Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

Raj anna…
So tall.
Easily 6'2, maybe more.
It’s not just the height. It’s the way it carries itself.
Calm. Grounded. A quiet strength that doesn’t ask for attention… but still holds it.
Even today—standing beside Radhika—he looked like something out of place. Or maybe, something that belonged everywhere.
Radhika was laughing, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it was habit. The way her fingers moved, her smile steady—like love was stitched into those little things.
And me?
I was just watching.
Not staring.
Just… watching.
Quietly.
From where I stood. Gown brushing my knees. Clutch warm in my hand.

---

He speaks gently. Always has.
Doesn’t take space.
But somehow… he fills it.
Like when he walks into a room, the air changes.
Not heavy. Not loud. Just… aware.
That word again.
“Gorgeous.”
Still echoing in my chest.
The tone of it.
The certainty.
Not a flirty compliment.
Not a comment thrown out to make a woman smile.
He said it like he meant it.
Like it wasn’t just about the gown.
Like it was about me.

---

Kartik is around 5'8.
He’s steady. Soft-spoken. Smart in his own right.
But he doesn’t command a room.
He blends in. Comfortable. Safe.
And me?
I’m 5'7.
Just tall enough that I always felt… equal.
With Kartik, I walk beside him. Same level. Sometimes even taller if I wear certain sandals.
And I’ve noticed… I avoid it.
Not because he complains.
He never does.
But somewhere deep inside, something adjusts without permission.
But next to Raj?
God.
I’d feel small.
Smaller in a way that doesn’t make me weak.
Feminine, maybe. Soft. Tucked under something solid.
Like… if he placed a hand behind my back, I wouldn’t even flinch.
I’d lean in.

---

Aiyo… Pavitra.
What are you even thinking?
Stop.
This is Kavita’s fault.
Her voice in my head all week—
“If I had your waist, I’d never wear a saree again.”, “Varun held me for Ten minutes. I thought I was going to scream…”
She dropped all that casually like it was just masala gossip.
And now she’s in another city. Sleeping peacefully.
While I’m here.
Twisting under my bedsheet.
Trying to silence a body that has started whispering things to itself.

---

This is not me.
This is not the kind of woman I am.
“He’s Radhika's husband.”
That should be the full stop.
Not a comma.
Not a pause.
Not a fantasy forming slowly under my skin.
Just. A. Full. Stop.

---

I turn to the other side of the bed.
My pillow feels cool against my cheek.
The fan spins slow, humming like a lullaby.
My nightie sticks slightly to my thighs.
I shift.
Feel the fabric glide.
My nipples brush against the inside.
They’re still sensitive.
From the gown.
From the eyes.
From that word.
“Gorgeous.”

---

I press my thighs together, breathe out slowly.
I’m not going to think about the way his shirt clung to his chest.
Or how his hands looked when he adjusted his watch.
Or what it would feel like if he ever stood behind me… close.
Close enough that I’d feel it.
His presence. His breath.
His size.

---

No.
No more thoughts.
No more gowns.
No more mirror moments.
Just sleep.
Let the night end quietly.
Let me hold myself steady.
For now.