Savita and Rehaan and their Lust Story
Savita was the kind of woman who turned heads without trying. Graceful, sharp, and always wrapped in perfectly pleated sarees, she moved through the office with an air of quiet confidence. She had been married to Anil for seven years—a good man, steady, predictable.
But Rehaan… Rehaan was not predictable.
He had joined the firm just six months ago—sharp jawline, messy hair that looked like he’d just run his fingers through it, and eyes that lingered a second longer than they should. The kind of man who said little, but when he looked at you, it felt like he said everything.
They first brushed hands over a file.
Then shared late-night project calls.
Then silence.
Tense, charged, heavy silence in the glass-walled meeting room when everyone else had gone home.
“Are we going to keep pretending this doesn’t mean something?” Rehaan had asked her once, his voice low, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.
Savita should have walked away. Should have reminded him—and herself—that she was married.
But instead, she whispered, “We’re already past pretending, Rehaan.”
Since then, every passing glance in the hallway felt electric. Every team meeting was a dance of stolen eye contact and shared smirks only they understood.
Sometimes they met in the far corner of the parking basement—an unfinished wing of the building no one used. Between yellow caution tape and dusty cubicles, Savita would loosen her bun and Rehaan would forget what restraint meant.
Their affair was never loud. Never messy. But it was undeniable.
Savita told herself it was just a phase. That once the promotion came through, or once the guilt caught up, she’d stop.
But deep down, she knew—it wasn’t just about escape.
It was about feeling seen.
Desired.
Alive.
The office elevator hummed as it descended, the air inside thick with silence.
Savita stood to one side, arms crossed, eyes forward, every sense heightened. She could feel Rehaan behind her—close. Too close. The hum of the machinery seemed to sync with her pulse.
Just the two of them. 18 floors.
She didn’t need to look to know he was watching her—the way her hair fell over her shoulder, the slight rise and fall of her breath. She adjusted her saree’s pallu, pretending composure, but her fingers trembled ever so slightly.
Rehaan stepped forward.
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Check out our Story about Kavita Bhabhi