As Ayan's fantasies intensified, an unexpected shift occurred in Mrs. Sharma's behavior. Perhaps sensing the undercurrents or simply drawn by the handsome young man her son had become, she began to grow closer to him in ways that felt increasingly intimate. It started subtly—one evening, after dinner, she lingered in the living room, sharing stories from her youth that she hadn't told in years. "You remind me so much of myself at your age, Ayan," she said, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart skip.
Her touches became more frequent: a hand on his arm during conversations, brushing against him in the kitchen while cooking together. She'd compliment his looks openly now—"You're so handsome, beta, just like a movie star"—and her smiles lingered longer, her gaze tracing his features. Ayan noticed how she'd dress a bit more carefully on days he was home, choosing sarees that accentuated her figure, or leaving her hair loose instead of tied back.
One afternoon, while helping her fold laundry, their hands touched accidentally, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she laughed softly, her voice husky. "You're growing up so fast," she murmured, her eyes locking onto his. Ayan felt a spark, his secret desires mirroring what seemed like her own budding interest. Was it just maternal affection, or something more? The air between them thickened with unspoken tension, and Ayan's nightly rituals now included imagining reciprocation—her approaching him, her body pressing close.
Priya and Mr. Sharma remained oblivious, chalking it up to family bonding. But Ayan sensed the change, his guilt warring with excitement. Mrs. Sharma, too, felt a pull she couldn't explain, her thoughts drifting to the young man under her roof. As the days passed, the romantic closeness deepened, setting the stage for a confrontation that could shatter their world.