Share
MidReal Story
The Lonely Wife And The Gentle Stranger
Scenario:Malini 55had fight with Husbund at 8pm in night. Was sitting on road side bench which was totally away from veiw of traffic.Raja came and sit l didn’t know him.He started speaking with me with sweet language.But he started becoming attracted to me.He took my hand in his.With his touch of lovable hand I started crying keeping my head on his neck.Raja was counselling me.He said how any husband can fight with so beautiful lady who is mature enough to understand need of man of 55years age .Malini was smelling manly salted taste from Rajas body why you are changing basic structure of story
Create my version of this story
Malini
She is a woman who has been married for 25 years. She is emotional, resilient, and introspective. Malini often finds herself sitting alone on a roadside bench after arguments with her husband. One night, she meets Raja, who is intrigued by her story. As she shares her struggles with him, an unexpected connection forms. Malini is captivated by Raja's gentle demeanor and shares her deepseated unhappiness in her marriage. Her encounter with Raja leaves her questioning her life choices.
Raja
He is a mysterious and gentle stranger who encounters Malini on a roadside bench one night. He is compassionate, understanding, and enigmatic. Raja listens intently to Malini's tale of marital strife and offers comfort amidst her tears. His presence provides Malini a sense of calm and acceptance. Though he remains unnamed and leaves abruptly, he leaves behind a small note with financial help, symbolizing his kindness. Malini is deeply affected by their brief encounter.
I was sitting on the road side bench.
It was 12 am night.
I had fight with my husband at 8 pm in night and left the house.
I was sitting on the bench from 10 pm.
I didn’t know why I was sitting on the bench away from the traffic view.
I just wanted to be alone to think something.
Suddenly I felt someone’s presence behind me and I was about to get scared, but then I smelled some thing which made me feel good.
It was the manly smell of a mature man, like the smell of a cigar or the smoke of a vehicle.
I didn’t know what it was, but I definitely knew that it was coming from a man who was mature enough to be my husband.
I already had 25 years of marriage life, so I knew very well what kind of smell a 55-year-old man would have.
I remain motionless on the bench, aware of his presence behind me.
The night air carries his scent more strongly now - that familiar mix of tobacco and masculine musk.
My fingers grip the edge of the wooden bench as I debate whether to turn around.
The streetlight casts long shadows across the pavement, and I catch glimpses of his silhouette from the corner of my eye.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I gather my courage.
The bench creaks as I adjust my position, twisting my torso slowly to the right.
My shoulder brushes against something solid - his arm, I realize.
My fingers tremble as I shift to make room for him on the bench.
He sits down, his cologne mingling with the tobacco scent that clings to his clothes.
I wipe my tears with the edge of my sari, trying to compose myself.
But before I can turn away, his warm hand catches mine.
The touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm.
His thumb traces circles on my palm while his other hand reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief.
He gently dabs at my cheeks, wiping away the tears that refuse to stop.
As he leans closer, his face catches the light from the streetlamp above.
And in that moment, something flickers in his eyes - a glimmer of recognition, perhaps?
I've seen that look before, though I can't quite place it.
Maybe it was at one of my husband's office parties, or a social gathering where we crossed paths but never spoke.
He whispers my name, and everything changes.
My head spins as he pulls me closer, his arm steady around my shoulders.
The rough fabric of his shirt brushes against my cheek as I rest my head in the crook of his neck.
His cologne mingles with the night air, making me dizzy.
When I whisper "Raja," my voice comes out hoarse, barely audible.
He responds by running his fingers through my graying hair, loosening strands from my braid.
The intimacy of his touch makes me shudder.
I grip the edge of the bench to steady myself, feeling the cool metal against my palm.
His fingers continue tracing patterns on my palm as he shifts closer on the bench.
The night air feels thick and heavy around us.
When he speaks those words - "It's been too long" - memories flood back.
I recognize him now, not just from that night at the hotel, but from all those years ago when he'd watch me from across the room at my husband's office parties.
His arm tightens around my shoulders, and I sink deeper into his embrace, letting his familiar scent wash over me.
My hands shake as I grip his shirt, torn between pulling away and drawing closer.
"Why didn't you ever say anything back then?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I thought it was better this way," he replies, his voice tinged with regret.
"But now, seeing you like this, I can't keep pretending anymore."
My fingers dig into his shirt as I slowly pull away from his chest, though his arm stays firm around my shoulders.
The streetlight casts shadows across his weathered face, accentuating the lines etched by time and experience.
I study him, trying to reconcile the quiet observer from past office parties with the man holding me now.
His eyes meet mine steadily, dark and intent.
When I open my mouth to ask more questions, he gently presses his thumb against my lips.
The touch silences me.
His cologne surrounds us as he leans closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"Your husband never deserved you," he whispers.
I close my eyes, letting the truth of his words settle over me like a long-awaited balm.
His fingers intertwine with mine, and we sit in silence for a while.
The distant hum of traffic echoes through the night, a reminder of the empty house waiting for me.
The cool breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers, but it's tinged with the hint of decay.
I glance down at my hand, my wedding ring glinting under the streetlight.
It feels heavy, a constant reminder of what I've left behind.
When he speaks again, his voice is low and gentle.
"I know a place by the lake outside town. It's peaceful, quiet."
The streetlight above flickers, casting shadows across his face.
I twist my ring around my finger, considering his unspoken invitation.
The night air carries the promise of freedom and possibility.
His hand tightens around mine as I say, "I'd rather stay here."
The metal bench grows colder beneath us, and the distant traffic horns pierce the night silence.
I shift closer, until our thighs touch.
The warmth of his body seeps into me, chasing away the chill of the night air.
His breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, "We could walk to the tea stall nearby. It's open late."
I turn my head slightly, my cheek brushing against his.
The smell of tobacco clings to him, a familiar scent from those office parties where our eyes would meet across crowded rooms.
My fingers trace the rough fabric of his shirt sleeve, remembering all those times I thought he was just another colleague.
When he stands and gently tugs my hand, I rise with him.
My shawl falls forgotten on the bench as we take our first steps together.
Raja leads me down the dimly lit street, his hand still holding mine.
The tea stall is just a few blocks away, its bright lights a beacon in the night.
We pass by closed shops, their metal shutters drawn down like protective armor.
The only sound is the echo of our footsteps on the empty street.
At a corner where marigold garlands hang from the temple gate, he stops suddenly.
His grip on my hand tightens slightly as he turns to face me.
The yellow streetlight catches the silver in his hair, reminding me of all those years at office gatherings when I thought he was just another colleague.
My breath catches as he takes a step closer, his familiar scent enveloping me.
His eyes search mine in the shadows, and I feel his thumb tracing circles on my palm.