Chapter 1 - The New Neighbours
The New Neighbours
Kattumannarkoil is a small village in Cuddalore district. Hindus and Muslims have lived together there for generations, sharing the same streets and community.
At the very end of Sannathi Street stood my house.
Hi, I'm Nithish.
If I have to tell you about myself, I finished college about six months ago. Since then, I've been unemployed and spending most of my time at home, getting scolded by my parents.
They would constantly tease me about sitting around doing nothing.
My father’s voice rose, Nithish Six months since you finished college, and you treat this house like a hotel! And "all you do is breathe my air and eat the government's free rice!"—that's all you're good for,” they would joke whenever they got annoyed with me.
I usually went out with my friends in the evenings. One day, as I was leaving the house, I noticed a family moving into the house next door.
They were a Muslim family.
I noticed them for a moment but didn't think much about it. I simply went out with my friends.
For the next couple of days, I stayed at home while my parents chatted with the people from the neighbouring house. From their conversations, I learned that the family had recently moved here from another town.
About three months later, the uncle from the neighbouring house opened a small convenience store in his backyard.
His name was Malik.
One day, Nithish stopped by the shop.
“What made you start a shop here, Uncle?” he asked.
Malik smiled.
“I just returned after working abroad. I couldn't sit around doing nothing, so I decided to open this little store.”
“That's a good idea, Uncle,” Nithish replied.
Just then, Malik's wife stepped out from the shadows of the store, her saree draped elegantly, her hair pulled back into a tight, low bun with gajra.
“How are you?” she asked Nithish.
“I'm fine, Aunty,” he replied.
But the way she looked at him was different.
Nithish didn't understand why.
She stared at him for a moment before eventually walking away.
Nithish stood there, wondering about it.
Maybe it's because I'm only wearing a boxer.
The next morning, Nithish went outside to buy milk.
He noticed his neighbour aunty again.
She noticed him too.
Once again, she looked at him differently.
Nithish didn't pay much attention to it and went to buy the milk.
The day passed normally.
The following morning, when Nithish went out for milk again, he noticed the same thing.
Neighbour aunty looks became more intense, more pointedkept looking at him differently.
A week went by.
One morning, while Nithish was out buying milk, the neighbour aunty approached him.
“Hey, boy!” she called out, her voice low and honeyed.
He turned toward her.
“Yes, Aunty?”
“How are you? Are you doing well?” she asked.
“I'm fine, Aunty.”
She didn't look at his face. Her gaze was locked on his hairy Armpit and nipples and then at him for a moment before asking,
“What is your name?”
“My name is Nithish,Armpit he answered.
She smiled.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed hard, a bead of saliva glistening on her lower lip.
“My name is Hathijamma.”
Then she asked, “So, what are you doing now? Are you studying or working?”
“I finished college six months ago. I'm looking for a job. I've asked a friend who works at a laboratory to let me know if there are any openings.”
“Oh, I see. That's good. You should keep looking. Now go and take care of your work,” Hathijamma said.
“Okay, Aunty.”
After that, Nithish and Hathijamma began having casual conversations whenever he went out to buy milk. Their conversations were usually filled with jokes and light-hearted teasing.
But one morning, Nithish noticed that Hathijamma aunty behaviour and tone shifted. The humor grew teeth, turning into something sharper, something flirtatious.
He wasn't sure how to react, so he simply played along, the thrill of the taboo fueling his confidence.
"You have a funny way of talking, Nithish," she said one morning, her voice a purr.
"I just like to keep things interesting, Aunty."
"Interesting," she echoed. She stepped into his personal space, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your chest... those nipples look like they were made to be licked."
Nithish froze.
Slowly Hathijamma aunty hand reached out, fingers hovering inches from his chest and grazing the peak of his nipples.
Just then, a voice came from inside the house.
“mother!”
Hathijamma aunty jumped back, her expression snapping back to one of maternal modesty.
Hathijamma aunty turned toward the house.
“What is it?” she called.
A girl came outside.
She looked at Nithish curiously.
“Who is this boy, mother?” she asked.
“He's the boy from the neighbouring house,” Hathijamma aunty replied.
“Oh.”
The girl turned toward Nithish.
“What is your name?”
“My name is Nithish. What about you?”
“My name is Aafila.”
Nithish smiled.
“Your family has been here for almost five months, right? I don't think I've seen you before.”
Aafila smiled.
“I'm married. I live at my husband's house. I came to my mother's house last night.”
“Oh, okay,” Nithish replied.
"You're married?" Nithish asked.
"I was married at twenty-one," she said, her smile widening. "I'm twenty-six now. I have a daughter."
Nithish blinked. "A daughter? I'm only twenty-three."
Aafila laughed, a rich, melodic sound. "So you're just a baby to me, aren't you? A cute little baby."
***
"I'm not that little, big sister," Nithish countered, a smirk playing on his lips.
The three of them continued talking for a while.
Then Hathijamma remembered something.
“Aafila, your daughter has gone to school, right? I've prepared her food.”
“That's actually why I called you, Amma,” Aafila replied.
“Okay. Come, let's get the food ready,” Hathijamma aunty said.
Aafila turned back toward Nithish.
“We'll talk later.”
“Sure. Bye, Aunty. Bye, Aafila.”
Nithish headed home.
That night, Nithish lay in bed thinking about Hathijamma aunty unusual behaviour.
His mind played a loop of Hathijamma’s hand reaching for him.
Staring at the ceiling.
"If she tries something again," he whispered to the empty room, "I'm not stepping back." eventually falling asleep.
The next morning, around seven o'clock, Nithish went outside as usual.
Hathijamma aunty saw him.
“Nithish, come here,” she called.
He approached her, and before he could speak, her hand clamped onto his chest. She didn't tease this time. She reached under his shirt, her thumb circling his nipple with a firm, rhythmic pressure.
"Aunty, what are you—"
She silenced him by leaning in, her mouth finding his nipple through the cloth, sucking hard. Nithish gasped, his hands instinctively finding her breasts. He squeezed them, feeling the weight and warmth of her through the saree. Hathijamma aunty let out a low, guttural moan, her body arching into his.
“Nithish! Are you still outside? Haven't you gone to buy the milk yet?”
Nithish immediately stepped away.
“I'll come, Amma!”
He hurried toward the shop, leaving Hathijamma behind.
Later that morning, Nithish kept thinking about what had happened.
He couldn't understand what Hathijamma wanted from him.
At the same time, he couldn't deny that her behaviour had begun to affect him.
He wondered what would happen if she tried to get closer to him again.
For the first time, Nithish realized that his unemployment life in Sannathi Street might not remain ordinary for much longer.
