Cops And Robbers (Indian Style) F/M

[indianboy]

"Ma, I'm home!" called a young voice from the doorway.

Sarita looked up from her cooking, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the messy-haired silhouette of her 10-year-old son, Rohan. The kitchen was a warm cocoon of aromas from the sizzling chicken tikka masala, a dish she had learned to perfect to compensate for their quiet weekends. Her husband had passed away two years ago, leaving them in a cramped Mumbai apartment that never quite felt the same without his boisterous laughter echoing through the corridors. But she had learned to find joy in the little moments, like the sizzle of spices in hot oil and Rohan's eager face as he announced his return from playing cricket with the neighborhood kids.

"Ma, can we play cops and robbers?" Rohan's question hung in the air, a reminder of the simpler days when weekends were for games and laughter. Sarita wiped her hands on her apron, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned to face him. "Just for a little while?" he added, hope glinting in his eyes.

Sarita pretended to consider it, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, but remember, if the robber gets caught, he'll be tied up tight and won't be able to escape," she said, her voice playfully stern. Rohan's eyes widened in mock horror, and he took off running, giggling as he dashed through the narrow hallway, dodging the potted plants and the stacks of books that threatened to topple over.

With a swiftness she didn't know she still had, Sarita chased after him, the skirt of her salwar swishing around her ankles. The chase was short-lived, as she easily caught Rohan by the back of his T-shirt, his laughter bubbling over as she pinned him against the living room wall. "You're under arrest, mister!" she exclaimed, her eyes dancing with amusement. Rohan squirmed in her grip, trying to break free, but she was too strong, and he knew it was all in good fun.

Sarita took her dupatta off from her neck and held it out to him. "Looks like we're going to need some handcuffs," she said with a wink. Rohan's grin grew wider as he offered his wrists for her to tie. She wrapped the soft fabric around them, tying it tightly. With a twist of her wrist, she tightened the knot, watching his expression for any signs of discomfort. He winced slightly, and she paused, making sure it wasn't too tight. "It's okay, Ma," he assured her, his voice muffled by the fabric. "It's like a game of pretend."

With the knot secure, Sarita stepped back to admire her handiwork. Rohan struggled against his makeshift restraints, the dupatta tightening around his skin. She could see the excitement in his eyes as he tested the strength of the knot. It was moments like these that she treasured, when she could forget about the bills and the worries and just be a mother playing with her son. "You're not getting out of here without a fight," she warned him, her voice light.

Rohan's laughter grew more frantic as he attempted to pull his hands apart. The fabric held firm, and with a dramatic sigh, he slumped against the wall. "I guess you've got me, officer," he said, a note of resignation in his voice.

Sarita's smile softened, and she stepped closer to him. "Let's get you some dinner," she said, her eyes misting over slightly. She didn't want the game to end, but she knew that hunger waited for no one, not even pretend fugitives. She turned back to the kitchen, the warm glow spilling into the hallway.

With a plate of steaming rice and a bowl of chicken tikka masala in hand, she approached Rohan, his wrists still bound by the dupatta. The rich scent of the food filled the room, and his stomach rumbled, a reminder of their very real needs amidst their imaginary world. She set the plate down on the small wooden table in the corner of the living room, the same table that had seen countless meals shared by three, now only two.

Crouching down beside him, Sarita scooped a spoonful of rice and brought it to his lips. "Open up," she teased, her voice filled with warmth. Rohan eagerly opened his mouth, and she fed him, the grains sticking to his teeth and the flavorful sauce dripping down his chin. His eyes sparkled with delight as he chewed and swallowed, the taste of home-cooked food a balm to his hungry soul. The game had transformed into a tender moment of connection, a silent acknowledgment of the care she had for him, even in the most mundane of tasks.

As they ate, the light from the setting sun painted the room in a soft orange glow. The TV in the corner played a Bollywood classic, the distant sounds of singing and laughter providing a comforting backdrop to their quiet evening. Sarita listened to Rohan's stories of his day, the games and the triumphs, and she felt a pang of sadness that she hadn't been there to witness them. But she also felt a surge of pride that he could find joy in a world that had taken so much from them.

Once the last grain of rice was gone and the chicken bones picked clean, Rohan looked up at her with a hopeful expression. "Ma, can you untie me now?" he asked, his voice sleepy and content.

Sarita nodded, gently untying the dupatta that bound his wrists. "Come," she said, taking his hand and leading him to his bedroom. The room was a mess of discarded toys and clothes, but the bed was neatly made, a testament to her dedication to maintaining order amidst the chaos of single parenthood. She grabbed another dupatta from the pile of laundry and began to tie it around his waist.

"Ma, what are you doing?" Rohan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Sarita looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, if you're going to be a captured robber, you can't just sit there all evening, can you?" she said, leading him to his bedroom. The room was a riot of colors, with posters of cricket players and superheroes plastered on the walls.

Gently, she folded a second dupatta into a makeshift blindfold and tied it around his head, tucking the ends behind his ears. "Now, you're going to have to be a good sport," she warned, watching as his eyes widened in anticipation. She stepped back and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of his small hand in hers.

Guiding him to the bed, she sat him down and helped him lie back, the pillow cushioning his head. "Remember, no peeking," she whispered, her breath tickling his cheek. Rohan nodded, his eyes closed tightly beneath the blindfold. The room grew quiet, save for the occasional sound of a car honking in the distance, a reminder of the bustling city outside their apartment.

Sarita's heart swelled as she surveyed the room, a tangible representation of the life she had built for them. Two years had passed, but the pain of her husband's absence remained a constant companion. Yet, in moments like these, she felt a glimmer of hope, a whisper of happiness that was uniquely theirs. She leaned over and kissed Rohan's forehead, her lips lingering for a moment as she breathed in the scent of him, a mix of sweat and innocence.

[charliesmith]

Lovely story! Would love to read more from you.

[India999]

Heyy nice one add details next time Use more That dupatta scarves and some strict bondage in Indian style

[juhiseervi]

"Ma, I'm home!" called a young voice from the doorway.

Sarita looked up from her cooking, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the messy-haired silhouette of her 10-year-old son, Rohan. The kitchen was a warm cocoon of aromas from the sizzling chicken tikka masala, a dish she had learned to perfect to compensate for their quiet weekends. Her husband had passed away two years ago, leaving them in a cramped Mumbai apartment that never quite felt the same without his boisterous laughter echoing through the corridors. But she had learned to find joy in the little moments, like the sizzle of spices in hot oil and Rohan's eager face as he announced his return from playing cricket with the neighborhood kids.

"Ma, can we play cops and robbers?" Rohan's question hung in the air, a reminder of the simpler days when weekends were for games and laughter. Sarita wiped her hands on her apron, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned to face him. "Just for a little while?" he added, hope glinting in his eyes.

Sarita pretended to consider it, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, but remember, if the robber gets caught, he'll be tied up tight and won't be able to escape," she said, her voice playfully stern. Rohan's eyes widened in mock horror, and he took off running, giggling as he dashed through the narrow hallway, dodging the potted plants and the stacks of books that threatened to topple over.

With a swiftness she didn't know she still had, Sarita chased after him, the skirt of her salwar swishing around her ankles. The chase was short-lived, as she easily caught Rohan by the back of his T-shirt, his laughter bubbling over as she pinned him against the living room wall. "You're under arrest, mister!" she exclaimed, her eyes dancing with amusement. Rohan squirmed in her grip, trying to break free, but she was too strong, and he knew it was all in good fun.

Sarita took her dupatta off from her neck and held it out to him. "Looks like we're going to need some handcuffs," she said with a wink. Rohan's grin grew wider as he offered his wrists for her to tie. She wrapped the soft fabric around them, tying it tightly. With a twist of her wrist, she tightened the knot, watching his expression for any signs of discomfort. He winced slightly, and she paused, making sure it wasn't too tight. "It's okay, Ma," he assured her, his voice muffled by the fabric. "It's like a game of pretend."

With the knot secure, Sarita stepped back to admire her handiwork. Rohan struggled against his makeshift restraints, the dupatta tightening around his skin. She could see the excitement in his eyes as he tested the strength of the knot. It was moments like these that she treasured, when she could forget about the bills and the worries and just be a mother playing with her son. "You're not getting out of here without a fight," she warned him, her voice light.

Rohan's laughter grew more frantic as he attempted to pull his hands apart. The fabric held firm, and with a dramatic sigh, he slumped against the wall. "I guess you've got me, officer," he said, a note of resignation in his voice.

Sarita's smile softened, and she stepped closer to him. "Let's get you some dinner," she said, her eyes misting over slightly. She didn't want the game to end, but she knew that hunger waited for no one, not even pretend fugitives. She turned back to the kitchen, the warm glow spilling into the hallway.

With a plate of steaming rice and a bowl of chicken tikka masala in hand, she approached Rohan, his wrists still bound by the dupatta. The rich scent of the food filled the room, and his stomach rumbled, a reminder of their very real needs amidst their imaginary world. She set the plate down on the small wooden table in the corner of the living room, the same table that had seen countless meals shared by three, now only two.

Crouching down beside him, Sarita scooped a spoonful of rice and brought it to his lips. "Open up," she teased, her voice filled with warmth. Rohan eagerly opened his mouth, and she fed him, the grains sticking to his teeth and the flavorful sauce dripping down his chin. His eyes sparkled with delight as he chewed and swallowed, the taste of home-cooked food a balm to his hungry soul. The game had transformed into a tender moment of connection, a silent acknowledgment of the care she had for him, even in the most mundane of tasks.

As they ate, the light from the setting sun painted the room in a soft orange glow. The TV in the corner played a Bollywood classic, the distant sounds of singing and laughter providing a comforting backdrop to their quiet evening. Sarita listened to Rohan's stories of his day, the games and the triumphs, and she felt a pang of sadness that she hadn't been there to witness them. But she also felt a surge of pride that he could find joy in a world that had taken so much from them.

Once the last grain of rice was gone and the chicken bones picked clean, Rohan looked up at her with a hopeful expression. "Ma, can you untie me now?" he asked, his voice sleepy and content.

Sarita nodded, gently untying the dupatta that bound his wrists. "Come," she said, taking his hand and leading him to his bedroom. The room was a mess of discarded toys and clothes, but the bed was neatly made, a testament to her dedication to maintaining order amidst the chaos of single parenthood. She grabbed another dupatta from the pile of laundry and began to tie it around his waist.

"Ma, what are you doing?" Rohan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Sarita looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, if you're going to be a captured robber, you can't just sit there all evening, can you?" she said, leading him to his bedroom. The room was a riot of colors, with posters of cricket players and superheroes plastered on the walls.

Gently, she folded a second dupatta into a makeshift blindfold and tied it around his head, tucking the ends behind his ears. "Now, you're going to have to be a good sport," she warned, watching as his eyes widened in anticipation. She stepped back and took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of his small hand in hers.

Guiding him to the bed, she sat him down and helped him lie back, the pillow cushioning his head. "Remember, no peeking," she whispered, her breath tickling his cheek. Rohan nodded, his eyes closed tightly beneath the blindfold. The room grew quiet, save for the occasional sound of a car honking in the distance, a reminder of the bustling city outside their apartment.

Sarita's heart swelled as she surveyed the room, a tangible representation of the life she had built for them. Two years had passed, but the pain of her husband's absence remained a constant companion. Yet, in moments like these, she felt a glimmer of hope, a whisper of happiness that was uniquely theirs. She leaned over and kissed Rohan's forehead, her lips lingering for a moment as she breathed in the scent of him, a mix of sweat and innocence.

[amboundgagit]

Great story

[Nainur]

yes, very nice one. Why not more 'Indian'-style? Go on with that, please.