The hotel courtyard was still wrapped in shadows, the air damp with dew and silence. The streetlights flickered dimly behind her as Shalini stepped through the gate, her thighs still slick from the night, her body radiating the afterglow of what she'd left in that jungle room.
Then she saw him.
Prayush.
Small, tense, waiting by the entrance like a puppy abandoned in the rain. The moment he caught sight of her, he rushed forward—his footsteps fast, needy, and unhesitating.
"Ma'am—!"
Before she could speak, he was on her—arms tight around her waist, head buried in her chest like he couldn't stand one more second of space between them.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice hoarse, cracking under the weight of guilt. "I didn't know that old man would be there—I didn't know he'd see us—I didn't want anyone to—"
Shalini froze. Her heart thumped once, hard.
Then she let out a soft, surprised laugh.
She wrapped one arm around his trembling back and ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him like he was a boy confessing a sin. Her other hand rested lightly at the back of his neck.
"Shhh," she whispered. "Don't worry, baby. I handled it. He won't say a word."
She felt the relief in his body—his grip loosening slightly, his shoulders dropping—but he didn't step away. His face remained pressed against her chest, just below the curve of her breasts, barely reaching her collarbone. His nose brushed the fabric of her turtleneck.
And then…
He inhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
A full breath dragged from under her neckline. Her sweat had soaked through during the walk back—still salty from sex, muskier now that her body had cooled. The scent clung to the fabric. Raw. Human. Undeniable.
And he was drinking it in like he needed it to live.
Shalini felt his breath hitch, and instead of pushing him away, she tilted her head and watched him. Watched him melt into her chest. His face buried deeper, his hands twitching with restraint.
She knew what he was doing.
She let him.
He mumbled against her, voice low and muffled, still lost in the scent of her:
"Ma'am… my father called. Me and Ravi… we have to go home. Early. We'll see you in the mela… maybe…"
The words hit her like a splash of cold water.
She tightened her hold on him, her arms locking around his small frame, pulling him closer—his nose now nearly buried under her breast, his lips brushing the fabric stretched across her skin.
"No," she whispered, barely audible. "Not yet…"
Her fingers slid into his hair, pushing his face just a little deeper into her body.
And he didn't resist.
He groaned—a soft, helpless sound—and let her do it.
Shalini closed her eyes for a second.
This was the goodbye.(For now)
She pressed her body against him just a little more, and he breathed her in like he'd never smell her again.
Then, slowly, her voice returned.
"Alright," she whispered. "I'll call you. Okay?"
He nodded. His cheek rubbed softly against her breast as he moved.
She held him for a second longer. Just a beat. Just enough to feel that last bit of warmth, of hunger, of need pulsing between them.
Then she let him go.
Pushed him back gently.
And without another word, she turned and walked into the hotel—fast, deliberate steps, like if she didn't move now, she might fall apart.
Behind her, Prayush stood frozen.
His fingers still tingled from where they'd clutched her waist. His face still burned from the heat of her body. And her scent… her scent lingered in his lungs like smoke.
He wiped his eyes quickly and turned toward the stairs.
---
Inside Room 303...
Ravi was still asleep, sprawled across one of the twin beds, shirtless, one hand tucked under the pillow.
Prayush stepped in quietly, eyes glazed. He didn't turn on the light. He just stood there for a second, letting the stillness of the room wash over him.
Then he crossed over and sat at the edge of Ravi's bed.
"Wake up," he muttered.
Ravi stirred. "Mm… what?"
"We're leaving," Prayush said. "My dad called."
Ravi opened one eye. "Now?"
"Yeah. We have to reach home in 1 hour."
A pause.
"Did you… tell her?"
Prayush nodded. "She said she'd call."
That was all he said.
He didn't mention the way she held him. The way she smelled. The way she pushed his head into her chest like she wanted him to disappear into her body.
Some things weren't meant to be shared.
---
Upstairs, Room 301...
The door swung open and Shalini stepped inside.
She was breathing a little too hard. Her thighs stuck slightly from dried sweat and cum. Her shirt still carried the faint scent of the old man's tongue, of Prayush's breath, of her own soaked skin.
And there he was.
Avi.
Sitting on the sofa, fully dressed, hair still damp from his morning shower.
His phone was in his hand, but his eyes were on her. Unblinking. Silent.
Shalini barely looked at him.
"Good morning," she said, too casually, and headed straight for the bathroom.
She didn't see the flicker in Avi's eyes. The narrowing of his brows. The sharp, quiet inhale as he noticed the flush on her cheeks… the disheveled scarf… the faint, unmistakable wet line along the inner seam of her kurti.
She didn't see him staring at the back of her neck as she disappeared into the bathroom, her fingers twitching at her side.
Click.
The bathroom door closed.
Avi stared at the door.
Shalini closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Her words had been quick—"Good morning" tossed over her shoulder as she moved past him, heading directly toward the bathroom without waiting for a reply.
Avi barely registered it. Something else had hit him harder.
The moment she stepped into the room, a scent had lingered in the air—strange, unmistakably sharp. Not her usual perfume. Not sweat. Not something clean or casual.
It clung behind her like a shadow.
His eyes followed her as she disappeared into the bathroom, the door shutting quietly, followed by the rush of running water.
And still…
That scent hung in the room.
Bitter. Salty. Wet.
His nose twitched.
He knew that smell. Not from experience, but instinct.
It was sex.
Avi stood up slowly from the sofa, confusion furrowing his brows. He turned toward the hallway that led to the bedroom.
His stomach twisted.
"No... I didn't really smell that, did I?"
His thoughts warred with each other. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe it was something else. Laundry detergent mixed with sweat. Or the cheap air freshener from the hallway downstairs. Or—
But his feet were already moving.
The bathroom door stayed closed.
The water ran.
And Avi, his breath slow and shallow, gently pushed open the bedroom door.
Inside, the air felt warmer. Stale. The curtains were drawn, and stripes of golden morning light cut across the bedsheets. Her clothes were in a heap—the black turtleneck, her tight leggings, her socks, her shoes kicked halfway beneath the chair.
All dropped carelessly in a rush. Like she'd been burning to get out of them.
Avi moved closer.
The turtleneck was on top of the pile. He reached out and picked it up—fingers brushing over the damp fabric.
He lifted it close to his face and inhaled.
Perfume. Faint, almost gone. The musk of dried sweat.
But nothing else. Nothing strange.
He dropped it on the bed.
Then the socks.
Still warm. A little sour. Normal.
But his eyes had already moved to the leggings.
He stared at them.
Black, tight, still holding the shape of her body. Damp in the thighs. Inside-out at the waist. The inner lining clung together in small folds, faintly darker near the crotch.
He picked them up slowly.
And brought them close.
Then—
His breath hitched.
There it was.
The scent. Real. Stronger now. Not just a trace—but soaked in. Faintly sweet, but unmistakably sexual. Not perfume. Not sweat.
Cum.
His body went still.
He blinked, stunned, holding the leggings in his hands like they might explode.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
"No…" he whispered. "No way."
But he smelled them again—once, cautiously—and the same sharp, bitter trace curled through his sinuses.
He dropped them like they burned him.
His brain scrambled for a reason, a context, a lie to believe.
"Maybe it's something else."
"Maybe she fell. Got dirty at the fair. Or—"
But she hadn't gone to the mela yet. She had only just come back from walk.
His mind flashed to how flushed her face had been. The way she rushed past him. The way her turtleneck had been torn slightly at the shoulder. Her lips slightly swollen. Her thighs...
The way she hadn't looked him in the eye.
A sick twist curled in his gut.
And then—
A sound.
A creak.
Not from the hallway.
From behind him.
Avi spun around, heart thudding—
Nothing.
Silence.
The water still ran in the bathroom.
But something about it felt… wrong.
He stood frozen for another second, then quickly stepped back into the main room, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
He didn't know that behind the narrow slit of the bathroom door—just slightly ajar—Shalini had seen everything.
She had heard him open the door.
Felt the faint rustle of clothes being moved.
Seen the way the air changed when he walked out.
She stood behind the shower curtain, letting the water run over her body, her hand resting on the edge of the doorframe.
Her face was calm.
But her heart was beating harder now.
---
Knock knock.
Avi jumped slightly at the sound of the main door.
He wiped his hands on his pants without thinking and stepped over.
He opened the door.
Malika stood there, dressed and ready for the day, sunglasses hanging from her kurta.
"Good morning," she said brightly.
Avi gave a stiff nod. "Morning."
"You two ready for the mela?"
Avi hesitated. "Mom's in the shower."
"Ah," Malika said with a knowing smile. "Tell her not to get too comfortable. We've got a full day ahead."
She stepped inside and glanced around the room casually.
Avi said nothing.
But behind his eyes… something had shifted.
And Shalini knew it.