi line ki taraf ek kadam jo hum cross nahi kar sakte, phir bhi avoid nahi kar sakte. Aryan ghar zyada rehne laga, uske projects ab escape ka bahana nahi the. Main late kaam karna chhod diya, ghar ki taraf, uski taraf kheenchti hui. Hamare closeness ke moments badh gaye—uska haath mere kandhe par jab woh hall mein mujhse pass hota, meri fingers uski jab main use plate deti, hamari aankhein room ke us paar milti hui ek shared secret ke saath.


Ek shaam, hum garden mein the, baarish ek light mist, hawa geeli mitti ki khushboo se bhari. Main roses ki dekhbhal kar rahi thi, ek kaam jo maine Rohan ki maut ke baad neglect kiya tha, jab Aryan mere saath mila, uski sleeves rolled up, uske haath madad se gande. “Tujhe yeh roses pasand hain,” usne kaha, uski awaaz narm. “Mujhe yaad hai tu aur papa inhe plant karte the.”


Maine nod kiya, mera gala tight. “Yeh unka idea tha. Unhone kaha yeh humein yaad dilayenge ki mushkil waqt mein bhi sundarta dhundni hai.”


Aryan ne mujhe dekha, uski aankhein kuch unspoken se kaali. “Tu hi sundarta hai, Anjali. Hamesha thi.”


Meri saans atak gayi, mere haath rose ke stems par ruk gaye. Main has dena chahti thi, ise bete ka flattery kehna chahti thi, lekin uski nazar ki intensity ne mujhe rok diya. Main khadi hui, haathon se mitti jhadti hui, aur woh bhi khada hua, ab kareeb, mist uske baalon, uski shirt par settle ho rahi thi. “Aryan,” maine whisper kiya, “aise baatein mat bol.”


“Kyun nahi?” usne poochha, uski awaaz raw. “Yeh sach hai. Main tujhe dekhta hoon, Anjali. Main tujhe dekhna band nahi kar sakta.”


Main palat gayi, mera dil dhadak raha tha, lekin usne mera arm pakda, uska touch narm lekin insistent. “Mat bhag,” usne kaha. “Please.”


Main nahi bhagi. Main wahan khadi rahi, baarish humare around ek soft veil, aur usne mujhe kareeb kheench liya, uske arms mujhe wrap karte hue, mera chehra uske chest ke against daba. Yeh study wali raat jaisa tha, lekin aur gehra, aur desperate. Uska dil mere dil ke against dhadka, ek rhythm jo ghar jaisa, khatarnak jaisa, pyar jaisa laga.


“Main itni koshish kar raha hoon,” usne whisper kiya, uski awaaz toot rahi thi. “Jo tujhe chahiye waisa banne ki. Tera beta banne ki. Lekin main fail ho raha hoon, Anjali. Main fail ho raha hoon.”


Maine peechhe hati, sirf itna ki usse dekh sakun, mere haath uske chehre par, mere thumbs uske cheeks par brush karte hue. “Tu fail nahi ho raha,” maine kaha, meri awaaz tremble karti hui. “Tu sab kuch hai. Aur yahi mujhe dara raha hai.”


Hum wahan khade the, us moment mein locked, baarish duniya ko dho rahi thi, sirf humein chhod ke. Koi kiss nahi hua, koi final line cross nahi hui, lekin woh embrace kaafi thi. Yeh ek confession tha, ek surrender, ek pyar jo hum naam nahi de sakte lekin deny bhi nahi kar sakte.


Chuppi ka Parinaam


Agli subah, hum ghar mein bhooton ki tarah chale, hamari aankhein ek doosre se bachti hui, hamare shabd careful. Lekin garden wala embrace humein badal gaya tha, romance ka taar aur gehra kar diya jo humein bandh raha tha. Hum ab kareeb the, na sirf proximity mein balki spirit mein, hamari chuppi apni hi ek bhasha. Maine usse dekha jab main padh rahi thi, uski aankhein ek aise pyar se soft jo sirf bete ka pyar nahi tha. Main study ke darwaze par linger karti, usse sketch karte dekhti, mera dil uski sundarta se dard karta tha.


Maine journal mein likha: Hum chhup rahe hain, lekin nahi chhup rahe. Har touch, har nazar, ek love letter hai jo hum bhej nahi sakte. Main usse kehna chahti hoon, woh shabd jo mere seene mein jal rahe hain, lekin nahi keh sakti. Na isliye ki main uski maa hoon, balki isliye ki mujhe darr hai iska matlab kya hai. Mujhe humse darr hai.


Monsoon jari raha, humare secret par ek parda, aur hum apna nritya jari rakha, har kadam aur intimate, aur intense. Humne iske baare mein baat nahi ki, iska naam nahi diya, lekin yeh wahan tha, badh raha tha, ek pyar jo humara nash aur mukti dono tha.

 

[Arpan003]

Bohoti sandar

 

[Vito]

for new story.

 

[rakesh4756]

Plz send maa beta hanemoon stories stories like sanskari ma say sexy wife

 

[Mafiadon]

Dashing and stunning update

 

[kirantariq]

Good