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Dhimahi’s POV-
It was a bright sunny morning. Golden rays slipped in through the curtains, lighting up our small room with a calm warmth. Trayambak lay sleeping, his head resting heavily on my chest. I softly ran my fingers through his thick hair, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.
“Trayambak, uthiye...” [Trayambak, wake up…] I whispered.
“Sone do thoda sa…” [Let me sleep a little more…] he whined, burying his face deeper in my breasts.
“Aap soiye, lekin mere upar se hatiye... mujhe breakfast banane jaana hai.” [You can sleep, but please get off me… I have to go make breakfast.]
Instead of listening, he only snuggled closer, wrapping his arms tighter around me like a child refusing to let go.
“Nahi… kuch der yahi raho.” [No… just stay like this for a while.] His voice was soft, needy. Like a tantrum.
“Trayambak, late ho jayega…” [Trayambak, you'll get late…] I tried to reason, but he didn’t budge.
He shifted suddenly, kissing my nipple, then softly biting it. A sharp gasp escaped my lips—not out of pleasure, but pain. My breasts became oddly sensitive.
“Ahh… Trayambak, dheere…” [Ahh… Trayambak, gently…]
His brows furrowed, and he looked up, almost annoyed.
“Dheere kyun? Meri biwi ho tum… mere boobs pe main kuch bhi karu.” [Why gently? You're my wife… I can do anything to your boobs.]
He snuggled deeper into me, holding me so tightly I could barely move. I stayed still. He stayed like that for ten long minutes, unmoving. Eventually, his grip loosened and I realised—he had fallen asleep again.
I carefully slid out from under his arms, tiptoed to the washroom, and did my morning routine. Then I went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
As I cracked open an egg, the raw smell hit me harder than usual. I always hated the smell of eggs—who doesn’t?—but today it felt… overwhelming. My stomach churned. I covered my mouth, holding back the sudden urge to vomit.
Still, I somehow managed to finish making breakfast. With the tray in hand, I went to wake Trayambak up.
Usually, he wakes up on his own. But yesterday, he had returned late… and kept me awake till 4 a.m., making love to me like a man possessed. He must be exhausted.
But when I entered the room, he wasn’t on the bed.
My eyes fell on the balcony. He stood there, his back facing me, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, but tense.
I didn’t call out—he hates being disturbed on phone calls. So, I quietly began tidying the bed, my mind still foggy with questions from the morning.
And then I heard it.
“Trinetra ko kuch nahi hona chahiye…” [Nothing should happen to Trinetra…]
His voice was panic-stricken.
I froze.
‘Trinetra?’ The name echoed in my mind like a warning bell. The girl in that old photograph. Trayambak never talked about her. Never even mentioned the name.
I know all of Trayambak’s friends. Every one of them. Family, colleagues, school mates.
But Trinetra? I’ve never heard of her. Never seen her.
Why does her name sound so important to him?
Who is she?
And why does my husband care so much?
YOU ARE READING
The Oculesics- Ek Kahaani Junoon Ki
Fantasy"Kapde utar," he said coldly. ["Strip"] Dhimahi's hands shook as she reached for her dupatta. There was no point resisting. She knew it. But she was too slow. Trayambak stormed towards her, ripped her kurti, and forced her down to her knees. "Muh kh...
