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MidReal Story
The Forbidden Touch
Scenario:Priti is a 36-year-old woman who is happily married to the love of her life. She met Ankit, a 36-year-old shy and introverted but intelligent man, at a mutual friend's housewarming party. They connected through a WhatsApp group.
One day, Ankit accidentally sent a message meant for someone else to Priti, which sparked their interaction over chat. Gradually, they began to open up to each other, teasing one another, engaging in healthy flirtation, and sharing photos while keeping their secret conversations hidden from their spouses.
One night, while chatting late, they played a game of truth and dare. This fun quickly escalated, and they ended up exchanging intimate messages for the entire night, all while their spouses slept beside them.
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Priti
She is a 36yearold woman living a fulfilling life with her husband, Rohan. She is adventurous, playful, and a bit mischievous. Priti met Ankit through a mutual friend and developed a secret online friendship with him. They would exchange messages under the guise of helping him with language learning, but in reality, they were building a connection. Their interactions became more daring and intimate over time, allowing them to express sides of themselves they might not have otherwise.
Amit
He is a mutual friend of Priti and Ankit who introduced them at his housewarming party. He is charismatic, adventurous, and carefree. Amit created the WhatsApp group meant for houserelated discussions but unknowingly facilitated Priti and Ankit's secret interaction. His own life was marked by frequent travel and socializing, keeping him at the center of the interconnected web between Priti, Ankit, and their spouses.
Ankit
He is a 36yearold man living in India with his wife, Nidhi. He is shy, intelligent, and playful. Ankit struggled with English fluency but used this as an excuse to ask Priti for help, which led to their secret online friendship. He enjoys bantering with Priti and appreciates her adventurous spirit. As their conversations deepened, they shared intimate details and played games together, allowing them to explore their desires and fantasies without judgment.
I am a 36-year-old woman, living a happy and fulfilling life with my husband, Rohan.
I met Ankit, a year ago, through a mutual friend.
Amit, our mutual friend, had created a WhatsApp group for our housing society.
The group was meant for discussions related to housing society, like complaints against the lift, or the security guard.
But little did Amit know, that this group would change my life forever.
Ankit was added to the group by one of his friends who also lived in the same society.
I remember the day he was added; it was a Sunday afternoon.
I was in my bed, resting, while Rohan watched TV in the living room.
My phone beeped, and I saw his name and number in the WhatsApp group.
I didn’t know him then, but his name sounded familiar.
Later that evening, when I went to my parents’ house for dinner, I saw his face in one of the family photos.
He was Nidhi’s husband; Nidhi was my best friend’s sister.
I remember smiling at his photo and thinking that he looked so much like Shah Rukh Khan.
The next day, I saw his message in the group chat; it was something about the broken lift on the third floor.
I hover my thumb over the phone screen, contemplating my response.
I hear children playing in the society compound from my bedroom window.
After typing and deleting several versions of my response, I finally send him a casual message.
"Sorry to hear about the lift. Do you want me to come with you to the society office?"
I send him the message and wait for his response.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I wait for his reply.
I glance occasionally at Rohan, who is still engrossed in the TV show.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I receive a response from Ankit.
"Sure, when?"
I smile and type out a quick response.
"How about tomorrow morning at 10? We can meet at the society office."
He responds with a simple "Okay," followed by a smiley emoji.
After agreeing to meet him, I stare at our chat history, my thumb hovering over the delete button.
The messages feel like evidence of something forbidden, even though all we’ve discussed is the broken lift and meeting at the society office.
I glance at Rohan, who is still engrossed in his medical journal on the couch.
I open each chat bubble and read through our brief exchange one last time.
Our words are formal yet friendly, with no hint of anything inappropriate.
My pulse quickens as I select all the messages, including his "Thank you, see you tomorrow" response.
I press delete, watching our interaction disappear permanently from the chat history.
I sit on my bed, phone in hand, debating whether to call Ankit.
Rohan has fallen asleep with his medical journal on his chest, his reading glasses askew.
The ceiling fan whirs steadily above us.
I open WhatsApp, scroll to Ankit’s contact, and stare at his profile picture—a casual shot of him smiling at something off-camera.
My thumb hovers over the call button.
The bedroom feels too quiet, too intimate for what I’m about to do.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Rohan, and step onto our small balcony.
The night air is cool against my skin as I finally press the call button, knowing there's no turning back.
My heart skips a beat when Ankit’s voice comes through clear and deep on the first ring.
"Hello?"
I grip the balcony railing, speaking in hushed tones so I don’t wake Rohan.
"Hey, it’s me."
The night air feels charged with electricity, and I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.
"Everything okay?"
Ankit asks, his voice tinged with concern.
"Yeah, everything’s fine," I reassure him.
"It’s just…"
I pause, unsure of how to proceed.
"The society office might not be the best place to talk about the lift."
"Why?" he asks, curiosity evident in his tone.
"Well, they might have questions," I explain.
"And I don’t want to make things more complicated than they need to be."
"I understand," Ankit responds thoughtfully.
"But where else can we talk?"
"There’s a quiet café near my place," he suggests.
"It’s called The Coffee House. We could meet there instead."
I glance back through the sliding door at Rohan sleeping peacefully in our bed, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with excitement.
"Ten tomorrow at The Coffee House then," I whisper, ending the call quickly when Rohan stirs in his sleep.
I lean against the railing, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Are you sure about this?" Ankit's voice comes through again, softer this time.
"Yeah," I reply, though my voice wavers slightly.
"I’ll see you tomorrow."
I end the call quickly and tiptoe back inside, my phone clutched against my chest.
The bedroom feels different now - warmer, more confined.
Rohan shifts in bed, his medical journal fallen to one side, and murmurs my name again.
His face looks peaceful, innocent.
I slide under the covers beside him, careful not to disturb his sleep.
But as I lay there, my thoughts drift to the café meeting tomorrow, and I find it impossible to relax.
When Rohan’s hand unconsciously reaches for mine in his sleep, I almost pull away.
Instead, I force myself to hold it, feeling the familiar calluses from his surgical work.
Back in bed, I check my phone one last time before trying to sleep.
A notification pops up - it's from Ankit.
My fingers tremble as I open WhatsApp, angling the screen away from Rohan so he can’t see the glow.
The message is brief, just five words: "Can't wait to see you."
I stare at those words, my pulse quickening.
Next to me, Rohan shifts and mutters something in his sleep.
I quickly type "Me too" but delete it immediately.
Instead, I send a simple thumbs-up emoji, then silence my phone and place it face-down on the nightstand.
I pull the blanket up to my chin, willing my mind to quiet down, but images of tomorrow's café meeting keep flashing through my thoughts.
Beside me, Rohan’s steady breathing is a reminder of all the years we’ve spent together, and my stomach twists with guilt.
I turn away from him, curling into myself as the ceiling fan whirs lazily overhead.
My phone screen flickers briefly again - another message.
I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to check it.
It must be from Ankit.
The digital clock on my nightstand blinks 11:47 PM.
I lie awake, caught between the life I know and the one that beckons.
I wake before dawn, the sky still a deep shade of indigo outside the window.
My stomach is in knots, and my mouth feels dry.
The bedroom is still dark, with only a sliver of light peeking through the curtains.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to disturb Rohan, who is still fast asleep beside me.
Opening WhatsApp, I see that Ankit is already online.
There’s another message from him - a simple question: "Still meeting at 5?"
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider what to say.
Rohan shifts in his sleep, and I freeze, waiting for him to settle again.
The weight of my wedding ring feels heavy on my finger.
I type out a message explaining that I can’t meet him, but then delete it.
I try again, but the words don’t feel right.
I pause for a moment, thinking about how to phrase it delicately.
Finally, I type out three words: "I can’t come."
But I delete it immediately and start over again.
The third time, I manage to type out a complete message: "I'm sorry, but I need to cancel our coffee meeting. It wouldn't be right."
I hesitate for a moment before hitting send. Then I quickly close the app and place my phone face-down on the nightstand.
I sit at my dressing table, staring at my reflection in the mirror while Rohan gets ready for his morning hospital rounds.
My phone buzzes again - another message from Ankit asking why I cancelled.
I don’t respond.
Rohan comes up behind me and kisses my cheek.
"I’ll be in surgery until evening," he says, "but I should be home by dinner."
I nod, watching him in the mirror as he picks up his bag and heads out the door.
Once he’s gone, I get up and pace around our bedroom, picking up my coat and putting it down again repeatedly.
My hands are trembling as I read Ankit’s latest message: "Just one coffee. No expectations."
The familiar guilt washes over me, but this time, it’s accompanied by something else - a thrill that I haven’t felt in years.
I check the time: 9:45 AM.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the full-length mirror in the corner.
My hand reaches for the hanger with my favorite blue dress, but I pull back at the last second.
Ankit’s last message is still blinking on my phone screen: "just one coffee, no expectations."
I walk to the window and look down at the morning traffic below our apartment.
The sounds of Mumbai are familiar - car horns, chatter, and the distant hum of a street vendor calling out his wares.
But somehow, it all feels distant today.
I imagine myself sitting across from Ankit at The Coffee House, his eyes locked on mine as he smiles that Shah Rukh Khan smile of his.
My wedding ring catches a ray of sunlight streaming through the window, and I twist it around my finger absently.
The clock reads 9:50 AM.
I pace between my closet and the full-length mirror, the blue dress now hanging against my body.
The morning light catches my wedding ring, and I check my phone again - 9:53 AM.
Ankit’s last message still glows on the screen: "I'll wait for you."
I slip the dress over my head, smooth it down, and grab my purse from the dresser.
At the front door, I pause with my hand on the knob.
The wedding photo stares back at me from the wall - Rohan’s smile, my laughter, and our intertwined fingers.
Standing at my doorstep, I grip my purse tighter and check my reflection one last time in the hallway mirror.
The blue dress hugs my figure perfectly, making my heart race faster.
Mumbai’s humid air hits my face as I step onto our floor’s landing.
The elevator arrives with a soft ding, and I enter, pressing the ground floor button with trembling fingers.
As the doors close, I pull out my phone to message Ankit that I’m on my way.
My thumb hovers over the send button while the elevator descends, each floor number lighting up in sequence.
The elevator stops abruptly, and the doors slide open to reveal a familiar face.
"Neha?" Ankit's voice is surprised, yet hopeful.
I swallow hard, stepping out as I say, "I didn't expect to see you here so soon."