Sabita Ma’am chapter 3

Chapter 3: My student

When you spend years feeling invisible, the smallest glance can feel like a revolution.

My life, from the outside, still looked the same. I was still the professor at college, the daughter-in-law at home, the dutiful wife — and the woman whose womb hadn’t borne a child. But inside me, a different fire had been lit. Quietly, steadily, and now… dangerously.

After college hours, I used to give tuition classes to a few selected students. Mostly bright minds who needed guidance, sometimes slow learners whose parents insisted. Among them was Sanju — a young man of about 22, rough around the edges, confident beyond his years.

I hadn’t wanted to take him in.

The way he looked at me during our first meeting unsettled me. His gaze lingered a moment too long on my lips, his eyes always searching — not for knowledge, but something else. But his mother had come to me personally, folded her hands, and said, “Madam, please take him. Maybe your influence will put some discipline in his mind.”

I agreed, out of obligation. Or maybe… curiosity.

He started coming regularly. Sat at the back, quiet, always watching. Not just observing, but devouring — as if he was studying me, not the subjects I taught. I used to ignore it at first. A woman like me, in her thirties, doesn’t expect to be the object of such raw male attention. We’re trained to believe our worth fades with time.

But one day, something changed.

It was a Friday afternoon. The sky outside was heavy with clouds, and the air was thick with the kind of silence that makes you reflect on things you wish you could forget. I had just finished college lectures and was lost in thoughts about my own failures. Why am I not pregnant? Why is my marriage so cold? Is it my fault?

In that storm of emotion, I walked into the tuition class, distracted. But something about Sanju drew my eyes.

He was already there, standing beside the bookshelf, pretending to read — but his eyes, once again, were on me. Not subtly. Not apologetically. Just… boldly.

And that day, for some reason, it didn’t annoy me.

It thrilled me.

Maybe it was my mood. Maybe it was the loneliness that had built up over months. Or maybe it was simply the fact that after so long, someone was seeing me — not as a failed wife or daughter-in-law, but as a woman. A woman with curves, warmth, and a body that still had desire.

I remember exactly what I was wearing: a fitted black kurti with deep side slits, soft grey leggings, and no dupatta. I had been too lazy to pick it up on my way out. My chest rose and fell with every breath, and I knew my cleavage was visible if I bent forward.

I should have been embarrassed.

Instead, I walked over to Sanju.

“Sanju,” I said, standing beside him, “show me which part of the topic you didn’t understand.”

He mumbled something, eyes flickering down to my chest. I stepped closer. Then — deliberately — I bent forward to look at his notebook.

And just as I expected, he wasn’t looking at the book.

He was looking right into my neckline, his eyes dark, lips slightly parted, as if he was holding back a desire he couldn’t control.

For a brief second, I should have stopped.

But I didn’t.

Because at that moment, for the first time in years, I felt power. Not the kind that comes from position or status — but the raw, primal power of a woman being desired.

The class continued, but my mind was elsewhere. I noticed every time Sanju's gaze lingered. The way his hands tightened around the pen. The way his breathing changed. I had him.

And maybe — dangerously — he had me too.

When the session ended, everyone began to leave. I packed up my books slowly, waiting.

Then I said, without looking up, “Sanju, wait. I want to talk to you.”

He paused at the door, hesitant. When the last student walked out, I locked the door and turned to face him.

His body stiffened. He sensed something was coming.

I crossed my arms and asked, “Why do you keep staring at me?”

He shifted on his feet. “No, madam. I don’t. You’ve misunderstood.”

I took a step closer. “I may be older than you, Sanju, but I’m not blind. I can see how someone looks at me.”

He looked nervous, but his eyes held a flicker of mischief. “And if something beautiful is in front of the eyes, what harm is there in looking?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Just looking? Or… something more?”

He took a step toward me — not too close, but close enough. “If I got the chance, madam… I’d do something you’d never forget.”

A chill ran down my spine.

Not from fear.

From excitement.

I held his gaze. “So much confidence?”

He smiled slightly. “Ask anyone with whom I’ve been. They haven’t forgotten me yet. Neither will you.”

I didn’t reply. I simply nodded once and said, “Let’s see. You can go now.”

He left, but the electricity remained.

The next few days passed in a haze.

At home, things were the same. Ravi barely noticed me. My mother-in-law had gone to her sister’s place. Ravi had overnight office duty that Friday. The house was going to be empty till evening.

And for once, the emptiness didn’t make me feel lonely.

It felt like opportunity.