Part 1: The Forbidden Glance

Part 1: The Forbidden Glance

Aryan, a tall and muscular Hindu boy in his mid-twenties, worked as a mechanic in a bustling Delhi garage. His skin glistened with sweat under the summer sun as he fixed bikes, his broad shoulders straining against his tight shirt. One afternoon, a sleek car pulled up, driven by Omar, a stern Muslim businessman. Beside him sat Aisha, Omar's wife, her hijab framing her sharp, beautiful features. She was 24, with full lips and dark eyes that sparkled with quiet curiosity. Her modest abaya couldn't hide the curve of her hips or the swell of her breasts.

Omar barked orders about the car's engine, ignoring Aisha as she stepped out to stretch her legs. Aryan caught her eye while wiping grease from his hands. She smiled shyly, adjusting her hijab, but her gaze lingered on his strong arms. 'Namaste,' Aryan said with a grin, handing her a bottle of water from the cooler. 'It's hot out here.' Aisha took it, her fingers brushing his, sending a spark through her. 'Thank you,' she whispered, her voice soft and accented. Omar was on a call, oblivious. As she sipped, Aryan leaned closer, whispering, 'You look like you need more than water to cool down.' Her cheeks flushed under the fabric, but she didn't pull away. That night, Aisha lay beside her snoring husband, her mind replaying Aryan's bold stare, her hand slipping under her nightgown to touch her warming pussy.