The office smelled like vanilla coffee pods and artificial enthusiasm. Mrunal sat at her desk, eyes fixed on her screen, though she wasn’t really reading the brief. The cursor blinked, waiting for her to start typing. Like everything else in her life—it waited, patiently, silently… until someone better came along.

She was the Creative Head. She had climbed her way up with hard work, ideas that sparked campaigns, long hours, and presentations that left people impressed. She was good at what she did. But right now, she felt like nothing.

“Hey,” a voice chirped. It was her colleague and closest friend at work, Tanya, carrying two cups of chai. “You’ve been staring at the screen like it personally offended you.”

Mrunal forced a small smile. “It probably did.”

Tanya sat beside her, nudging her with the cup. “Still thinking about him?”

Mrunal didn’t answer. Because what was there to say?

Aarav had been her dream. Not just because he was her first crush back in school—the tall, lanky boy she had once watched from behind thick glasses and a shy smile—but because he had chosen her once.

And when they reconnected years later—purely by accident—it had felt like fate. He had laughed at her jokes. Texted her good morning. Made her believe she wasn’t invisible. And slowly, she gave him everything.

But it turns out, even dreams come with expiry dates. And she? She wasn’t the main chapter. She was a footnote. A filler until someone better walked in.

Girls like her—chubby, average-looking, soft-hearted—were the comfort zone. The backup plan. The practice run. Never the first choice. And now she knew.

“I don’t know how to cheer you up,” Tanya said softly. “But I do know this—you deserve better. You deserve someone who sees you and never looks away.”

Mrunal looked at her, eyes hollow. “That’s the problem, Tan. People do see me. They just never want to stay.”

Her phone buzzed. Another forwarded message from an aunt about good Rishta's. As if marriage was a blood-stained band-aid to her humiliation. As if she were the problem that needed fixing.

She minimized her screen. Opened a blank document. Stared at the emptiness. It looked like her future.

The soft click of keys filled the room like whispered secrets. Mrunal sat in her cubicle, drafting yet another campaign idea for a client who wanted “edgy but elegant.” Her eyes flicked up, searching for a spark of inspiration—and landed on Tanya, seated diagonally across from her. Tanya's face was glowing. Literally.

There was a small, sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she scrolled through something on her phone—her lips parted just slightly, as though holding back a laugh... or something else entirely.

Mrunal narrowed her eyes. “You’re grinning like a teenager in love. Who is he?”

Tanya looked up and chuckled. “No one you know.”

Mrunal raised a brow. “Boyfriend?”

“Nope.” Tanya leaned in, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. Then she whispered, “It’s an adult platform.”

Mrunal blinked. “You mean—like porn?”

Tanya smirked. “No. It’s like… a digital confessional. A place where you write your fantasies. Your filthiest, darkest cravings. Real people, real emotions, real words. You connect anonymously, talk, write, and share. No photos. No expectations. Just… raw honesty.”

Mrunal’s brows shot up. “You’re telling strangers what turns you on?”

Tanya grinned. “I’m telling strangers what I can’t even tell myself out loud. There’s freedom in it, you know? Nobody judges. Nobody watches your body like it’s a mistake.”

Mrunal went quiet. That night, the words stayed with her.

Later at night,

The apartment was silent except for the dull hum of the ceiling fan. Mrunal lay on her bed, scrolling past wedding photos, engagement reels, and perfect couples plastered across her social media feed. Aarav’s post had already gone viral. He looked polished in his sherwani; the woman beside him was nothing short of breathtaking—tall, stunning, everything Mrunal was not.

She sighed and turned her screen face-down. Aarav had been sweet. Gentle. Safe. But… His kisses were always short, like a task. His hands never roamed. They barely ever made love, and when they did—it was clumsy, awkward, and mechanical.

Sometimes, she wondered if her body had repulsed him. Other times, she convinced herself he was just a gentleman. But deep down? She knew. He never burned for her.

That night, at 2:03 AM,

 Mrunal opened her browser and hesitated for a long moment before typing. Velvet Room: Where Desires Breathe

She stared at the sleek, minimal website that loaded. No pictures. Just words. Fantasies. Confessions. Anonymity.

A single sentence blinked at her: "Tell us what you ache for."

Her fingers trembled. But she typed.

Username: DarkMuse30

Bio: Average on the outside. Dangerous in the dark. Let’s see if you can make me feel what I’ve never felt before.

She hit Enter.

And just like that… Mrunal Deshmukh stopped being the backup girl. And became someone undeniable.

Welcome to Velvet Room. Where desires have no faces, no names… only fire.

Mrunal sat curled up on her bed, knees hugged to her chest, the screen of her laptop casting a pale glow over her face. The website was oddly elegant—nothing sleazy, nothing loud. Just… temptation wrapped in silk.

Her profile was live. Her heart was racing. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she had never said her fantasies out loud. Not even to herself. She barely admitted them in her head. What if someone messaged her? What if no one did?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. And then—a notification blinked on her screen.

New Message from: SinEater

Her breath caught. She clicked.

SinEater: DarkMuse30… You sound like someone who’s been quiet for too long. May I say hello, or are you the kind that prefers to be watched in silence?

Her lips parted slightly. There was no photo. No bio. Just a username. And… words that felt like fingertips.

She hesitated, then typed back.

DarkMuse30: Hello works. But who says I like being watched?

The reply came fast.

SinEater: Because someone like you doesn’t create a name like “DarkMuse” unless she wants to be worshipped—slowly, fully, with hands and hunger. Am I wrong?

Mrunal swallowed. Was it crazy that her cheeks flushed? That she bit her lower lip?

DarkMuse30: You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want.

Sin Eater: I don’t need to know your name to read your hunger. You’ve been touched, but never claimed. Kissed, but never undone. You crave control and chaos at once. You want to be the storm. And the surrender. You want to stop hiding.

Her chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm. Who was this man? How did he know? It was like he’d cracked open a door she’d bolted shut her whole life.

DarkMuse30: And what do you want, SinEater?

SinEater: To ruin you in ways that make you thank me for it.

She stared at the words. Her fingers hovered. Then—

DarkMuse30: Tell me how.

SinEater: Tomorrow night. Midnight. Here. If you dare. And if you don’t? I’ll still be watching. Because now I’ve seen you. And I don’t forget what makes my hands itch. Goodnight, Muse.

The message ended. And Mrunal? She sat there for a long time, knees still tucked in—but her skin buzzing with an awareness she hadn’t felt in years. Not for Aarav. Not for any man. Her screen dimmed. But she was wide awake