That Night on The Train Ch. 05

Epilogue: Pune, Maharashtra--three years and a few months later, 8:30 a. m.

"ANJU"... came Adi's loud irritated scream as she heard him rounding the corner from their bedroom, coming towards the kitchen. She was busy with the maid; the morning routine was in full flow. "Did you move my notepad on which I had all the notes for my meeting? It was on the side table next to the bed. How many times do I have to tell you, do not mess with things on the side table on my side of the bed?"

She turned slowly, spatula in hand and gave him a dazzling smile. Dressed in her cream satin robe spaghetti strapped knee length nightgown with her drape just causally thrown on, she watched the irritation on his face recede and get replaced with a look of longing desire, his mouth now gaping open, as he saw her. He already had his dress shoes on, his suit pants were on, white shirt on, buttons still open, showing his chest and a flat belly, as he was working on closing the buttons on his sleeve.

Anjali tilted her head to one side, licked her lips as he was watching her and walked towards him seductively, twirling the spatula in one hand, her other hand pulling on her Mangal Sutra with her thumb. She walked halfway to him, and then using the index finger on the same hand, which was tugging on the Mangal Sutra with the thumb, she beckoned him to come forward saying "Miya, zara yahan aana (come here Husband)". She saw him gulp and move towards her.

Once he was near, still pulling on her Mangal Sutra, she very slowly ran the spatula all the way from his neck, smack down the middle of chest, down his tummy, all the way to his crotch and gently tapped his cock. His butt jerked in reaction to the tap.

Moving closer, still moving the spatula around his crotch in a slow circle, she said in an overly seductive voice, "You left it on the coffee table where you were reviewing them when you had your morning tea". He was still to dazed to speak and just mumbled inaudibly. She kept tapping the spatula lightly on his crotch.

"You are lucky you gave me a great night yesterday, but if you scream at me again, I will be using this..." she waved the spatula now in front of his face and then lightly smacked his cheek with it, "... for doing something completely different", she whispered, ignoring the maid's scandalized looks on her seductive approach. His eyes were on hers, and she knew he was also remembering the night. "Sorry", he mumbled like a deflated tiger, his eyes full of pure romantic lust. She kissed him lightly on his cheek and took three steps back, oozing sensuality with every step.

From the corner of their eye, they both saw Anshul laughing and running back towards his room.

"By the way, your Ajanta, Elora Cave of Ecstasy"... she whispered, pointing the spatula towards her pussy, while hiding it from the maid's view, "is open for your pleasure" and she give him a seductive wink. He knew she meant that she did not have any panties on. "Do you still feel like going for your meeting?"... she said as she again started walking backwards, slowly opening her drape to show him her now semi erect nipples clearly poking out of her gown, that she did not have a bra on either. She looked at his crotch which showed a nice bulge now and again licked her lips.

He groaned. Muttering "God, you are such a tease", he turned, headed back to the living room, picked up his pad and, still shaking his head while adjusting the bulge in his crotch, went back to their bedroom to finish getting dressed. Anjali chuckled, tied the belt of her drape and looked right into the mirror that was on one of the cabinets, smiled and mouthed "Saali Randi (bloody whore)" to the reflection. Still smiling, a small sense of pride emanated in her brain as she thought that at 29, she still had the magic.

"Anshu...", she yelled loudly, "... you will be late for school and Baba (father) needs to drop you off before he goes to office".

As she continued working, she reminisced, that last night had indeed been great. Adi had worked his magic on her Peaks of Serenity, then got lost for a long time in her Bermuda triangle and the finished with a bang inside her Ajanta, Elora Cave of Ecstasy, truly giving her pristine, clean pleasurable bliss. Those were his nicknames for her lips, her two boobs with their luscious tits and her deep gorgeous navel, and of course her pussy.

Of course, once they were done and had drifted off to sleep, her dreams, as usual had dropped her straight back into that bathroom of the Rajdhani Express, where her other Husband had taken care of driving her insane on her wild erotic side. For her, such nights of double pleasure were divine and heavenly.

It was as if just that thought was a trigger. She left the kitchen, went to their bedroom, Adi, now just having walked out of the bedroom, all dressed now, the bulge in his crotch now back to normal, out towards the dining table where the maid and setup up the breakfast, and opened her cupboard. Anjali dug deep behind one of the shelves and pulled out a blood stained handkerchief.

She just looked at it for a few seconds, focused on the "SS" initial in the corner, unconsciously rubbing her fingers lovingly over the letters and almost automatically touched it to her head. Lowering it, she looked at it again for a couple of seconds and hid it back where it came from and closed the cupboard.

Their lives had changed dramatically in three years. Adi's promotion had brought them to Pune two years earlier, where they now lived in a spacious company flat on the eighteenth floor of a Viman Nagar high-rise near the airport. Both sets of parents had also returned to Pune after their fathers retired, giving Anshu four attentive grandparents and an extended family eager to spoil him.

She chuckled as she proudly thought that she could no longer say that Adi and her sex life was just the post marriage, post a child, "boring check the box" kind of sex. If anything, it had become more raucous, albeit still without any element of kinkiness. Adi had his own unique style of expressing his love and pleasuring her and Anjali knew she would be lying if she said she was not satisfied with their sex life.

More than three years had passed, yet her memory of her other Husband remained unchanged. At first, she had searched social media for "Sharma S.," but the name was too common and the results impossible to narrow down. Eventually, she stopped looking and accepted the promise they had made: if fate intended them to meet again, it would find a way.

Occasionally, she would have an argument with God and get mad at him for keeping her away from her Kutta, but ultimately, would end up thanking him for this other half of her life which was so perfect and with her head bowed, say that she will wait till He feels it is the right time for her to meet her Kutta.

She never even wondered if he was searching for her, because she was sure he would not. After replaying every word and expression from their encounter in her mind over and over again, she felt certain he would honor their agreement rather than force another meeting. He would wait, for fate to place them on the same path again.

The most interesting aspect was that even though she had now tasted the erotic side of her desires, never once had she been even remotely tempted to seek it intentionally with any other man. She knew she was a Randi, but somehow, she felt like that Randi in the whorehouse who was "dedicated" for that one specific client and no one else is allowed to touch her, irrespective if the client came every day, once a week or once a year. She was just HIS Randi!

So, no, when she stepped out of the bounds of being Mrs. Anjali Powar, she belonged just to Mr. Sharma and no one else, even though, as of now, the stepping out of bounds was only in her dreams.

That handkerchief was her only physical connection to her other Husband and she cherished it more than any other material treasure she possessed. It was ALWAYS with her. A trip to the mall, just out grocery shopping, on a vacation, a day trip to her parents or in-law's house, the handkerchief went too. She had never even washed it!

Just like the way she was connected to Adi and Anshu both through physical and mental touches, the handkerchief represented the physical touch which connected her to her other Husband. Mentally of course, she was always with him, just as she was sure, that she was always in his head.

She had learned to live in two parallel worlds: one with the husband whose Mangal Sutra hung around her neck, and another preserved in memory with the man whose blood had once marked her forehead with Sindoor. She kept those worlds carefully apart. Perhaps fate was waiting until they could cross without destroying everything she needed from both.

She wondered if Mr. Sharma was now married. He would be about 31 now. The reservation chart has told her that he was two years older than her. Then she thought, if he was, how would he have explained, what she guessed now would be big scar right on top of his heart. She chuckled. Marry anyone you want Mr. Sharma, but YOU ARE MY KUTTA. I have marked you for life. She smiled!

"ANSHU, BETA CHALO (Anshu, let's go son), boomed Adi's voice. She walked out of the bedroom, and he looked at her with a "Help Me" expression, pointing at his watch indicating that he was getting late as he chewed on the last few bites of his breakfast. Anjali saw that it looked like Anshu was done with his breakfast too. Adi's phone rang and she saw him head towards the living room couch to take the call.

Anjali turned left and started walking towards her son's room because she knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. As she headed there, her eyes were drawn towards the diya (lamp), the traditional kind with oil and a cotton wick, she had lit in their small but beautiful home temple that her mother-in-law had help setup. She lit a lamp there first thing every morning when she got up.

The flame flickered strangely despite the still air, dimming and brightening every other second. Anjali turned toward Anshu's room, then stopped and looked back. A sensation she could not explain moved through her, leaving her unable to pull her eyes from the lamp.

She stared at it flickering, her eyes seem to be glued to it this time, and a very strange and unexplained feeling emanated from within her that seemed to travel through her entire body.

She looked at it for two more seconds, turned and said "Anshu!!".

As she expected, he was in his balcony, all dressed and ready for school, doing what he just absolutely loved doing... plane spotting! Given the proximity of their complex to the airport and the fact they stayed on a high floor, his balcony had a great view of planes landing or taking off.

Still standing at the door, she could see him from the bedroom window that looked out to the balcony. He seemed mesmerized, even more than how she usually found him. Something had him absolutely glued!

"Come on, right now", she yelled but in a mild manner, not really yelling, but he just turned around, looked through the window at her and said "Aai, come see, someone is trying to signal us from the plane, come fast, see". He seemed super excited.

Anjali knew, it was probably the early morning glare from the sun of the plane windows, more likely, maybe the sun reflecting of someone's watch or something similar, but today, he just seemed super hyped up. His eyes reflected a strange surprise and happiness. Her heart melted at his innocence. Deciding to indulge him for two more minutes, she walked towards the balcony.

Still from the window, she could see an Indigo flight making its gradual decent, probably seven, maybe 10 minutes from landing. She could not understand what could be so special about that. He had seen that maybe a million times by now. But just as she reached the balcony door and looked up at the plane, she froze.

From one of the windows towards the front of the plane, there was indeed a light flickering. It was EXACTLY the same kind of flickering the Diya in her temple was exhibiting. It was almost as if, someone had lit a Diya, which was the identical twin of the one in her Mandir, on the plane.

Anshu was jumping and waving at it. The same very strange and unexplained feeling she had just experienced in front of her temple, emanated from within her again and rushed to travel through her entire body.

Anjali did not even realize that she was right next to her son, her left-hand waving at the plane with her, but her right hand had subconsciously started rubbing the spot where she had the deep bruises from her Night on the Train.

IndiGo Flight from Delhi to Pune

Up above in the sky, the flight attendants of the Delhi-Pune Indigo flight were walking up and down the aisle, preparing the plane for landing. The PA system was blaring the usual pre-arrival instructions.

The passenger in 6F, who, thanks to this being a relatively empty flight, had the entire row to himself had papers spread on the seat next to him. He was slowly collecting them to put them back in his bag.

Even though it had just been a two-hour flight, somehow, each of the five maybe six beautiful flight attendants had found reasons to approach him, under the pretext of offering water or a snack. His male ego chuckled... looks like at 31, he still seemed desirable.

He sighed, as once more this young flight attendant approached him under the pretext of checking his seat belt. He casually took his phone lying upside down on the seat next to him and turned it over, the screen saver showing a side profile face portrait image of a beautiful girl with long hair, smiling, part of her Mangal Sutra visible in the side profile.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the flight attendant seeing the picture, her smile slightly fading and she moved on. He was sure, she would share this insight with her colleagues.

He looked out of the window as sunlight flashed rhythmically from his watch. Pune's high-rises were coming into view below. In the distance, a small child waved excitedly from a balcony; beside him, a woman raised one hand toward the aircraft while the other rested at her side.

Siddarth "Sid" Sharma closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat.

His right hand moved over his shirt, tracing the eight stitches of the scar above his heart.

The image that rose in his mind made him smile.

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Authors Note: I hope my readers enjoyed this first attempt of mine at writing a story. As always, all feedback - good, bad or ugly is welcome and I am actually requesting the feedback so that I can become better at my writing.

On a final note, I do have a floating idea to take Anjali and Sid's story forward. It is just an idea so far, but I would love for the readers to let me know if I should pursue it further.

Thanks a million again!