Chapter 52 – Silent Possession

The staff room was lively, cups of chai clinking, the aroma of fresh samosas filling the air. Professors Banerjee and Sharma were leading a discussion about the fest, and others chimed in with lighthearted jokes.

Poornima sat gracefully, her dupatta neatly arranged, notebook open in front of her though she wasn’t writing much. Veeresh was right beside her, his tall frame leaning back with that air of quiet authority that made people lower their voices around him without realizing.

As the conversation flowed, his hand remained on her waist—hidden under the table’s edge. His grip was light at first, then deliberate, fingers pressing against her saree in a way that said: “I’m here. You’re mine.”

Poornima’s breath faltered for a second, but she kept her composure, smiling and nodding at Professor Sharma’s story. To anyone else, she was simply listening. But inside, her pulse was racing.

When the tea arrived, Veeresh took her cup first before even touching his own. He slid it towards her with ease, his fingers brushing hers briefly. To the others, it looked like casual courtesy. To Poornima, it was something else entirely—a husband’s silent service, a lover’s claim.

“Thank you, Mr. Raj,” she said softly, her tone deliberately even.

His lips curved into the faintest smirk, his eyes cutting sideways toward her. He didn’t need to speak; the message was clear: Say my name that way again when we’re alone.

The room erupted in laughter at a joke from Professor Banerjee, and Poornima chuckled too. That was when his grip on her waist tightened just a little, pulling her an inch closer to him. No one noticed—their eyes were on Banerjee—but she did. Her cheeks flushed, though she quickly lowered her gaze, hiding it behind her cup of tea.

Then came the playful demand again:

“Professor Raj, Professor Poornima—you promised us a treat!”

Veeresh’s eyes flickered to her. Under the table, his thumb stroked her waist once, firmly, before he answered aloud, “You’ll have it.”

Poornima, stealing a glance at him, added sweetly, “Yes, we’ll arrange it soon.”

The professors clapped in delight, already making suggestions for sweets, snacks, and even parties. No one noticed the way Veeresh leaned just slightly closer to Poornima, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured so low only she could hear:

“Wife, your treat will always be only mine.”

Poornima’s fingers tightened around her teacup, her lips curving into a small, secret smile that no one could decode. She didn’t reply—her eyes did. And Veeresh, satisfied, leaned back as though nothing had happened.