Unboxing Anjali Sharma- Part 1

Meet Anjali Sharma, a woman in her early thirties. With her smooth caramel skin, long dark hair, eyes like pools of dark chocolate, and curves in all the right places, she’s a sight to behold. She’s my stepmom and the star of the story I’m about to tell.

But there’s more to Anjali than just her stunning looks. When she’s not busy being a devoted mother, Anjali works as a teacher at a nearby junior college.

So, if you ever have the pleasure of meeting Anjali Sharma, consider yourself lucky. She’s not just a woman to be admired from afar – she’s someone who will change your life in ways you never thought possible.

But before this incident, she wasn’t much more than this wannabe city girl from the boonies. Or at least that was how it seemed to me when I first met her. Now, this is the story of the woman known as Anjali Sharma and the people who changed her.

Every day began with the sound of plates clacking with each other or Anjali shouting at Priya to get up. Soon, she would fade into my dad’s room. It was now hers also to prepare for the long day ahead of her. This day was no different.

She chose a sari, its deep crimson hues complementing her dusky complexion. She adorned herself with delicate yet thin jewellery that shimmered in the light. As she looked at herself in the mirror, a sense of pride swelled within her. Everything was perfect, and she made it.

Stepping into the bustling hallways of the college, Anjali would be met with a mixture of curious stares and whispered rumours. A glance that would linger a little too long on her chest or the hand of her colleague that would gently brush her back as an accident.

She could feel the weight of the eyes upon her. At first, she thought it was because she was new or how she conducted herself. If anything, she took immense pride in her ability as a teacher, but it was neither. What she felt was simply the carnal desires of men and women breaking out.

But she refused to be deterred by her colleagues’ scepticism. With each step, she exuded an air of confidence and poise, her movements graceful and purposeful. That afternoon, Anjali stood before her class as usual. Her gaze swept across the sea of expectant faces.

It lingered for a moment on a particular student. Now let me introduce to you the spark that lit the house on fire: Rohan Malhotra. The son of a famous guy in our area, he was the one kid who brought down the reputation of the entire junior college.

From day one, Rohan’s behaviour was increasingly brazen. He would linger after class. His comments veered into territory that made Anjali’s skin crawl. She felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach. A nagging suspicion that Rohan’s intentions were far from innocent.

And before long, he had made her into one of his prime targets. She still remembers the first conversation she had with him. One day, not long after she joined the junior college as a provisional teacher, Anjali passed by Rohan in the hallway.

He stepped in her path, blocking her way with a cocky grin. “Hey, Miss Sharma,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm. “Looking good today.”

Anjali’s jaw tightened at Rohan’s audacity, but she forced herself to maintain a polite facade. “Thank you, Rohan,” she replied tersely, her voice tinged with forced politeness. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

But Rohan wasn’t so easily dissuaded. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You know, Miss Sharma, I can’t help but notice how you’re always so put together,” he murmured, his tone suggestive. “It’s like you’re begging for someone to notice.”

Anjali’s heart raced at the implication of Rohan’s words. Her mind was reeling with a mixture of anger and fear. She knew she needed to put a stop to Rohan’s advances before things spiralled out of control. But she never could. It was like the whole college was made to be his little playground.

Anjali found herself increasingly isolated. Her colleagues offered little in the way of support or solidarity. She felt like a lone warrior, battling against the tide of harassment and intimidation that threatened to engulf her at every turn.

As the minutes ticked by, Anjali’s gaze fell upon Rohan once more. His face twisted into a smirk as he fiddled with his phone beneath his desk. A surge of unease swept through her at the sight. Her instincts screamed at her to investigate further.

With a determined stride, Anjali made her way towards Rohan’s desk, her eyes narrowing as she caught a glimpse of the screen. What she saw made her blood run cold.

There, displayed on Rohan’s phone screen, was a voyeuristic image of Anjali, captured without her knowledge or consent. Her heart pounded in her chest. She struggled to process the violation of her privacy, a wave of nausea washing over her like a tidal wave.

“Rohan, what do you think you’re doing?” Anjali’s voice trembled with anger as she confronted him publicly. Her eyes were blazing with fury. The classroom fell silent in the wake of her words, the weight of her gaze bearing down on Rohan like a leaden weight.

Rohan’s eyes widened in shock at being caught. But his expression quickly hardened into one of defiance. “Just having a little fun, Miss Sharma,” he sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance. “What’s the big deal?”

Anjali’s hands trembled with righteous indignation. She refused to back down in the face of Rohan’s arrogance. “The big deal, Rohan, is that what you’re doing is unacceptable,” she retorted, her voice ringing with authority. “It’s a violation of my privacy and a gross abuse of your position as my student.”

But Rohan was undeterred by her words, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. “Come on, Miss Sharma, don’t be such a prude,” he taunted, his words like poison seeping into the cracks of Anjali’s resolve. “You know you like the attention.”

Anjali felt a surge of anger coursing through her veins at Rohan’s callousness. But she forced herself to remain composed. “That’s enough, Rohan,” she snapped, her voice steelier than before. “I won’t tolerate this kind of behaviour in my classroom. Consider yourself warned.”

But if only things were that easy. This wasn’t the first time she caught him doing something, nor was the first time she gave him a warning. Every time she would try to voice her complaints or raise the issue with the principal, she was met with blank stares. Or with words that lacked any meaning.

Today, too, wasn’t any different. She had long learned to accept things as it is and turn a blind eye to what he did. But if only he stopped at just that. As Anjali sat at her desk, the air thick with tension, her phone buzzed with a notification.

With a sense of dread gnawing at her insides, she reached for the device, her heart pounding in her chest. The screen lit up with a cruel mockery of her existence, a digital rendering of her own body violated and defiled.

Anjali’s eyes widened in horror as she beheld the image before her. Her hands are trembling with a mixture of rage and disgust.

In the photo, she stood naked and exposed, her body twisted into a grotesque parody of desire. Crude drawings marred her skin, obscuring her modesty with flashy images of leering faces and lewd gestures. Anjali felt a surge of nausea rising in her throat.

She stared at the image, her mind recoiling from the sheer depravity of Rohan’s actions. She could feel the bile burning in her stomach as she struggled to comprehend the depths of his depravity. But even as her mind recoiled from the image, Anjali couldn’t afford to let her emotions get the better of her.

She had to confront Rohan head-on. To show him that she wouldn’t be intimidated by his cowardly tactics. He couldn’t always hide behind the people under his father’s control. With a steely resolve, Anjali marched towards Rohan’s desk, her eyes blazing with determination.

“Rohan, we need to talk,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the chatter of the classroom.

Rohan looked up from his phone, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “What’s up, Miss Sharma?” he asked, his tone dripping with false innocence.

Anjali held up her phone, the image displayed on the screen for all to see. “Do you think this is funny, Rohan?” she demanded, her voice laced with fury. “Do you think it’s acceptable to degrade and objectify me like this?”

Rohan’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of feigned confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Sharma,” he said, his voice tinged with false sincerity. “I would never do something like that.”

But Anjali wasn’t fooled by Rohan’s facade. She could see the glint of malice in his eyes, the twisted pleasure he took in her discomfort. “Don’t play dumb with me, Rohan,” she spat, her voice cold as ice. “I know it was you. And I won’t rest until you’re held accountable for your actions.”

Anjali’s pulse quickens. She drags Rohan towards the principal’s office, her grip on his arm tight enough to leave bruises. Her steps are purposeful, each one a defiant declaration of her refusal to be cowed by his intimidation tactics. The hallway is eerily silent.

The air was thick with tension as they made their way through the deserted corridors. Rohan struggled against her grasp, his protests falling on deaf ears. But Anjali’s resolve remained unyielding. She felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Her heart pounding in her chest as she prepares to confront the source of her torment head-on. As they reach the principal’s office, Anjali pushes open the door with a forceful shove, her eyes blazing with determination as she ushers Rohan inside.

The principal looks up from his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern as he takes in the scene before him.

“Miss Sharma, what’s the meaning of this?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Anjali’s voice is steady, her tone unwavering as she recounts the events that led to their current predicament. She holds nothing back, detailing Rohan’s reprehensible behaviour with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt.

But as she speaks, Anjali can’t shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at the pit of her stomach. She knows that Rohan’s family holds considerable influence over the junior college, and she fears that her accusations will fall on deaf ears like they always have, but today, she had enough of it.

Sure enough, as the principal listens to her account, a troubled frown creases his brow. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze darting between Anjali and Rohan as he weighs his next move. Before he can respond, however, Rohan’s father enters the room with a sinister smile.

His eyes gleamed with malice as he assessed the situation. Anjali’s blood ran cold as she met his gaze, her instincts screaming at her to flee.

“Ah, Miss Sharma,” Rohan’s father purrs, his voice dripping with false charm. “I trust my son hasn’t caused you too much trouble.”

Anjali’s jaw clenches with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she struggles to maintain her composure. She knows that Rohan’s father is not to be trusted, his smooth words a thinly veiled attempt to manipulate her into submission.

But even as her mind reels with fear and uncertainty at the sudden arrival of the man she has only heard stories about, Anjali knows that she cannot allow herself to be swayed by his empty promises. She knows that she must stand firm in the face of adversity, no matter the cost.

As Rohan’s father offers her a wad of cash, Anjali’s mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, the prospect of financial security is tempting, a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. But on the other hand, she knows that accepting the money would mean betraying everything she stands for, sacrificing her integrity for the sake of expediency.

Anjali’s hands tremble as she weighs her options. She knows what is going on. The principal sitting before her might have been offered an even larger wad of cash than the one in front of her. Who knows how many other of her coworkers have their hands deep in this transaction?

Her heart is torn between the desire for justice and the fear of retaliation. She feels like a pawn in a twisted game of chess, her every move dictated by the whims of those who hold sway over her fate.

But deep down, Anjali knows that she cannot allow herself to be controlled by fear. She knows that she must find the strength to stand up for what is right, no matter the cost. With a steely resolve, she pushes the money away, her voice firm as she meets Rohan’s father’s gaze head-on.

“I will not be bought,” she says, her words ringing out like a clarion call in the silent room. “But I will turn a blind eye to this matter in honour of you. But this will be the final warning. If anything happens again, I will have to take action.”

Rohan’s father’s smile falters for a moment but soon returns as he watches Anjali’s lips open and close as she speaks. But before he can respond, Anjali turns on her heel and storms out of the office. Her head is held high as she prepares to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

As she exits the office, Rohan’s father’s gaze lingers on her retreating form, a predatory glint in his eye. “Miss Sharma,” he calls out, his voice dripping with lust. “I’m hosting a little gathering at my place this evening. I do hope you’ll join us. It would be a shame to miss out on all the fun.”

Look forward to the next part to find out what happens at the drinking party. I assure you that’s where the real fun begins. Also, let me know how you liked the story so far. This is the introductory part, so I apologize for the lack of stimulation.