The rain never stopped in Mumbai that week. It fell in thick, angry curtains, drumming against the windows like it wanted inside. The building corridors smelled of damp concrete and frying onions from someone’s kitchen. Sleep had been impossible after the first night—every time eyes closed, the memory replayed: Aisha’s full lips wrapped around the cock, her pussy clenching as cum flooded her, the wicked promise in her voice about Karan coming home.

Morning brought no relief. The flat felt too small, too quiet. A knock came at 10 a.m.—sharp, impatient.