Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

That call with Kavita still sat in my body like something left unfinished.
She always throws these lines so casually.
“He lasted more than ten minutes.”
Then, just like that:
“You have a good figure and curvy body… you’re wasting it inside cotton sarees.”
I laughed at the time. Softly. Like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
Those words stayed.
Not on my skin.
Inside.

---

A soft ticking from the hall pulls my eyes toward the clock.
3:30 PM.
One hour left before the boys come storming in—shouting, running, demanding cake before they’ve even washed their hands.
And Kartik… he’ll be home by four.
He texted.
"Freshen up. We’ll go together.”
Big party today.
Neighbours. Men. Aunties. Too many eyes.
I walk slowly to the cupboard and open it.
Even the creak of the hinge feels louder than usual.

---

First thought?
Saree.
That safe yellow cotton one, green border. The one that makes me look… invisible.
The kind of cloth that says, “Good girl, good wife, well-behaved.”
Like a curtain wrapped around my body to hide everything I’m not supposed to feel.
I place it aside.
Then the chudi.
Full-sleeved. Pink. Threadwork at the neck. Covers everything.
Kartik once said, “Looks nice.”
Nice.
Like warm milk.
Like boiled vegetables.

---

I pull both out, place them on the bed.
But Kavita’s voice won’t leave.
“If I had your waist, I’d never step out in anything below jeans.”
She was half joking.
But now?
I’m not.
I crouch down, open the lower shelf.
Jeans.
Tight. Soft. Stretchy enough to fit my hips.
Every time I wear it, it hugs my ass so perfectly it makes me feel… seen.
And that pink boat-neck t-shirt.
Sits tight around my breasts. Makes them look full. Round.
If I lift my arms even slightly, the hem rises just enough to show a sliver of skin.
Just enough to make a man wonder what’s beneath.
I remember wearing this once.
To the mall.
Kartik just said, “Different look.”
No stare. No question.
No reaction.
That hurt more than judgment.

---

And then… my eyes fall on the corner.
The gown.
Dark navy. Silky. A little shimmer.
Short. Above the knees. Sleeveless. Neckline dips dangerously.
It’s not vulgar. But it’s not innocent either.
It knows exactly what it’s doing.
I remember ordering it during one of those late-night scrolls.
No one was around. Lights off. Just the screen and me.
I told myself it was for some event.
That event never came.
But I tried it once.
Alone. Behind a locked door.
And when I saw myself in the mirror...
For the first time, I didn’t look like a mother. Or a wife.
I looked like a woman with boobs that wanted to be touched.
With thighs that wanted to be spread.
With a body that could make a man lose control.
And that scared the hell out of me.
Because that version of me…
I had no idea what she could do.

---

Today isn’t ideal.
Big crowd. Too many aunties.
Raj our neighbour might be there.
What if someone stares?
What if Kartik says something?
He won’t shout. He never does.
He might just look at me like I’ve done something strange.
“You really want to wear this?”
And I’ll nod.
And he’ll nod back, but his eyes will be blank.
Because he won’t understand.
He’s never understood that under these cotton layers…
is a woman with a wet cunt and a beating heart.

---

I unwrap the gown.
Let the plastic fall.
I hold it up.
It still smells new. Still soft.
My palms tingle just touching it.
I close my eyes and remember how I looked last time.
Nipples pressing against the fabric.
Thighs smooth and bare.
Ass barely covered.
I didn’t look like a good girl.
I looked like trouble.
And god, it felt good.

---

Today, I wear the gown.
Not to tempt.
Not to tease.
Not even to shock Kartik.
Just to feel like me.
The version I saw that night.
The one who deserves more than being fucked half-asleep under a blanket for 90 seconds.

---

No more hiding.
Today, the gown.
Because my pussy is not made for silence,
and my heart?
It’s done waiting.