Apitalii
It was a hot afternoon. The soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence of the lounge , where Aarti stood by the window , sipping her tea slowly. At 46 , she carried herself with a mature elegance , wrapped in a deep maroon saree that hugged her curves just right. Her blouse clung tightly to her chest , the neckline dipping low enough to hint at the generous swell of her bosom. The pallu had slipped ever so slightly — maybe accidentally , maybe not. Across the room , her devar , Raj , was finishing his workout. At 27 , his body was in perfect shape — sweat glistened on his arms and neck , soaking through his fitted white vest. Every movement made his muscles flex , the fabric of his banyan stretching over his broad chest and sculpted abs. Aarti’s eyes lingered on him — slow , hungry , deliberate. With every stretch he made , every drop of sweat that slid down his skin , something inside her stirred. There was a heat between them , unspoken but thick in the air — heavier than the summer breeze outside. Her tea was getting cold… But the room , and her thoughts , were just starting to heat up. ,