The next morning, Ayan awoke with a heavy heart, the events of the previous night weighing on him. He resolved to push the forbidden thoughts aside, throwing himself into his routine—helping at the shop, attending classes, and avoiding Mrs. Sharma's gaze. But as he passed through the laundry area that afternoon, his eyes caught sight of something hanging on the clothesline: Mrs. Sharma's lacy black bra, swaying gently in the breeze from the open window.
His pulse quickened. It was an innocent oversight—Mrs. Sharma must have forgotten to bring it inside after washing. Ayan glanced around; the apartment was empty, Priya at college and Mr. Sharma downstairs. Driven by a reckless impulse, he reached out and snatched it, stuffing it into his pocket before retreating to his room. His hands trembled as he pulled it out, the fabric soft and warm from the sun. He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply—the faint, intoxicating scent of her perfume mixed with something uniquely hers, stirring the same arousal from the night before.
Guilt clawed at him, but the thrill overpowered it. He imagined her wearing it, the way it hugged her curves. His breath grew ragged, and he felt himself hardening again. "This is wrong," he muttered, yet he couldn't stop. He tucked the bra under his mattress for safekeeping, vowing it was just this once. But as he left his room, the secret burned inside him, a dangerous flame that threatened to consume his carefully built life.