The library was a labyrinth of shadows and the heavy scent of old paper, the air thick and stagnant after school hours. Mr. Khanna, the principal, stood by the tall mahogany shelves. He was a mountain of a man, his fair skin contrasting with the dark intensity of his gaze. His hair was pulled back into a sleek man bun, and his muscular frame stretched the seams of his tailored white shirt.

Neha, the history teacher, stood before him, her presence intoxicating. Her saree clung to her lush, hourglass figure, the silk straining over the heavy, ample curve of her breasts and the provocative swell of her hips.