The glow of the television screen flickered across Neha’s flushed face as she sat stiffly between Harsh and their parents, the Bollywood drama playing out in vivid colors. Her thighs pressed together tightly beneath the blanket spread across their laps—a flimsy barrier against Harsh’s wandering fingers. "Tum dono itne chup kyun ho?" their mother asked absently, eyes glued to the screen. Neha’s breath hitched as Harsh’s palm slid over her knee, his thumb tracing slow circles. "Bas, picture dekh rahe hain," he replied smoothly, his fingers inching higher.
Neha’s breath shuddered as Harsh’s fingers crept higher beneath the blanket, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the TV screen where the heroines danced in vibrant saris, unaware of the heat pooling between her own legs. “Bhaiya… mat,” she whispered under her breath, but her thighs trembled as his nails grazed the lace edge of her panties.
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