The city night glowed beneath a blanket of streetlights.
It was well past midnight. The once-bustling roads had quieted down, with only the occasional truck or lone car passing by.
Most of the shops were shut, their shutters drawn down and lights off. Only the malls and a few restaurants remained open, their nature wired to survive late into the night.
Gliding smoothly through this calm urban stretch was a black Mercedes-Benz.
Its headlights moved with quiet authority, until it passed through the mouth of a few alleyways. Only in places like this would a few commotions break out, where it was always a few stray dogs who would bark and chase until it passed through its range.
Inside the Mercedes sat Rohit. Beside him, his mother, Ragini, sat silently, her eyes fixed on the opposite window. Chanu Devi, the ever-composed bodyguard, was at the wheel.
Rohit was still in his hospital uniform as his own clothes had been dirty and not ready to wear. Earlier, his mother had arranged for immediate discharge, not even waiting for the formalities.
Even though the hospital discharge was abrupt and his cheek burned with a slap mark, his mind wasn’t on that.
He kept watching the patterns of the chasing dogs, as how they emerged from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly once the car outran them.
"Okay, mental note—don’t drive alone at night here. Rabies isn’t on my checklist," he mused dryly.
He missed Japan. Everything there was so clean, so precise, so safe. If a drunk man passed out on the sidewalk, he’d still make it home in one piece. But here? In the capital city of India, Rohit wasn’t so sure.
He was curious, but calm.
Ever since they left the hospital, not a single word had been exchanged between him and his mother.
He’d gone through moments like these before. He knew that silence didn’t always mean the end—sometimes it just needed time. So, rather than pushing it, he simply chose to observe, absorb, and let the moment breathe.
But the same couldn’t be said for Ragini.
Perhaps tonight was one of the longest days of her life... and the night had only just begun.
Though her face remained composed, her mind churned like a ship caught in a relentless storm. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept circling back to what had just happened.
The hug... the treatment... the tingling sensation... the breast squeeze... the slap... it was all overwhelming.
She had prepared herself earlier, had set boundaries in her mind—and for a while, she believed she had it under control.
Initially, a part of her felt ashamed and guilty for breaking a taboo that one could not dare to speak of, while another part helped her stay calm—reminding her that it was nothing wrong, just a part of the job.
However, a short idea took root in between that disrupted the fragile balance between them.
When Rohit said the words, "I love it."
He didn’t mean the words in the romantic sense. She knew that. He was referring to the act, to the physical comfort, to the simulation the doctors prescribed.
But something clicked inside her.
The appreciation in his tone had felt... rewarding.
She recalled the flutter in her chest... the heat... the faint wetness... the tingling sensation of anticipation.
In that moment, she wasn’t thinking as a mother—or even as a caretaker. Something deeper, more primal, had stirred.
And that’s when she lost it.
She let him touch her breasts—not as a child, but as a lover—while she savored the rising anticipation of climax from his strong, hard, masculine thing.
And yet, it had all shattered the moment he added that single word: "Mom."
That word cut through the haze like a blade. It brought her back to reality—and she hated it.
The shame doubled when she checked herself in the washroom before the discharge, confirming what she had already feared. The guilt clung tighter now, like a chain around her ribs.
She desperately wanted to shut it all out. To dismiss it as a fleeting, misguided moment. But the memory lingered... crawling back every time she blinked.
And then came the questions—quiet, traitorous thoughts whispering in her mind.
"What’s so wrong with enjoying it?"
She tried to silence it. But another surfaced.
"When was the last time someone made you feel that way?"
She bit down on her lip. It was like trying to patch a dam with bare hands—one crack sealed, and another opened. That fragile balance she had clung to all evening was slipping fast.
She stole a glance at Rohit, still gazing blankly out the window, seemingly lost in his own world.
"What if... it’s just me?" she wondered.
"What if I’m the only one being selfish?"
The thought terrified her more than anything else. She feared manipulating Rohit—an innocent, emotionally wounded young man, still rediscovering the world. What if, in his vulnerability, he clung to her... and one day, when clarity returned, hated her for it?
That fear gave her just enough strength to reel herself in. For now.
But she knew the silence between them couldn’t last much longer. Sooner or later, they would have to talk. Really talk.
The Mercedes rolled through the familiar gates of the Singhania mansion in silence. Not a single word had passed between mother and son during the entire drive.
But the air inside the car was anything but silent.
The car circled through the quiet roads of Lutyens’ Delhi and eventually pulled into the grand gates of the Singhania residence.
Even before stepping out, Rohit was quietly awestruck.
Rohit was genuinely taken aback by the architecture.
From afar, the estate resembled one of those castles from a Disney production—ornate, distant, and surreal.
But the closer they got, the more majestic it appeared. This part was a posh neighborhood known for housing billionaires and political giants. Even in such extravagant surroundings, this estate stood apart.
Each property here was a masterpiece, yet this one felt like the crown jewel.
The design immediately caught Rohit’s eye.
It looked less like a modern mansion and more like an enormous temple, spread across acres of manicured gardens, with winding pathways lined by waterfalls.
It didn’t quite qualify as a bungalow, nor a typical mansion. If anything, it resembled a scaled-down palace which felt like something ancient and royal, reborn in stone and luxury.
The drive through the tall iron gates was an experience on its own. The curved lane rolled past waterfalls before looping around a roundabout near the garage, right beside the main entrance.
It almost felt like an arrival ceremony.
He recognized bits as part of inherited memory but seeing it now with his own eyes stirred something different. Something electric. This place wasn’t just a property. It was going to be his home now.
As they entered the house, a servant appeared quickly, ready to greet them.
Ragini simply raised a hand to signal no assistance, and walked ahead toward the grand staircase without saying anything.
Chanu offered a quiet goodbye and headed off to her room on the ground floor.
Rohit lingered in the entrance hall.
He turned slowly, taking in the space around him. Though technically two storeys, the house felt more like three or four due to its lofty ceilings and cavernous depth.
The grand hall in front of him was wide enough to host a full banquet. Rooms for staff and guards appeared to line the lower level, while the upper floor was clearly reserved for the family.
Even the kitchen and bathrooms weren’t just side spaces—they were spread across separate wings, split between floors, each designed like its own enclave.
Rohit chuckled softly to himself and thought, ’So this is how the rich live. Back in our day, we didn’t even have enough space to stretch.’
Ahead of him, Ragini had already begun climbing the stairs. he paused when she noticed he wasn’t behind her, and turned around, her tone gentle but pointed.
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"Rohit, don’t just stand there," she said in gentle, "Come upstairs with me."