“Chai Wali Raat”
Rural highway. 2 baje ki raat.
Barish ho rahi thi.
Ek chhota sa dhaba — “Guru Ji Chai” — jahan sirf ek bujurg chai bechte the… aur unki beti, Simran — 28 saal ki, sharp eyes, tight kurta, aur hamesha apne haathon mein steel glass saaf karti rehti thi.
Aaj unka bua bimar tha.
Simran akeli thi.
Tabhi ek Royal Enfield ruki.
Ek aadmi utra — Kabir, 35 saal ka travel photographer, leather jacket mein, baalon mein thoda sa pani, aankhon mein thakan… aur kuch aur — ek udaas, gehri chahat.
“Chai do,” usne kaha, voice rough.
Simran ne glass saaf karte hue dekha — uske jacket ke niche ek tattoo tha: “Lost, but not gone.”
Usne chai banayi… lekin jab glass diya, toh uski ungli uske haath ko chhu gayi.
Kabir ne dekha — Simran ki aankhon mein sharm nahi… challenge thi.
“Tum yahan roz raat ko akeli rehti ho?” usne pucha.
“Jab tak koi khaas aadmi na aaye… haan,” Simran ne kaha, seedhe uski aankhon mein dekhte hue.
Kabir muskuraaya. “Main khaas hoon?”
“Tumhare haathon ke kaatne… aur aankhon ke dard se lagta hai — haan,” usne kaha.
“Par agar tum sach mein khaas ho…
Toh chai ke baad kuch aur mang sakte ho.“
Kabir ne apni chai khatam ki… phir dheere se bola,
“Main tumhare haathon ki garmi chhoo kar jaana chahta hoon…
Na chai ki.”
Simran ne steel glass rakh diya.
Phir dhaba ka neon sign off kar diya.
“Ab sab band hai… sirf hum do.”
Woh dono dhaba ke peeche chhote se kamre mein gaye — jahan sirf ek charpai thi, aur ek diya jalta tha.
Kabir ne uske kurte ke button kholne shuru kiye.
“Dar lag raha hai?” usne pucha.
“Bas itna dar hai… ke agar tumne roka, toh main mar jaungi,” Simran ne kaha.
“Isliye… meri chut ko aise chhoo jaise tumne kabhi kisi ko nahi chhua.“
Kabir ne uske kurte utaare.
Ek simple white choli. Nange pair. Garam saans.
Usne uske kamar ko pakad kar charpai par le jaaya.
“Main photo khinchta hoon… par aaj raat,
Main sirf tumhari awaaz ki recording karunga,” usne kaha,
Aur apni ungli uske chut ke labon par ghumaya.
“Ahh… haan… waise hi!” Simran ne kaha.
“Ab apna lund nikal… main dekhna chahti hoon kitna bada hai mera dard bhagane wala.“
Kabir ne apna jeans khole…
Lund khada tha — gehra, mota, aur poori tarah taiyaar.
Simran ne khud condom pehnaaya…
Phir khud upar baith gayi.
Dheere se… phir jhatak ke saath — poori tarah andar.
“AHHH—!” dono ki saansen ek ho gayi.
Simran ne apne boobs pakde… aur Kabir ko dekhte hue kaha,
“Ab tu bas ek cheez kar…
Mujhe itna chod ke main kal subah bhi teri awaaz sunoon.“
Kabir ne uske kamar ko pakad kar jhatakne shuru kar diye.
Har jhatak ke saath Simran ki awaaz tez hoti gayi…
Aur jab woh farig hui, toh usne Kabir ka naam chillaya — jaise koi dua ho.
Thodi der baad, jab barish thami…
Kabir ne apni bike ki keys uthayi.
“Phir milenge?” usne pucha.
Simran ne sirf ek steel glass saaf kiya…
Aur kaha,
“Jab tak tumhari chut ki pyaas rahegi…
Main yahin rahungi.
Chai ke naam pe… par pyaas tumhari hogi.“
Kabir muskuraaya…
Aur raat mein ghul gaya.
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