S*X IN SAREE |18+

—VEDANT—

Sohini was drunk.

Dancing, laughing—her arms flung around strangers as she swayed to the music like a woman freed from years of invisible chains. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile careless. For the first time since her marriage, she looked—alive. Wild. Reckless. Unapologetically herself.

I stood still, watching her from the corner of the bar, my fingers tightening around the glass in my hand.

"Why are you staring at her like that?" Simran's voice cut through the music as she slinked her arms around my neck. Her perfume hit me like deja vu. "Do you—like her?"

I pulled away from her grip, sharper than I meant to. "That's none of your business," I said. "I'm not your husband anymore."

Her lips trembled, but she smirked, wounded pride hiding behind practiced eyes.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Vedant, I was wrong," she began, her voice softening. "I'm sorry. Nothing's been the same since you left. I realized—I'm still in love with you."

I studied her face, but I couldn't tell if she meant it.

"I don't love you," I said plainly. "I never did. We were friends since we were three. I mistook familiarity and care for something else."

"Yeah?" she sneered. "And what do you know about love anyway?"

I didn't answer. I just looked at Sohini again. She was laughing at something the man next to her said, but she was leaning too close. Too vulnerable. Too drunk.

Simran followed my gaze, then scoffed. "You love that? You can do better, Vedant."

I turned to her slowly, my jaw clenched. "Who the fuck are you to tell me that?" I bit. "You don't get to decide what I feel. Stay the hell away from me."

And with that, I left her standing there, returning to the chaos of the dance floor. A man—tall, obviously wasted—was grinding against Sohini, his hands on her waist. She didn't even notice. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted as she tried to dance.

I shoved the man back—not too roughly, but firm enough. "Back off."

"Vedant?" Sohini blinked at me, confused, smiling like a tipsy child. "Why'd you stop me? I was dancing—"

"We have an important conference tomorrow," I said, taking her wrist. "It's late. Let's go back."

"I don't wanna go back," she whined, pouting. Her pout nearly broke me.

"We'll come again. Tomorrow. After the conference," I promised, brushing her hair away from her face.

She giggled. "You know, this is my first time drinking alcohol—Don't tell my dad. He'll kill me."

"I'll protect you from your dad," I said with a small smile. I zipped up my jacket around her—she was wearing something short and delicate—and carefully walked her back to the car, then to our hotel.

She was half-asleep when I carried her to my suite, her head resting on my chest. I laid her gently on the bed, but as I turned to walk away, her fingers curled around my wrist.

"Don't go," she mumbled, eyes half-lidded. Then, without warning, she pulled me down and kissed me.

Her lips were soft, tasted like alcohol and confusion.

"Sohini—" I pulled away, startled.

But her hands were already slipping under my tshirt, tugging. Her small fingers grazed my skin, trailing to the waistband of my jeans. My body responded before my brain could argue. I was hard—undeniably so.

"Make love to me, Vedant," she whispered against my lips. "You want to, don't you?"

God. I did.

But I couldn't.

"You're drunk, Sohini," I murmured, pulling her hands away gently. "I won't do that to you. Not like this."

She looked up at me, glassy-eyed. "But—I want you."

"And I want you to be sober when you say that," I said softly, laying her down again. I tucked the blanket over her, brushing her hair from her face.

I turned to leave—but her voice stopped me.

"Vedant—"

I turned back. She looked so small, so heartbreakingly vulnerable on that big bed.

1

"Please don't hate me."

I turned back slowly. She looked like a storm had kissed her—lipstick smeared, mascara clinging to her cheeks, her eyes heavy and glassy from the alcohol.

"I don't hate you," I said, brushing my thumb gently across her face, the same way I used to. Her skin was cold. Her eyes searched mine.

"Then why don't you call me Sohini anymore?" she asked, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a trembling hand. "I'm your Sohini. Call me Sohini—"

She tugged at the edge of my T-shirt, her grip weak but desperate.

"Call me Sohini," she repeated, pleading now.

I hesitated. The name felt strange in my mouth, like an old song I hadn't sung in years.

"Sohini," I murmured.

The moment the name passed my lips, she smiled and threw her arms around me, burying her face into my chest.

"I love you, Vedant," she said, her voice muffled but heavy with truth. Or maybe intoxication.

I rested my chin gently on the top of her head. Her hair smelled of wine and the perfume she used to wear.

"I love you more, Sohini."

She pulled back, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to remember something she didn't want to forget.

"Liar. You love that—Sim—Simran. I-I—"

"Shhh," I pressed my finger to her lips.

"I don't love her. She's just an old chapter. I thought I loved her—until I fell for you, Sohini."

I cupped her face gently between my palms. "And I can't let you go, no matter how hard I try."

She giggled, tipsy and soft. I smiled, but mine was broken.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" I whispered, voice shaking.

"To wreck me completely? And you did, Sohini. You did. I can't even hate you for it." I exhaled shakily.

"Why did you get married? Why didn't you fight for us?"

I waited for her to answer. But her head lolled slightly.

"Sohini?"

She was asleep—right there in my arms.

I sighed, bitterly. Gently, I lifted her and carried her to the bed. I wiped off her heavy makeup with soft tissues, careful not to wake her. Changed her dress into something loose and comfortable, buttoned one of my shirts on her. She looked peaceful, like she hadn't shattered my world with her silence years ago.

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her breathe.

"I thought hurting you would help me feel better," I admitted quietly.

"That revenge might make the ache leave. But I was wrong. So wrong."

I ran my fingers through her hair, the strands like silk between my fingers.

"I can't see you cry. I can't see you sad. And I definitely can't see you with someone else."

My voice cracked.

"It's killing me, Sohini. You're killing me."

The next morning, she was still asleep—peaceful, untouched by the chaos in my chest. I didn't want to wake her. So, I slipped out, dressed quietly, and went to the conference alone.

After it ended, I heard a voice behind me. "Vedant, wait up."

Simran.

I turned. She looked sober, dressed simply, regret etched on her face.

"I'm sorry for last night," she said. "I was drunk."

I nodded. "I get it."

I kept walking.

"You seem in a hurry," she called out.

"I am, actually."

"Can we talk? Tonight? Please. There's so much I want to say."

I stopped. "I don't want to see you again, Simran. Stop trying."

1

She looked down, ashamed.

"Why?"

"Why?" I laughed bitterly. "You accused me of abuse, got me fired, divorced me—and you're asking why?"

She flinched. "Back then, you were just—too much. Too clingy. I wanted space. I was tired—of you, of the marriage, of the suffocating love. But after you left, I—" she faltered.

"I missed you, Vedant. I still do. I love you."

I stared at her, hollow. Did she mean it? Or was this another act in her never-ending performance? I remembered the way she'd cried to her friends, spinning lies about bruises that never existed.

"I moved on, Simran. From you. From us."

I turned.

"I'll be at the same club tonight," she said behind me. "In case you change your mind."

I didn't answer.

Back at the hotel, I found Sohini awake, wearing my shirt, arms folded.

"You went to the meeting alone?" she asked, voice unreadable.

I said nothing. Just pulled her into a hug. I needed that. I needed her. But she stiffened and pushed me away.

"Did something—happen between us last night?" she asked.

I stepped back, confused. "You don't remember?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I don't."

"You told me you love me."

She laughed—awkward, forced.

"I was drunk, Vedant. Just—forget whatever bullshit I said."

That hit harder than it should have.

I didn't say anything. Just walked out. I needed air. Noise. Numbness.

At the bar, I asked the bartender for something strong. She slid the glass across the counter. I drank. Once. Twice. Then I stopped counting.

And then—

"Vedant. I knew you'd come."

I turned, glass in hand.

Simran stood there, smiling.

And all I could think was—

Why does it always hurt worse when you try to forget the people who once made you feel loved?