Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

The rasam was ready. Idiyappam was steamed and covered. Chutney in the fridge, just to keep it cool.
She stirred the kurma once more.
Kartik peeked in. “Dinner is almost ready?”
“Just need to serve,” she said. “Ask him to freshen up.”
“Arjun, wash up and come. Use the kids’ towel near the bathroom.”
Arjun smiled. “Two minutes. I’m starving.”

---

Dinner was quiet, but warm.
They sat on the floor, simple mat spread. Arjun sat cross-legged near the edge. The kids between him and Kartik. Pavitra sat nearest the kitchen door.
Plates clinked softly. Coconut milk was poured. The smell of ghee drifted faintly from the idiyappam.
Arjun took a bite. “Anni… this chutney tastes exactly like amma prepared.”
She looked up. “Amma’s recipe. Coconut, roasted chillies, little ginger.”
“Brings back memories. I haven’t tasted like this in years.”
The younger boy wiped chutney on his brother’s shirt. Pavitra reached over, pulling his hand away gently. “Eat properly. Don’t start now.”
Kartik was already on his phone. Messaging some team group. Eating with one hand.
“Idiyappam soft today,” he said absently.
Pavitra just nodded. “Made fresh.”
Arjun smiled, watching the small interactions. “You all have your rhythm here, no?”
She looked at him for a second, then down at her plate. “It comes with routine.”

---

After dinner, the boys went to brush, still giggling about something. Arjun helped clear the plates.
“You sit,” she said, taking the tumbler from his hand.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and moved toward his bag, which was still unopened near the sofa.
Kartik stretched on the floor, scrolling through some cricket stats.
Pavitra wiped the counter slowly. Her hands moved, but her ears stayed tuned to the sounds behind her.
Zips opening. Fabric rustling. The soft weight of a towel being unfolded.
She glanced once, through the shelf mirror.
Arjun had changed into a plain white T-shirt and tracks. He was sitting on the floor, folding his used clothes back into the bag.
Her eyes dropped, for just a second.
The way the fabric moved across his shoulder. The shape of his arm as he lifted a rolled-up jeans.
Her Mind:
That’s still Arjun.
Same boy who once broke our soap dish during Pongal.
But now…
He’s not a boy.
And I need to stop looking like I’ve forgotten that.

---

He stood up, scratching the back of his head. “Anni, should I sleep in the hall or take that mattress to the kids’ room?”
“The hall is cooler,” she replied. “And they’ll kick you all night.”
He laughed. “True. They don’t sleep, they wrestle.”
She walked toward the shelf, took out a folded sheet, and handed it to him.
“Use this for now. Pillow’s there near the corner.”
Their fingers brushed lightly as he took it.
No tension. No lingering. Just a passing moment.
But she still felt it.
Her Mind:
He didn’t flinch.
Neither did I.
But there’s something about contact that the body remembers.
Even if it’s small.

---

The house was quiet by 10:30.
Kids asleep. TV on low volume. Kartik dozing in and out of whatever was playing.
Arjun lay back on the mat, one hand behind his head. The fan stirred the air slowly.
Pavitra wiped the final tumbler. Her nightie clung slightly near her waist. She didn’t adjust it. Just folded the towel, hung it neatly.
Her eyes drifted.
Arjun was half-asleep. T-shirt rumpled at the stomach. Track pants riding up slightly above the ankle.
He turned once, adjusting his arm. His chest lifted softly with each breath.
Her Mind:
He’s sleeping like a student who hasn’t had a proper bed in weeks.
There’s no guard in his body. No stiffness.
He’s real. Human. Close.
And just a few feet from my room.
She turned off the kitchen light. Moved slowly into the bedroom.
Kartik had shifted to his side. His breath was even, light.
She pulled the blanket. Lay down gently. One child turned in his sleep beside her.
The fan hummed.
She stared at the ceiling.

---

And then…
That morning.
The bike ride.
Ram’s back under her chest.
Her breasts pressed into him.
And that bump.
Her hand—landing right where it shouldn’t have.
Her Mind:
His cock.
The way it felt under my palm.
That size. That shape.
Even though it was soft, I could feel the weight of it.
That wasn’t imagination.
And now…
I’m lying here.
My breasts are still sensitive.
My cunt still remembers.
And just one wall away—Arjun.
Younger. Familiar.
But suddenly… a man.
I didn’t ask for this heat.
But now that it’s here…
My thighs won’t stay still.

---

She shifted slightly. Pressed her legs together.
Kartik murmured something in his sleep.
She turned to the other side.
Back facing him.
Eyes still open.
Her Mind:
This house was mine.
This bed. This silence.
But now the silence isn’t quiet.
It’s holding too much.
A man I shouldn’t be thinking about…
And another I never thought I’d notice.
Tomorrow will come.
But tonight?
I’m lying between what I touched…
And what I don’t dare to.

---

It's morning again, 6:30 am,
It was still early.
Sunday silence.
No traffic noise. No college van horn. Just the fan moving slow and the smell of milk catching the bottom of the vessel.

My eyes were sticky. I didn’t even wash my face. Just tied my hair into a bun, pulled the nightie under my breasts properly, and switched on the stove. Tea time.
Two tumblers. One for me. One for Kartik. Strong, no sugar.

Kids were inside the room, dead asleep.
One was sleeping sideways with his mouth open. The other had pulled the blanket over his own face.
I checked once, didn’t bother again.

Kartik came out, scratching his chest like usual.

I didn’t even look up from the stove.

“Go get mutton. Shop will be crowded if you go late.”

He didn’t reply. Still yawning. Still in his shorts. Moving like some cow.

“Don’t come back with old meat. Go now. Take wallet.”

He nodded like a mute goat, took his purse and stepped out. Forgot his tea too.

Door closed. That soft, sweet silence. Only the fan and the tea bubbling in the background.

I stood there, holding the spoon inside the vessel, letting the steam hit my face.

Then I turned slightly.

And I saw him.

Arjun.

Sleeping in the hall. On the mattress near the TV. One pillow under his head. One leg outside the blanket.

Hair messy. Chest moving slow. One hand on his stomach. The other behind his head.

And the blanket?

Up.

Like a full tent.

I didn’t blink.

I knew what it was.

That cock.

That morning cock.

Pushing up the cloth like it had a job to do.

The trackpants were soft. That light cotton type. Grey colour. The cloth was hugging the shape of it. I could see the full outline. From the root to the tip.

That thing wasn’t small.

That thing wasn’t soft either.

It was big. Thick. Standing. Ready.

I stood there for one second.

Then two.

Then three.

I wasn’t blinking. My breath slowed. My nightie was stuck between my thighs. I didn’t even care.

His cock moved once. A slight twitch.

My nipples rubbed against the inside of my cloth.

I pressed my thighs together. Tight.

That shape. That curve. That pulse.

God. That’s a real cock. Not like the one that slips in and finishes before I even warm up.

Arjun shifted a little. His hip moved.

The blanket moved too.

The cock shape came clearer. That print was not hiding anything.

The mouth was open. He was still asleep. But his body was full-on awake.

I leaned against the corner wall. One hand on my waist. The other hanging loose.

Just watching.

No shame.

Just heat.

There was a small spot of wetness near the top of his pants. Maybe precum. Maybe sweat. I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

My cunt gave one slow throb.

It was awake.

I was breathing like I had climbed three floors.

I wanted to stay there. Watch it twitch again. Maybe move a little closer.

But he moved.

Hand scratching his chest. Face turned a little.

One eye opened.

Shit.

I stepped back. Fast but silent.

Back into the kitchen.

Stove was still on. Tea bubbling.

I stirred it once. My hand was shaking slightly.

I wiped my palm on the side of my nightie.

Tried to breathe normal.

I didn’t look back.

Then I picked up the tumbler. Poured the tea. Wiped the bottom. Placed the spoon inside it.

Waited.

Then walked again.

This time with the tumbler in my hand.

Soft steps.

I stood at the edge of the hall.

He was awake now.

Sitting up. Hands rubbing his eyes. Hair still messy.

T-shirt half pulled up. Trackpant loose on his hip.

That cock? Not standing anymore.

But still there.

Still big.

Soft now. But fat.

It sat heavy inside that cloth. Not hidden. Just… resting.

My eyes went down once. Then back up.

His face looked at me.

I pretended like I hadn’t seen anything.

Like I didn’t just stand near the kitchen wall for five minutes staring at his cock like a pervert.

I held the tumbler steady.

Looked him in the eye.

And said—

“Tea?”

---

He looked up at me, still blinking.

“Do you want tea?” I asked.

He rubbed his face once, cleared his throat. “Yes anni... I’ll brush first.”

His voice was soft. That respectful, careful tone. Like he wasn’t sure if he could even say yes.

He stood up slowly.

And I noticed it again.

He tried to keep the t-shirt hanging low, pulling it slightly forward while walking. I knew why.

That cock.

It was still half-hard. Not like before. But not gone either.

It sat inside his pants like a thick tube, heavy and full, probably still warm from sleep. The cloth clung. The shape was clear. He adjusted once, casually. Not bold. Just subtle.

But I saw it.

And I didn’t react. Didn’t look directly.

I stayed by the sofa, holding the tumbler like I didn’t notice anything.

He walked to the bathroom. Quiet steps. Door clicked shut.

Water sound. Tap on. Toothbrush. Gargle. Spit.

I sat down. Sofa cushion warm from the fan.

I took a sip.

My thighs were still tight. Not from shame. Just that pulsing awareness that something real had passed through this room.

My mind was full. Full of the picture I had just seen. That blanket. That cock under it. The way he tried to hide it now. Like I hadn’t already stared at it full view few minutes back.

My Mind:

So respectful outside. But that thing inside your pants has no manners.

I smiled into the tumbler.

He came back.

Face washed. Hair dripping. Small trail of water near his neck. T-shirt still crushed from sleep.

He didn’t sit beside me.

He sat at the other end of the sofa. Like the sofa had a line in the middle. His corner. My corner.

He sat slow. Calm.

Didn’t speak first.

Didn’t stretch.

Didn’t slouch.

Just folded one leg under the other and looked down at the floor.

I was still holding the tumbler. Not sipping now.

Then I leaned forward a little and offered it.

“Here. Hot.”

He looked up once.

Then again.

Then took it with both hands.

“Thanks, anni.”

That word again. Made my spine tickle.

Anni.

But the way he said it.

Soft.

Careful.

Like he respected me... but was still seeing something he hadn’t seen before.

He took a sip.

Then held the tumbler near his mouth.

Didn’t drink more.

Just holding it.

His eyes weren’t looking at me directly. But once, just once, they dropped.

To my lap.

My nightie had folded slightly at the side when I sat. The cloth had stuck to my thigh. Fan was blowing lightly.

He saw.

Then looked away.

Fast.

Like he’d touched something by mistake.

But I saw that one second.

That drop in his eyes.

He saw skin.

Maybe the curve under my nightie. Maybe the dip near my chest.

But he didn’t stare.

And I didn’t pull my cloth.

Let him see.

Respect doesn’t mean blindness.

And curiosity is not a crime.

I took one more sip from my cup.

Then I asked, casual tone, eyes on the floor—

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes anni... very well. Mattress was soft. I didn’t even hear the clock strike.”

“You didn’t snore.”

“Hope I didn’t move too much.”

“You were lying like a statue.”

He smiled. Looked down again.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Why would you disturb me?”

He shook his head. “Just... new place. I slept too deep.”

“Good. You needed that.”

Pause.

Just fan sound now.

He looked at his tumbler.

I looked at his fingers.

Veins showing slightly.

Strong hands.

Maybe from gym. Or just youth.

Then he said—

“Tea is really nice, anni. Better than anything I’ve had in months.”

I smiled without showing teeth.

“No sugar.”

“I like it like that.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Sips.

Silence.

Then I said—

“You know where your office is?”

“Yes anni. I checked last night. I saved it in Maps also.”

“First day tomorrow?”

“Yes. 8:30. But they asked me to come by 8.”

“You have all your documents?”

“Yes anni. I kept the folder inside my bag.”

“Dress code?”

“Formal shirt. Tucked. Black pants. Shoes. All packed.”

“Good. You seem ready.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.”

He looked at me.

Proper this time.

And said—

“You make this place feel easy. Like I can settle without trying too hard.”

I didn’t answer.

That line sat somewhere under my ribcage.

And I didn’t want to break it.

He sipped again. Then placed the tumbler on the table. Still half full.

He leaned back slightly. But not relaxed.

Hands on knees.

Eyes forward.

Safe boy pose.

But once again... his eyes dropped.

To my leg.

Then back up.

Quick.

He didn’t even mean to do it.

But his eyes were searching.

I let them.

I didn’t cross my legs.

Didn’t fold my arms.

I stayed as I was.

Because I wanted to be seen.

Then—

“Mummyyyyyyyyy!”

Voice from the bedroom.

Loud.

Next one followed immediately—

“Mummyyyyyy where are you?”

Feet hitting floor.

One boy crying.

Other one shouting.

“Mummy I want milk!”

I stood up.

“Coming!”

---

The kids came running.

Hair like birds, eyes half-closed, one sock each, both shouting different things at once.

“Mummy I want milk! Hungry “

“Mummy where is my sharpener!”

I handled both.

Lifted the smaller one onto my lap, wiped his face with my nightie end. Pulled out the crayon box from under the cot. Gave one Marie biscuit each.

Morning circus, like always.

I didn’t look at Arjun during that time.

He got up, took his tumbler, walked to the sink, washed it without being told.

Didn’t talk too much. Just smiled once when the younger one bumped into him.

“Sorry chithappa,” the kid said.

He laughed and patted his head.

“Be careful. You’ll fall.”

Respectful tone.

Not forcing himself into the scene.

Just... there.

Kartik came back with the mutton packet.

Sweating. Shirt sticking near the armpits.

“You came on time,” I said.

He dropped the bag on the counter. “All good pieces. Thala curry also.”

I opened the packet, checked the cut. Good.

I started prepping.

Chopped onion. Tomato. Ginger garlic paste. Arjun passed the turmeric when I asked. Didn’t say anything extra.

Kartik sat with the newspaper. Kids were drawing rockets on the floor with their crayons.

Just like any Sunday.

Only difference—one extra person.

But it didn’t feel crowded.

It didn’t feel awkward.

Arjun didn’t behave like a guest. But also didn’t act like owner. He found a balance.

He even helped set the table when I asked.

“Take the plates,” I said.

He nodded, “Okay anni.”

That voice. That word.

Every time he said it, something in my stomach tightened. Not romantic. Just real.

Like he was placing me in a position without even trying.

Lunch came and went.

Good curry smell filled the house.

Sweat ran down my back while cooking, but I didn’t mind. I liked the routine.

After lunch, everyone settled.

Kartik lay down inside with the fan on full speed.

Kids were watching some cartoon.

Arjun was on his phone, scrolling something with his leg stretched on the hall mattress.

I wiped the kitchen counter, checked the rice box, and refilled the sugar tin.

I walked past him once.

He didn’t look up.

Or maybe he did when I wasn’t looking.

Evening passed slow.

TV shows.

One ad after another.

I sat on the corner of the sofa, peeled carrots for next day.

Kids were fighting about one pen cap.

Arjun helped the younger one find it under the sofa.

He looked at me once.

I looked back.

Just two seconds.

No smile.

No stare.

Just… existing.

After dinner, same thing.

Kartik burped and switched off the kitchen light. Kids brushed and fell asleep quickly.

Arjun washed his plate, wiped it.

Didn’t leave anything for me to scold him about.

I changed into my nightie.

Didn’t wear a bra.

Didn’t fold my dupatta.

Didn’t care.

I checked on the kids one last time, turned the fan to low, kissed both on the forehead.

Kartik was already half snoring.

I lay down.

Pulled the blanket up to my chest.

Eyes were open.

My body was still. But my mind?

Was somewhere in the hall.

On that mattress.

On that cock I saw in the morning.

I didn’t touch myself.

I just stayed still.

Monday morning came fast.

Fan still spinning.

Kids rubbing eyes. One shoe missing. Kartik had already left. Early branch meeting.

He kissed my forehead lightly before going.

Didn’t touch anywhere else.

I packed lunch.

Boiled eggs.

One for each boy. One for Arjun.

He came out in full formal shirt and pants.

Black belt. Hair set neatly. Watch on wrist.

He looked… adult.

Not boy.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes anni. If there’s time.”

I poured. He drank. Standing near the sink.

“You look ready,” I said.

He smiled. “Let’s see if the job is ready for me.”

I handed him the bag. Gave him the ID envelope Kartik had kept on the shelf.

“Don’t miss the bus.”

“I’ll drop the kids on the way.”

“Be careful. No speeding.”

He nodded. “I’ll message once I reach.”

I nodded back.

The boys came out, one still dragging the other’s bag.

“Mummyyy he took my sticker book!”

“Take your bottle,” I said. “And don’t fight in the van.”

Arjun took the bag from the younger one’s hand and held it.

“Let’s go,” he said.

He looked at me one last time.

“Bye anni.”

I nodded. “All the best.”

He left.

I stood near the door for a second.

Then walked back inside.

Stillness again.

I washed one tumbler.

Sat down.

Took a slow breath.

And somewhere near the gate, behind the grill...

The security guy was watching.

Eyes low. Chin lifted slightly. Just that quiet stare.

I didn’t see him.

But he was watching.