The rain outside hadn't stopped yet. Droplets kept slamming against the windowpane, tapping out a relentless *tip-tap*. On the corner of the sofa, the half-conscious body stirred slightly. The whisky was slowly seeping into his bloodstream, thickening, but suddenly—
*Ding-dong…*
The doorbell.
Once… twice… then silence.
Anurag slowly opened his eyes. Who would come at this hour? Ignoring such a downpour? For a moment he thought it must be Anirban. But Anirban wasn't supposed to arrive this early.
Anurag Sir's gaze was hazy, blurred. Exhaustion clouded his eyes, a heavy ache pressed against his temples. His body trembled—half-naked, a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, the cloudy residue of whisky still clinging to his hand. He rose with great effort, dragging his body forward, steadying himself against the wall until he reached the door and slid the bolt open.
The moment the door swung wide, Anurag Sir's soul seemed to freeze.
There stood Sneha.
Silent, shivering in the cold.
She wore a blue sweater that had turned completely sodden, clinging to every curve and line of her body. Water had pooled at her chest, creating an uncanny, mesmerizing shape—impossible to look away from. Beneath the sweater, the thin fabric of her churidar had also soaked through, revealing the contours of her figure with startling clarity, yet in such an unconscious, natural way that she seemed entirely unaware of the effect she was having on a weary, broken man.
Her wet hair cascaded over her shoulders; strands stuck to the side of her cheek. A droplet gathered on her forehead, slid slowly down, touched her lips, then traced a path along her throat. Her eyes—helpless, drenched, utterly private. In that gaze was hesitation, and also a quiet longing—for shelter, for safety.
Sir couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
His body went rigid; a sudden, fierce pull gripped his chest. The whisky was now working sharply in his brain.
His gaze locked on her chest.
Then, abruptly, he forced it away—jerkily, restlessly.
But inside his mind, something screamed.
Anurag Sir: "You? In this rain?"
His throat had gone dry, yet he tried to keep his voice detached.
On the other side, Sneha was stunned to see her teacher standing bare-chested and intoxicated in this freezing, rainy evening—but what shocked her more were the wounds and scars visible on his body.
In a soft voice, Sneha said,
"Sir, you asked me to come today. There was something about studies."
Suddenly it came back to Anurag Sir: twelve or thirteen days earlier he had told Sneha to come on this very date. He had promised to explain some exam topics to her before school reopened.
But over the last couple of days, amid so much turmoil, the memory had completely slipped from his mind. And never—not even in his wildest dreams—had he imagined that Sneha would actually come to his house in the middle of such a stormy downpour.
Worried, Sir asked,
"So… so who brought you here?"
Sneha: "Sir, I came alone."
Sir felt his heart might stop.
Anurag Sir: "You came alone?"
Sneha nodded. "Mm-hmm."
Sir, growing more anxious, asked,
"So… so… where are your uncle and aunt?"
Sneha hesitated a little before replying,
"No one's home. They've gone out visiting."
Anurag Sir grew even more concerned.
"And… do they know that… you've come to my house in this storm this afternoon?"
Sneha shook her head. "No."
Sir's mind was shutting down. Outside the rain was pouring relentlessly! He couldn't possibly send her back in this weather. Yet looking at Sneha, his eyes had already turned into a battlefield.
A storm raged inside his head.
"How the water is sliding down her throat… those breasts, the way they're pushing against the fabric—are they deliberately standing so high like that??"
He shut his eyes for a moment.
The thoughts rising in the haze of intoxication became even more vivid, even more intense.
"No, no… she's my student… still so young, so innocent… I can't even think such things…"
Yet his gaze drifted again to the hollow of her throat, where a droplet had collected and was slowly rolling down the curve toward the valley of her chest…
He clenched his teeth silently, as though disciplining his own body.
"Come inside,"
he finally said, voice slightly hoarse, eyes averted.
Sneha stepped quietly into the house. As he closed the door behind her, Anurag mentally scolded himself—
"Lower your eyes… control your gaze, Anurag… you cannot make any mistake in this state… this feeling, this hunger… it's nothing but the trap of loneliness…!"
Still, the sound of her wet footsteps, the warm-moist fragrance rising from her body—everything combined to make the air in the room suddenly heavy.
Water dripped from Sneha's clothes onto the carpet; droplets slid from her hair and fell to the floor.
Anurag turned his eyes away.
He turned his back to her, as if one more glance would shatter everything inside him.
He knew something enormous was stirring within him—an intense desire…
And he could not afford to surrender to this weakness.
He clenched his fists tightly. Inside his chest, a fire burned fiercely, yet outside his face remained cold.
In a slightly trembling voice he asked—
"Are you feeling cold?"
Sneha answered in a shivering voice,
"Yes, Sir."
Anurag Sir brought a towel.
But when he handed it to her, he made sure not to touch her hand. He didn't even look into her eyes. He was desperately trying to hold himself together.
Anurag Sir (in a cold tone):
"Dry yourself. You'll catch a cold."
Seeing Sir in this state filled Sneha with pain.
Sneha (worried):
"Sir, aren't you feeling cold? Are you okay? Why are there so many marks on your body?"
Anurag Sir:
"Are you going to change your clothes?"
The blunt, straightforward question startled Sneha.
Looking at her, Sir continued,
"You're completely drenched! I didn't know you were such a foolish girl! Coming here soaked in this kind of rain! And on top of that, your uncle and aunt aren't even home. Why did you come to me?"
Sneha became nervous.
Sneha: "Sorry, Sir."
Anurag Sir took her hand and pulled her gently toward the inner room. Sneha felt a flicker of fear.
Once inside, Sir released her hand.
From the wardrobe he took out a shirt, a pair of trousers, and a coat—brand new—and handed them to her, saying,
"These are completely new. Put them on. You'll stay here until Anirban returns… when he comes, he'll drop you home."
There was a certain harshness in his voice.
But deep inside…
a broken man stood, extinguishing the fire raging within him—
solely for the safety of one innocent girl.
Sir left the room.
---
As soon as the door closed behind him, the sound of Sir's footsteps faded away. Sneha stood in silence.
The world around her seemed to have suddenly paused—only her breathing and the soft *tip-tap* of water dripping onto the carpet remained.
With slightly trembling hands she picked up the towel. Slowly she wiped her hair, her neck, shook the water from her arms.
Her eyes went toward the door through which Sir had left. A quiet, suppressed sigh escaped her.
Her gaze fell on the mirror—she startled at her own reflection.
Her hair clung messily to her face. She peeled off the soaked sweater.
The thin churidar clung to her entire body so tightly that it felt like there was no cover at all. As though she were already naked.
Slowly she removed each piece of clothing. As she did, her eyes kept falling on the droplets still clinging to her skin, and her mind kept returning to Sir's gaze—the one he had quickly averted, yet which had lingered… right at her chest.
Sneha's breath caught in her throat.
That moment replayed again and again.
She put on the new clothes—a crisp white shirt, still folded fresh; trousers; and over it all, the coat. But the moment she slipped them on, a strange wish rose inside her—
"If only Sir had given me one of his old shirts… one he himself had worn… then maybe his scent would have lingered… that warm, masculine fragrance wrapping around me."
She felt ashamed of her own thought.
She knew it was wrong, improper—even embarrassing to admit to herself—yet the emotion refused to subside. She couldn't understand why this pull toward Sir felt so strange, so deep.
"No… what am I even thinking! I came here to study… but…"
She looked into the mirror again.
The shirt was quite large; it slipped a little off her shoulders. Yet the instant it touched her skin, she felt as though someone was holding her close.
While dressing, she glanced once toward the outer room. She knew he was sitting there—lonely, exhausted, wounded.
"Why does it feel like whenever I look into his eyes, he's in so much pain… so terribly alone."
Then suddenly she remembered—the marks on his body… and that smell—a mixture of whisky and sorrow.
"Why is Sir so sad? Who did this to him? Why is he breaking himself apart like this?"
Outside, the rain continued to fall without pause—
and inside the house, two silent souls were slowly seeking refuge in each other's pain…
To be continued..