Avani had the habit of locking her room at night, even though Niharika bhabhi often teased her for it. "Padayi ka bahana hai, pata nahi kya karti rehti hai din bhar phone pe," bhabhi would say with a half-smile. Avani only laughed it off.

Her final year Bsc notes were open on the desk, but the screen of her phone glowed brighter than any textbook. It always started with the excuse of a break. Five minutes of scrolling before she got back to chemistry. But those breaks never ended with notes. They ended with her hand buried between her thighs, pillow pressed tight to her mouth, eyes glued to videos she couldn't stop watching.

The same kind of videos, every night. Men with beards, hairy chests, broad hands, older men, the kind who looked like they belonged to another generation. Not the useless boys in her class who acted like kids even at twenty-two. In those videos, the men didn't beg or text twenty times a day. They held girls down, made them moan till their voices broke.

She wanted that. Craved it.

Her ex-boyfriend had ruined boys for her. Two years wasted, his jealousy, his childish anger, his quick finishes. The one thing he never gave her was satisfaction. The kind of deep, aching pleasure she saw every night on her phone. By the end of that relationship she knew one thing clearly that she didn't want boys anymore. She wanted men.

Outside, Jaipur slept quiet. In her brother Ninad's room, she could hear the faint sound of his baby crying and bhabhi humming a lullaby. Avani shut the sound out, turned her phone volume low, and clicked the next video in her "saved" list.

This one was rough, an older man in his thirties with a girl barely out of college. She watched his hairy arms pin her wrists, the weight of him pressing her down, the way she cried out when he pushed deep. Avani's own breath quickened, her legs curling in. Her palm circled faster between her thighs, lips parting around a muffled gasp.

It was always the same fantasy, every night. Experienced men, shameless, filthy. She came to them in her head again and again.

And lately, that face had started to belong to someone real. Someone she actually knew.

Someone who sat in their living room every other week, laughing with Ninad, sipping whisky, telling stories about his hotel and lodge business. Someone whose kurta sleeves would ride up to his elbows, showing those thick, veined forearms, dusted with hair. Someone she had seen since her teenage years but only recently began to look at differently.

Varun.

The thought of him sent a fresh ache rushing between her legs. Married, older, her brother's closest friend. Completely off-limits.

But that never stopped her hand from slipping lower in the dark, whispering his name into the pillow when no one could hear.

The next evening, the familiar sound of Varun's bike stopped outside the gate. Avani didn't even need to look, she knew the rhythm of that engine by now.

Ninad's voice boomed from the hall. "Arre, aa gaya tu! Chal, andar aa."

Avani quickly straightened her dupatta before stepping out of her room. She told herself it was just habit, but she knew why her heart suddenly beat faster.

Varun was already inside, dropping his keys on the table. Faded jeans, a casual short kurta, sleeves rolled up. A day's stubble lined his jaw, and when he laughed at something Ninad said, Avani's stomach tightened.

Niharika came from the kitchen carrying glasses. "Varun bhaiya, thoda wait kijiye, chai laati hoon."

Varun smiled, taking the glass from her. "Chai ke bina toh tum log mujhe ghar se nikalte hi nahi."

Avani lingered at the doorway, pretending to scroll her phone. Varun's eyes flicked to her for a second, and he nodded casually. "Padayi kaisi chal rahi hai, Avani?"

Her throat went dry. She forced a smile. "Thik hai... final year hai na, toh assignments khatam hi nahi hote."

"Degree le lo jaldi," he said, settling back on the sofa. "Ninad ke business mein kaam shuru kara dega tujhe."

Ninad laughed. "Isko padhai hi pasand hai. Kaam mein interest hi nahi."

"Hmm," Varun hummed, taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Avani's eyes stayed on it longer than they should have.

Niharika glanced at her. "Avani, chai laane mein madad kar de."

"Ha... abhi aayi," she said quickly, slipping back into the kitchen.

Inside, she leaned against the counter, trying to catch her breath. Just a few harmless words from him, and she was already wet. She hated how shameless her body was around him. But when she carried out the tray of pakoras, she couldn't resist brushing her fingers against his when she passed him the plate.

He didn't react, just kept talking to Ninad about the restaurant. But Avani's heart was racing. That little touch stayed buzzing in her skin long after she pulled her hand away.

Later, when everyone was distracted, she stole a glance at him again. The way he sat, his legs spread, one arm thrown over the back of the sofa, chest hair peeking from his half-open kurta, it was exactly the kind of man her nights were filled with.

And in her head, she was already on her knees in front of him, tasting the sweat on his skin.

That night, long after dinner was over and the house grew quiet, Avani shut her door and leaned back against it. Her heart was still beating faster than it should have. She replayed every second of the evening, the brush of his fingers against hers, the curve of his throat when he swallowed, the casual weight of his body sprawled on the sofa.

She changed into her nightshirt, tossed her dupatta aside, and sat cross-legged on the bed. The ceiling fan whirred, but her skin still felt flushed. She unlocked her phone out of habit, then stopped. She didn't need videos tonight. She already had enough to keep her awake.

Lying back, she slid a hand down her stomach. Her breath shivered out of her chest as her palm pressed lower, over the damp heat waiting for her. She didn't even have to close her eyes. Varun's face was there already.

She imagined herself back in the hall and handing him the plate, his fingers catching hers, not letting go. His thumb stroking her knuckles slow and deliberate while Ninad kept talking, never noticing. She imagined him leaning closer, that trimmed beard scraping her cheek, his voice rough in her ear. "Chup. Bas chup."

Her hips lifted as her fingers moved faster. She spread her knees wide, circling herself harder, the bed creaking beneath her. Her mouth opened against the pillow, silent gasps spilling into the cotton.

Every detail returned sharper. His hairy forearms. His chest peeking through the half-open kurta. The lazy authority in his posture, as if he owned the whole room without trying. She pictured those same arms pinning her down, the rough fabric of his kurta scratching her skin while he pushed into her.

Her body trembled. The sound of the fan, the faint cry of Ninad's baby in the other room, all of it blurred until there was nothing except the heat in her belly and the man in her head.

Her climax came sudden and hard, her thighs clamping around her hand as a broken whisper escaped her lips. "Varun...ahhhh"

She stayed like that for a while, chest heaving, fingers still sticky, the aftershocks rolling through her. When the wave finally eased, she pulled the sheet over herself and stared at the ceiling, heart still racing.

Tonight, she hadn't needed porn. Tonight, she had him. 

Avani lay still, the fan humming above, her chest rising and falling like she'd just run a mile. Her hand slipped out from under the sheet, damp against her thigh. She turned to her side, hugging the pillow close, her breath still uneven.

Sleep wouldn't come. Not yet.

Every time she closed her eyes, the evening replayed itself in sharper colors. The way his jeans stretched at his thighs when he sat back. The little patch of chest hair that peeked through when his kurta shifted. The glint of his wedding ring when he lifted the glass. She hated that the ring made her wetter. Married. Untouchable. And yet, in her head, it belonged to her.

She bit her lip and pressed her thighs together again, that ache still alive. It was never enough. Her fingers gave her release, but it was nothing compared to what she imagined Varun could do. She thought of him catching her in the kitchen, the door half-closed, his body pinning hers against the counter while his hand pushed between her legs. She thought of his voice as low, unhurried, a command she wouldn't dare disobey.

She turned onto her stomach, the pillow under her hips, her face buried deep into the other one to muffle the sound. Her body rocked slowly against the bed, small whimpers rising in her throat. She pictured him coming into her room like this, finding her half-asleep, half-naked, tugging her salwar down with those rough hands. No words. Just his weight and his breath hot against her neck.

Another shiver rolled through her. She clutched the sheet tighter, her toes curling.

It scared her sometimes that how strong this craving had become. How shameless her mind was. But instead of pulling back, she gave in every night, deeper and filthier than the last. She didn't even try to resist anymore.

When the tension finally eased from her body, she rolled onto her back again, sweaty hair sticking to her forehead. A naughty smile on her face. The room smelled faintly of herself, of heat and salt. She tugged the sheet up, wiped her fingers quickly, and let the darkness settle.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her was simple and raw:

What if one day, it won't just be my hand and what if one day, it will be him.

And with that, Avani drifted into restless dreams, her body still aching for the man she couldn't have.