The routine of school and after-class coaching continued to weave itself into a comforting, almost hypnotic pattern. Morning lessons under the harsh lights of the government school, afternoons spent copying notes and reading aloud, and then, in the calmer hours after school, the quiet world of Shalini's drawing-room.
For Ravi, those evenings became the highlight of his days. He counted every hour until he could see her again. Each time she smiled at him, each gentle word of encouragement, felt like a personal blessing. Her voice, soft yet firm, seemed to reach a place inside him that no one else had ever touched.
Slowly, Ravi's feelings shifted from simple awe to something deeper, something almost devotional. He began to think of Shalini as more than just a teacher. She was… divine, somehow. Like a goddess disguised as an ordinary woman, testing him, tempting him, drawing him in with a power she herself might not even realize.
At night, he dreamed of serving her — laying out her slippers, washing her feet, hearing her soft voice command him to do her bidding. Sometimes he woke up with a burning shame for having such thoughts, but they refused to leave. In class, he would steal glances at her face, her wrists, the curve of her ankle peeking from beneath her sari, and feel his chest flood with an emotion too big to name.
One Thursday, after the others had left early, Ravi stayed behind to solve a stubborn math problem. Shalini sat near him, helping him step by step, her sari draping across his desk as she leaned closer. The faint brush of her perfume — coconut oil, talcum, and something purely womanly — made his pulse skip.
"See? That's how you break down the equation," she explained, tapping the page gently.
Her finger, tipped with a faint pink polish, was so close he almost leaned forward to kiss it. Instead, he swallowed hard, nodding, trying not to stare at the softness of her knuckles.
"You're very intelligent, Ravi," she said, smiling. "Don't doubt yourself."
That praise nearly shattered him. He could have wept, just to hear those words from her. Instead, he gathered his books and walked home in a daze, heart pounding, mind replaying every tiny moment.
Meanwhile, Prayush was wrestling with his own battles. His thoughts had grown steadily more tangled and feverish since that first day he noticed Shalini's scent. At night, he replayed the way she raised her arms to write on the whiteboard, how the skin of her underarm sometimes peeked through the edge of her sleeve. The soft shadows there, the hint of dampness, drove him nearly wild.
One afternoon, as the boys were packing up their bags together, Prayush spoke in a low whisper.
"Ravi," he began, voice a bit shaky, "can I ask you something?"
"Yeah?" Ravi answered, half-distracted as he zipped his pencil pouch.
"You ever… I mean… think about madam?"
Ravi's face turned red in an instant. "What do you mean?"
"Just… think about her, you know," Prayush said, avoiding Ravi's eyes. "About how she looks? About how she smells?"
Ravi's mouth went dry. He wanted to deny it, to protect his secret worship of Shalini, but something in Prayush's voice was so honest, so raw, that he couldn't lie.
"… yeah," Ravi admitted, barely above a whisper. "I think about her."
Prayush let out a relieved breath. "Me too," he confessed. "I can't get her smell out of my head. When she moves close, I feel like… I don't know… like I'm going to fall over."
Ravi nodded, throat tight. "I know. I feel the same way."
They were silent for a moment, the truth between them as heavy as a stone.
"I don't want her to know," Prayush added quickly. "It would be too shameful."
"Of course," Ravi agreed. "We can't ever tell her."
That unspoken vow seemed to bind them together, a secret pact between two boys overwhelmed by the same forbidden worship.
As the days passed, Ravi's crush grew stronger, deeper, almost painful. Even in his school classes, away from Shalini, he found himself drifting, daydreaming about her. He pictured her waiting for him in her coaching room, gently scolding him for missing a spelling, rewarding him with a small smile. That smile was like sunlight breaking through a storm.
He started to bring small offerings — extra neat homework, a carefully cleaned pencil case — anything that might please her. When she praised his work, Ravi's heart soared, as if he had been blessed by a goddess herself.
But his worship also came with a terrible shyness. He could hardly speak around her anymore, stumbling over simple words, blushing at the slightest touch. One day she brushed his arm while adjusting her dupatta, and he almost fainted.
Prayush was no better. His eyes seemed drawn to the folds of her sari, especially when she lifted her arm, revealing a glimpse of the smooth skin under her sleeve. That tiny secret view felt more precious than gold.
Sometimes, Prayush would lean closer to Ravi as they walked home and mutter, "Did you see her today? How she smelled? How she smiled?"
Ravi would nod, unable to find proper words for the storm inside him.
One rainy evening, after a long class, Shalini sent the others home early. Only Ravi and Prayush remained, finishing an essay. The house felt oddly quiet, thunder rolling far away, while Shalini moved about, humming a faint tune as she tidied up.
Ravi watched her cross the room to the kitchen, her bare feet padding against the marble. The curve of her heel, the arch of her foot — he nearly moaned at how perfect they were.
Prayush was equally transfixed, eyes following Shalini as she reached for a tea tin on a high shelf. The movement lifted her sleeve, showing a deeper glimpse of the tender skin beneath her arm. Prayush clenched his fists, struggling to control the rush of heat in his body.
Their teacher was completely unaware of the waves of worship, lust, and longing rolling through these boys who sat so meekly before her.
As they left that night, Prayush whispered to Ravi, "I wish I could just… touch her once."
Ravi's throat went tight. "Me too," he said. "But… we can't."
Prayush nodded grimly. "I know."
They parted ways at the corner of the darkened lane, each carrying his burden of secret desire. Ravi's mind burned with visions of Shalini's soft feet on his face, of her sweet voice praising him while he knelt. Prayush's mind was filled with a darker hunger — the wish to bury his nose in the scented hollow of her armpit, to taste that hidden place of her body.
Neither of them would speak these fantasies again, not in daylight. They were too shameful, too powerful, too holy in their own twisted way.
But each night, alone in their beds, Ravi and Prayush closed their eyes and returned to her — their teacher, their goddess, their silent obsession — carrying the flames of a worshipful crush that was growing deeper and more dangerous every single day.