Hi, I am Ayaan (name changed). Let me tell you about my college experience. I was a freshman at the college, a work-in-progress student, with a growth spurt. I was 5’8, but now I am 5’11, with fair skin, medium-length hair, brown eyes that caught many admiring glances, a diamond-shaped face, a decent jawline, and a physique honed at the gym. I was a social butterfly, with a ton of friends. Every dorm had students who guided their respective houses, and I was lucky enough to be one of them in my college’s ruby house.
One day, a new head librarian joined our college. We already had two assistant teachers, but this new librarian was something else. She was absolutely stunning, turning heads wherever she went. Her beauty was simply mesmerizing, and everyone couldn’t help but steal glances whenever she walked by. She was in a league of her own, like a goddess among mortals.
Her name was Shwetha (not her real name), and she was 33 years old, standing at 5’6″ with fair skin. Her gorgeous brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, while her silky smooth, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders, carrying with it the enchanting scent of lavender. Her lips, full and irresistibly alluring, held a hint of seduction that could tempt anyone to lean in for a kiss.
Shwetha preferred sarees made of luxurious fabrics like satin or cotton. She draped them with an elegance and professionalism that commanded respect and admiration. Today, she wore a saree that sparkled under the sun, its vibrant colors catching the eye of every passerby. Her makeup was minimal, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. She adorned herself with jhumka earrings and a small circular nose ring, both of which complemented her outfit and added a touch of subtle elegance to her appearance. Her designer blouses, tailored to fit her perfectly, covered her entire back, blending seamlessly with her sarees and accentuating her hourglass figure.
As Shwetha walked towards the library, the crowd parted to make way for her, their eyes fixed on her every move. She carried herself with such grace and poise that she left a lasting impression on everyone who laid eyes on her. The college library had never seen such a captivating figure, and it was clear that Shwetha’s presence would bring a new energy to the otherwise quiet and serene space.
I was honored to be chosen as the captain of our college’s sports team. My friend, Riya, was selected as the vice-captain, a role she filled with diligence and enthusiasm. Our responsibilities were vast, encompassing selection processes, training schedules, and preparations for various sports and cultural events. We held numerous meetings, sometimes even during class hours, to discuss these aspects in detail. Our shared passion for these tasks brought us closer, fostering a strong working relationship.
Shwetha, another student, was assigned to assist the junior team, with me as the captain and Riya as the vice-captain. Our roles were distinct yet interconnected. I and Shwetha spent a significant amount of time in the library, pouring over plans and strategies for our team. Meanwhile, Riya and the other teacher in charge were often in the staffroom, managing administrative tasks and coordinating with other teams. The process was intricate and time-consuming, but our collective dedication ensured steady progress.
Initially, Shwetha seemed reserved, perhaps due to the nature of our first interactions being primarily about work. However, as time passed, she began to open up, and we started to connect on a deeper level. Our conversations expanded beyond team strategies, delving into personal interests and experiences. This gradual shift helped us grow closer, both mentally and emotionally. I found myself frequently visiting the library, not just for work, but also to spend time with her and engage in our thoughtful discussions.
Our bond strengthened further when I managed to get Shwetha’s number. We started chatting regularly, our conversations flowing effortlessly. These exchanges allowed us to understand each other better, solidifying the foundation of our friendship. Little did we know then, these conversations would pave the way for something more meaningful to blossom between us. But that, as they say, is a story for another time.
One day, her husband came to the college. I had never seen him before, and his presence seemed to be a rare occurrence. I saw him talking to her, their interaction piquing my curiosity. After they finished their conversation, I approached her and asked, “Was that your husband?” She hesitated before confirming, “Yes.” I shared my initial impression, “He seems to be a very kind guy,” to which she replied after a brief pause, “Yes.” This exchange was brief but left me with a positive impression of her husband.
All the teachers in the college adored him, not just for his support towards his wife, but also for his overall demeanor and contributions. He came again the whole week and the next week also till Tuesday, making his presence a regular occurrence. However, whenever I tried to talk about him, she seemed very uncomfortable and would swiftly change the subject. This consistent reaction from her started to raise doubts in my mind. Why she doesn’t want to talk about him? What could be the reason? I began to speculate, but I had no concrete evidence to support any theories.
So, on Tuesday, during our lunch break conversation, I decided to intentionally bring up the topic of her husband again. As expected, she attempted to shift the subject, but I was resolute in my desire to understand her reluctance. I made it clear that I was not going to move on to another topic until she shared something about him. This was a deliberate attempt to encourage her to open up, hoping that she would finally reveal the reasons behind her discomfort.
Her: (getting uncomfortable, shifting in her seat) “Uh, so… have you seen the new movie that just came out?”
Me: “You must be so lucky to have such a gentleman as your life partner. He is so kind to everyone and good-looking. Everyone adores him so much. I don’t think he has ever even harmed an ant. He must have kept you like a princess…”
I continued talking about her husband.
Her: (abruptly stands up, anger in her voice) “Stop it!”
Me: (also stood up, determined) “No, I won’t… Why should I? From the day your husband came to college, I have always noticed you being very dull and sad. This is not the real you, and I know that, and I know you also do. Stop pretending by putting a fake smile on your face. Hiding your emotions and not telling anyone anything will only make the scenario worse. Sharing your emotions with someone will make you feel much lighter. Please tell me. I’m here for you.” (I gestured for her to sit down, then followed suit)
Her: (tears streaming down her face) “Some people seem to act good in public, but in reality, they are not. My husband is one among them.”
Me: “I don’t get it. He looks like a good guy.”
Her: “It’s because you don’t know the real him. He is a very different person inside. Everyone thinks he has no bad habits and is a loving and caring husband. But only I know that he smokes, drinks, and also is an addict.”
Me: “Then what about your marriage? How did you make such a big mistake?”
Her: “I got married at 25, largely due to my parents’ influence, during my last year of college. Shortly after the wedding, I moved to Delhi with my husband, who was employed as a bank manager there. Just two days into our new life, I noticed a significant shift in his demeanor. He insisted that I focus solely on household duties instead of pursuing a job, which caught me off guard since he had previously encouraged me to work after we got married. When I confronted him about this contradiction, he simply shrugged it off, saying he felt differently now than he did before.”
NOTE: Sorry guys, I had to cut the most important part of the story as it violated the publishing rules… If anyone wants to know what happened, you can comment below.
After hearing the reality…
Me: “What about your family? Why don’t you tell them about this?”
Her: “I told my in-laws about this. They told me it must have been my fault and that their son would never do something like this without somebody’s influence.” (She didn’t tell about the incident which took place with his friends.)
Her: “I have also told about it to my family, but they told me that it’s my mistake that he’s like this. They told me they were only worried about their status and not about my life.”
She then also told me that she had cut all her connections with both his and her family.
Me: (stood up and put my hand on her shoulder) “Hey, don’t cry. You are a strong and bold woman. This doesn’t suit you. And I know who you are, a wonderful person. The people who see you as a bad person are those people who are not as strong as you are. They are just jealous of you for how strong you are. For who you are.”
She then just stood up and hugged me for like 5 seconds. Then she stopped hugging and stepped back.
Her: “I’m sorry”
Me: “Hey, its ok. I understand. Why don’t you file a case against him in court?”
Her: “There is no use; I had done it once, but…”
Me: “But what?”
Her: “He influenced and threatened many people using goons, including my witness, to win the case.”
*****
Long story short, we filed a case against Shwetha’s ex-husband and also won it, which also helped her get a divorce from him.
As I look back on that moment, I realize the profound impact it had on Shwetha’s life. I had taken a stand against someone who was causing her harm, and though I didn’t directly harm them, my actions led to his departure from her life. The result was a sense of liberation and newfound happiness for Shwetha, which I had never seen before. It was as if her heart had been freed from the shackles of a toxic relationship.
This experience has taught me the value of taking a compassionate yet firm stance in situations where people are being mistreated. By doing so, we can create positive ripples in others’ lives, leading to greater joy and well-being. This incident reminds me that even small actions can have far-reaching consequences.
Then everything went back to normal. We started talking to each other in the library as always. Then I got promoted to the second year.
*****
THE COLLEGE FESTIVAL
The college festival was on two separate days. During the festival programme on the 1st day, me and all the other students (my buddies) of the second year and first year were very busy doing different things. We had our programmes only on the 2nd day but were assigned different duties on the 1st day. I had finished my duty even before the programme started. I looked for Shwetha when the programme had just started; she was nowhere to be seen, even in the library. After some time after the programme had started, I got an unexpected call on my phone from her. I picked it up and asked where she was.
She replied, “I’m in the library.”
Shwetha: “Can you come here? I need to talk to you about something important.”
To which I said, “Ok.” Then she hung up.
Note: The library was a bit far from the hall where the programmes were taking place.
As I took my first step into the library, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind me, sealing me off from the world outside. The room was bathed in darkness, the only light filtering in from the faint moonlight outside, casting long, dancing shadows on the worn-out floorboards. I took a deep breath, and the faintest hint of old parchment and aged leather filled my nostrils, a scent that always felt comforting and familiar.
The silence was so profound that I could hear my own heart pounding in my chest. But as I ventured further into the room, another sound began to grow louder with each step I took. It was a faint, rhythmic sound, a soft inhale and exhale of breath. It seemed to echo through the vast, empty space, growing louder and more insistent with every step I took towards the grand wooden desk at the far end of the room.
The entire space felt alive, pulsating with an energy that was almost palpable. Every creak of the floorboards under my feet, every rustle of the old pages in the books nearby, seemed to contribute to this symphony of anticipation. The silence was no longer just the absence of sound, but a living, breathing entity, waiting, and expectant.
Just as I was beginning to think that I might be alone in this eerie dance of sound and silence, a figure emerged from the shadows. She was seated at the desk, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of an old oil lamp. The light danced on her face, casting her features in a soft, golden light, while leaving the rest of the room shrouded in darkness.
There she was, the woman I had been searching for, sitting at the very desk where we used to spend countless hours, pouring our hearts out to each other. Her presence seemed to charge the very air around us, making it crackle and vibrate with tension. It was as if every particle in the room was alive, buzzing with an energy that was both electric and exhilarating.
She looked absolutely breathtaking, a vision of elegance and grace. She was draped in a saree, a rich, deep red that seemed to shimmer and glow under the soft light. The fabric flowed like water over her curves, each fold and drape accentuating her figure in a way that was both subtle and seductive.
But what really caught my attention, what made my heart skip a beat and my breath catch in my throat, was the blouse she was wearing. It was backless, a daring choice that left her exquisite shoulders and the nape of her neck tantalizingly exposed. The soft, silky fabric of the blouse seemed to contrast beautifully with the rich texture of the saree, drawing my eyes to the smooth, unblemished skin it left bare. It was a sight to behold, a testament to her courage and her confidence, a silent statement that she was not one to be confined by societal norms or expectations.
Me: “I looked for you everywhere, even here, but couldn’t find you.”
Her: “I just came here a little ago.”
Me: “Oh, okay. You told me you wanted to talk about something important. What’s it?”
Her: “The thing is that I was just thinking about you and me. How we were before? Two completely different personalities. I was the person who was scared, confused, and who had fallen into a world full of darkness.”
Me: “There’s no need for that… please don’t see it like that. I may have offered a bit of support, but it was your courage that led you to take action against your ex-husband.”
Her: “Although knowing he was an influential guy, if it wasn’t for you, things wouldn’t have been the same.”
I took her hand gently, shifting the conversation to lighten the mood. I noticed her spirits were low, and I wanted to change that. So, I began to sing, hoping to lift her heart. Once the last note faded, we locked eyes for a brief moment, and then, drawn by an unspoken connection, we leaned in closer to each other. As our lips inched closer, the warmth of her breath danced across my skin, igniting a fire within me.
When our lips finally came together, it was an electric moment, my first genuine kiss, and it was nothing short of extraordinary. Her lips, a perfect blend of softness and allure, drew me in. We lost ourselves in the moment, our tongues intertwining as we explored each other’s mouths. I found myself gently sucking her upper lip, while she playfully teased my lower one, each movement igniting a deeper desire within us both.
As we continued to kiss with growing fervor, she reached up and pulled at the collar of my shirt, a clear indication that she yearned for more. In response, I placed my hands on her waist and drew her closer, feeling her breasts press against my chest. We began to rub against each other, the heat between us intensifying.
I slowly started to let my hands wander, sliding them down her body until they reached her hips. I then proceeded to grasp her ass, gently squeezing her buttocks. Her response was immediate and soft, a moan escaping her lips…..mmm ah, a sound that only served to fuel the passion burning between us.
Then, a sudden realization struck me. The main entrance to the library, one of three doors, but the only one ever used, was left ajar. I gently broke our kiss, my mind now focused on securing our privacy. I made my way towards the door, my footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise silent library.
Before locking the door, I peered outside to ensure we were alone. I scanned the area, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the nearby hallway. Satisfied that no one was nearby, I quietly closed the door and turned the lock. The soft click echoed through the room, sealing us in our private world.
With the door secured, I turned back to her. Our eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to slow. We embraced, our bodies pressing together as if drawn by an invisible force. Our lips found each other again, this time with an urgency that spoke of a shared hunger.
I leaned in, my lips brushing against her soft cheeks. I traced a path downwards, my kisses leaving a trail of warmth on her smooth skin. I reached her neck, my lips parting slightly as I began to lavish her with soft, tantalizing licks. Each touch seemed to ignite a response in her, her moans growing deeper, more passionate with every passing second.
As I continued to explore her neck, my hands began their own journey. One hand found its way to her waist, gentle yet firm in its caress. Her skin was smooth, her waist delicate and inviting. My other hand began to roam, tracing the curves of her body, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. It found its way to her chest, pressing against the fabric of her saree, feeling the fullness of her breasts.
Her moans were a symphony, each one a note that played on my desire. They spurred me on, my touch growing bolder, my kisses more intense. I could feel her body responding, her breathing growing ragged, her heart pounding in sync with mine.
I reached up, my fingers finding the pin that secured her pallu to her blouse. With a gentle tug, I unfastened it, letting the fabric fall away. The red blouse beneath was now revealed, a stark contrast against her fair skin. I took a moment to appreciate the sight, my heart pounding in anticipation.
With a soft touch, I turned her to face me. Her eyes met mine, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire. I began to kiss her again, my lips trailing down her neck, my hands caressing her waist. I savored the moment, the feel of her body against mine, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in my ears.
As I continued to kiss her, my fingers began to work on the buttons of her blouse. One by one, they came undone, revealing more of her skin, more of her curves. Each button was a step closer, each one a promise of what was to come. And as the last button slipped free, I knew that this was just the beginning.
She was wearing a rose-red bra that only covered the lower portion of her boobs, leaving the upper part pressed together showcasing her alluring cleavage, creating a breathtaking sight. I touched her soft boobs, rubbing my hands and feeling her boobs which made her breath faster. I gently squeezed her breasts, eliciting a soft moan from her lips, and then I leaned in to kiss and tease them with my tongue.
In the soft glow of the room, our bodies found their way to each other, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. Her fingers, delicate and gentle, wove themselves into my hair, holding me close as I pressed my lips to her neck. I took my time, savoring every moment, every sigh that escaped her lips. Our eyes met, and the world outside our embrace seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us and the electricity that crackled between us.
Our lips met in a passionate kiss, a dance of desire that set our hearts racing. With a playful smile, she reached behind her, unhooking her bra with a teasing flick of her wrist. The garment fell away, revealing her bare skin, and I felt a surge of excitement. I took over, sliding the bra off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor, our passion growing with each second.
Before me stood a sight I had only imagined. Her breasts, full and round, were a sight to behold. I reached out, my hands trembling slightly as I cupped their warm weight. They filled my hands perfectly, spilling over my fingers. Her nipples, like rosy buds, hardened under my touch, responding to my caress. She gasped, her body arching into mine, a silent plea for more.
I pinned her supple body against the wall, my mouth exploring the soft skin of her neck and throat. I lavished her breasts with kisses, my tongue swirling around her nipples until they stood erect. She writhed against me, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her lips, swollen from our kisses, parted in a soft whimper, a sound that drove me wild.
I lowered myself to my knees, my eyes never leaving hers. I worshipped her body, my lips trailing down her smooth belly. I inhaled deeply, her scent – a heady mix of her feminine musk and the salt of her sweat-slicked skin – filling my senses. My tongue swirled around her navel, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer, as I prepared to explore the most intimate part of her.
With a primal hunger, I removed the last remnants of her sari, exposing the dark red petticoat underneath. The sight fueled my lust even further, and I descended upon her with a fervour bordering on madness. My lips claimed hers in a searing kiss, our tongues entwining in a sensual dance.
To be continued…