Intern Friday Night

Hyderabad. Vikram had known Riya for more than two decades — nearly her whole life. She was the daughter of his friends and neighbours, Deepa and Ramesh. They lived just a few streets away in the same middle-class colony. The families shared common interests and friends, so they ran into each other often at housewarmings, small dinners, festival gatherings and the usual social evenings that people in the neighbourhood drifted towards.

Riya was now twenty-three. Vikram had not seen much of her since she finished school. She had gone to a large university a few hours away and had been studying nursing — at least until recently.

A couple of weeks earlier Vikram had run into Deepa and Ramesh at a housewarming in the colony. They updated him on Riya’s sudden change of course. She had grown unhappy with nursing and decided to switch to marketing. The extra year would mean she graduated at twenty-four. Her parents looked frustrated by the late turn.

Seeing their worry, Vikram offered to help. He was a partner in a reasonably large marketing firm in the city and they always took college interns. Deepa and Ramesh looked both surprised and relieved. He gave them his visiting card and told them to ask Riya to apply directly through the company website. They thanked him and moved on to greet other guests.

A few weeks later a bottle of good red wine arrived at Vikram’s gate with a short thank-you note from Deepa and Ramesh. Riya had applied for the autumn marketing internship and been accepted. She would start soon. Vikram texted Ramesh at once to thank him for the unnecessary but kind gift.

"She’s so happy," Ramesh replied.

"I’m glad. She’ll do well," Vikram wrote back.

"Please… no special treatment, Vikram. Treat her like any other intern," Ramesh added.

"No worries. I might not even see her much. But I’ll keep a distant eye out," Vikram promised.

The late-summer workload kept Vikram buried in deliverables. When things finally eased in late September he noticed the annual welcome reception for the new interns on the calendar. Riya’s name was on the list. He almost sent her a personal welcome mail, then remembered Ramesh’s request and held back. The reception was only a few days away; he could greet her in person.

The reception was held on a Friday evening at a restaurant with a terrace overlooking a small park. The early autumn air was pleasant. Leaves were just beginning to turn. Vikram scanned the group of interns — all early twenties, bright, well-dressed. One of them stood out at once.

It was Riya. Years had passed since he last saw her properly. The long dark hair that once reached the middle of her back was now a sharp, stylish bob ending a couple of inches above her shoulders. She wore a conservative short-sleeved navy dress that stopped just above the knees, paired with tall brown leather boots that hid most of her legs. Her light eyes caught the evening light against the dark fabric.

She looked away from the group she was talking to, spotted him, and smiled. They met in the middle of the terrace. Vikram hesitated between a professional handshake and a more familiar greeting and settled for the handshake.

"Vikram uncle— sorry, Mr. Vikram. It’s so good to see you," she said.

"Riya. I can’t believe you’re here. Welcome. Your father texted me a few weeks ago, but he was very clear about—"

"No special treatment. I know. He’s being annoying about it," she finished, shaking her head with a small smile.

They spoke for a few minutes before a colleague pulled Vikram away to discuss a recently finished project. He felt irritated at the interruption. When he looked back, Riya had already joined another cluster of interns. The navy dress was conservative in cut, yet it could not hide the clean lines of her body. Her skin was fair and smooth. Vikram found it harder than he expected to keep his attention on work.

As the reception wound down he went to collect his coat and saw her sitting in the lobby on a couch near the entrance, scrolling on her phone. Her legs were crossed. The hem of the dress had ridden up slightly on her thighs.

"Riya, everything all right?" he asked.

"Hi. Yes. Just ordered a cab. My scooter is in the workshop, maybe for good."

"That’s unnecessary. Come with me."

She smiled. "Isn’t that special treatment?"

"We won’t tell your father. Cancel the cab."

The drive back to the colony passed quickly. Riya told him about the switch from nursing to marketing, her time at university, a few boyfriends, and what it was like living at home again with her parents — the “parental units,” she called them with a small laugh.

"It’s hard being twenty-three and under their roof again," she admitted. "But it lets me do the internship, so it’s worth it."

Vikram agreed it was temporary. As the car moved through the evening traffic he noticed the hem of her dress slowly climbing her thighs again. She had pulled it down once after sitting, but it kept travelling upward. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the fair skin of her thighs come into view. They looked firm and smooth. His body reacted before he could stop it.

"That’s my street," she said suddenly. He had driven past the turning.

"Sorry," he muttered, feeling heat rise in his face as he made a U-turn.

They reached her gate. She thanked him, smiled, and went inside. Vikram waited until the door closed before driving the short distance to his own house.

Ironically, he found himself near Riya often as the weeks went on. She was assigned to one of his projects, so they saw each other almost daily in workshops and review meetings. They spoke before and after sessions. A few times they stayed late with other colleagues when deadlines pressed. Whenever they worked late he offered her a lift home. He told himself it was safer than a random cab. He also knew he wanted the extra time with her. She never seemed to mind the traffic either. They talked the whole way.

Vikram found it harder and harder to stop thinking about her. He imagined ordinary things — a quiet drink after work, a film, a long conversation that did not have to end because of office hours. Then the thoughts grew more intimate. He wondered how soft her skin would feel, how her mouth would taste. At night he lay in bed and pictured her sleeping beside him.

Reality always returned. She was the daughter of friends. She was an intern. There was a clear age gap. He told himself the relationship had to stay professional. Still the longing stayed, low and constant. He wanted her — all of her.

One Friday late in October they worked past eight. Take-away boxes sat open on the conference table. When they finally packed up, the other staff and interns disappeared quickly, already planning their delayed drinks. Vikram overheard Riya decline the invitation to join them.

After the room emptied he felt he should apologise.

"Sorry for keeping you so late on a Friday."

"It’s fine. Nothing waiting at home. Parents are away till Monday, so the house is quiet. And I actually like the work here."

"You didn’t want to go out with the others?"

She smiled. "I’d rather not spend the end of a long week in a crowded bar dodging drunk boys who think they’re men."

They locked up and walked to his car.

On the drive she spoke with real energy about the next client project. Vikram remembered he had thick background folders on that client at home — old strategy decks, research, previous campaign notes. Giving her access would not be special treatment; it would simply let her start strong. A solid recommendation letter at the end of the internship would help her when she began looking for full-time work.

"I have all the background material on that client at home," he said. "You’re welcome to it. It will give you a proper head start."

"That would be really useful. Thank you."

"And outside office, just call me Vikram. ‘Mr. Vikram’ makes me feel ancient."

"Sure… Vikram." Her smile widened.

"There are quite a few folders. Can you come in and help me carry them out?"

"Of course."

They reached his house. He led her in through the side door into the kitchen. For the first time they were completely alone outside the office and the short car rides. He felt the shift immediately. He told her he would fetch the folders and disappeared down the short corridor to his home office, taking a moment to steady himself before returning with an armload of files.

When he came back Riya was walking slowly through the living room, looking at the photographs on the wall, arms folded.

"Here they are. These should keep you busy over the weekend." He set the folders on the kitchen island.

"Your house is nice," she said, coming over. "I especially like the kitchen."

"What do you like about it?"

She looked at him directly. "You. Just you." A short silence followed. Colour rose in her cheeks. "Sorry. That was stupid."

Vikram’s throat felt tight. "It’s not stupid."

They stood close. He reached out and took her hand. Her skin was soft. He had not touched her since the formal handshake at the reception.

"Riya, it’s all right."

She looked up. Her eyes were clear, cheeks still flushed. He closed the small distance and kissed her. She answered at once, arms sliding around his waist, pulling him in. Their mouths opened. Tongues met. His hands settled on her hips and moved slowly up the smooth fabric of the navy dress. He was hard within seconds. He tried to ease his hips back; she pulled him closer again, feeling the clear shape of him against her.

They kissed for long minutes in the kitchen, hands moving over clothes, learning the shape of each other. Then Riya broke the kiss and spoke against his ear.

"Take me upstairs."

"I’m not sure this is a good idea," he managed, even as his hands stayed on her.

Her fingers found his belt, then the front of his trousers. She traced the hard outline of him through the cloth.

"Let’s go," she said quietly.

Thoughts of her parents, the internship, the age difference — all of it dropped away. She turned and led him up the stairs. He followed, eyes on the movement of her legs in the tall boots, the hem of the dress shifting with each step. By the time they reached the bedroom his erection was almost painful.

They kissed again the moment the door closed, hands roaming with less restraint. He told her he loved the dress. She turned her back. He found the zipper and drew it down slowly, kissing the back of her neck as the fabric parted. Pale skin and faint freckles appeared. The dress slid to the floor. She stood in a matching navy bra and panties, still wearing the boots.

She faced him and worked the buttons of his shirt open, pushing it off his shoulders. Her mouth moved over his neck and chest while her hands opened his trousers. He stepped out of his shoes and trousers. She looked at him in only his briefs, the fabric stretched tight and already damp at the tip.

"Help me with the boots," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He knelt. He kissed her while his hands mapped her arms and the soft weight of her breasts through the bra. Then he took one leg, unzipped the boot slowly, and kissed the skin of her calf as the leather came away. He did the same with the other. His mouth travelled higher, lingering behind her knee, then along the inner thigh until he reached the navy cotton. A dark wet circle had already formed at the centre.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew the panties down. She closed her legs briefly, then opened them for him. A neat patch of dark hair sat low between her thighs. He kissed her mouth again while the hard length of him brushed against her through his briefs. Then he moved lower, kissing her stomach, breathing in the scent of her. He pressed his mouth to her, tongue finding the swollen peak of her clit. She made a low sound and tilted her hips toward him.

He licked her slowly, thoroughly, sliding two fingers inside her when she was ready. She was already wet and open. His tongue stayed on her clit while his fingers moved. Her moans grew sharper. She locked her ankles behind his neck and pushed herself harder against his mouth.

"There— right there," she whispered, then louder. He kept the same steady pressure until her back arched and her thighs tightened around his head. She came with a broken cry, body shaking, hands fisted in the sheets.

He stayed still for a moment, forehead against her thigh, listening to her breathing slow. When she sat up she pulled him closer, still on his knees.

"Stand up," she said.

He did. She unclipped her bra and let it fall, then dropped to her knees in front of him. Her breasts were full and soft. She left his briefs on at first, mouthing the hard shape of him through the damp fabric, her inner thighs brushing his shins as she moved. The combination of her mouth and the press of her skin was almost enough to finish him.

Only when the wet spot had spread did she peel the briefs down. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed. She kissed along the underside, deliberately avoiding the head at first, then took the tip into her mouth and sucked slowly, tongue working. She took him deeper until he felt the back of her throat. Her fingers cupped his balls. He steadied himself on her shoulders.

When she paused and looked up, he understood. He held her head gently and began to move, shallow at first, then deeper once he felt her relax. She let him. The wet heat of her mouth, the soft sounds she made, the sight of her on her knees with her lips stretched around him — it was almost too much. He pulled free before he lost control, knelt, and kissed her, tasting himself on her tongue.

"I want to be inside you," he said against her ear.

"I’ve wanted that since the reception," she answered.

They stood, kissing, hands everywhere. The comforter was shoved aside. Riya moved to the centre of the bed and opened her legs. He covered her body with his and pushed into her in one slow thrust. Both of them groaned at the sudden fullness. He began to move, deep and steady. She met every stroke. He sucked one nipple, then the other. Her back arched. Her inner muscles fluttered and clenched around him as a second orgasm took her, stronger than the first. She cried out with each thrust, voice raw.

He felt his own climax rising fast. "I’m going to come— I should pull out."

He started to withdraw. She caught his wrist and held it against his thigh, keeping him close.

"Riya—"

He had no time left. He came hard, spilling across her stomach and lower abdomen in thick pulses. The pale fluid stood out briefly against her fair skin before she reached down and spread it with her fingers. He collapsed beside her, breathing hard. They kissed slowly, tasting salt and each other, and held on.

After a while they dozed. Later they showered together under the multiple heads, washing each other with lazy, thorough hands. When they returned to the bed the sheets were cool. They slid under them and fell into a deep, heavy sleep, limbs tangled, the house quiet around them.

That was only Friday.