Office next day

I arrived after nine and found the floor dark except for the light in Rajesh’s office. The door was ajar. Inside, Bharathi stood beside the desk in her intern blouse and knee-length skirt, badge still clipped at her chest, hair pulled back the way she wore it on her first week. Nineteen, polite, still careful with every sentence she spoke in meetings. Rajesh was behind the desk, shirt open at the collar, the necklace resting against his skin. He looked up when I entered.

“Close the door,” he said. “She stayed to help with the filing. I told her she could leave after she finished. She hasn’t finished.”

Bharathi glanced at me, then back at him, hands folded in front of her. There was no fear in her face yet, only the mild confusion of someone waiting to be dismissed. Rajesh touched the stone once.

“Come here, Bharathi.”

She walked around the desk and stopped in front of him. He reached up and undid the top button of her blouse. She watched his fingers. He undid the second. The third. The fabric parted. He slid the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms, folded it once, and set it on the chair. She stood in a plain white bra, arms at her sides, breathing a little faster but not moving away.

“You’re doing well,” he said. “Kiss me.”

She leaned in. The kiss was hesitant at first—lips closed, unsure—then he tilted her head and she opened for him. His tongue slid against hers slowly. She made a small, surprised sound and her hands rose halfway before settling on his chest. He kept the kiss gentle, unhurried, one palm on her waist, until she was pressing closer on her own. When he drew back her mouth was pink and her eyes were wider.

“Bra next,” he said.

She reached back, unhooked it, and let it fall. Her breasts were small, nipples already tight in the cool office air. He cupped one, thumb brushing the peak, and kissed her again while he did it. She shivered into his mouth. He told her the touch felt good, that she wanted him to keep kissing her while he touched her, that nothing about this was wrong. She nodded against his lips and kissed him back with more certainty.

He turned her, bent her forward over the desk, and lifted her skirt. The underwear was simple cotton. He drew it down to mid-thigh and ran two fingers through her. She was wet. A soft gasp left her when he pressed them inside. He stroked slowly, kissing the back of her neck, telling her she was perfect like this, innocent and open for him. She pushed back onto his hand in small, tentative motions. He took his phone, propped it, and started the video before he freed himself and pushed into her in one long, careful stroke.

She was tight. Her fingers curled on the desk. He stayed still, kissing her shoulder, until the tension eased, then began to move in deep, steady thrusts. One hand rubbed her clit in time with his hips. She came with a high, broken sound, legs shaking, face turned to the side. He fucked her through it, then pulled out, sat her on the edge of the desk, and kissed her while he pushed back in—face to face, slower, her arms around his neck. She moaned into his mouth. He finished inside her with his forehead against hers, staying buried until the pulses stopped.

When he pulled out she was breathing hard, eyes glassy. He handed her the wipes, told her to clean up, dress, and forget every second after six o’clock. She nodded. By the time her blouse was buttoned again the focus had returned to her face. She gathered the folders and left without looking at either of us.

Rajesh stopped the video, set the phone down, and looked at me.

“She was very sweet,” he said. “You can stay or go.”

The office smelled like sex and the lemon wipes. Bharathi’s badge still lay on the desk where it had fallen.