Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

After Arjun left,
the house felt wide again.
Empty.
Too clean.
Too silent.

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I moved around lazily.
Gathered the tea cups from the kitchen counter.
Wiped the dining table.
Arranged the cushions on the sofa.

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The morning heat had started creeping in.
Slow.
Sticky.
Sweat beading softly along my lower back.

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I tied the garbage bag.
Placed it near the door.

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I walked toward the bathroom.
Stripping off the nighty casually.
Tossed it into the basket.
Stepped under the cool shower.

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The water hit my body —
washing away the leftover stickiness of yesterday,
but not the secret hum inside my chest.
That hum refused to leave.

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I washed quickly.
Dried.
Dressed simply.

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Soft white bra cupping my breasts firmly.
Fresh panty hugging my clean thighs.
Loose green chudi top — hugging my arms,
falling softly over my curves.
Matching pant pulled up snug.
Dupatta thrown lightly across my chest.

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Simple.
Clean.
Proper.

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I sat on the sofa.
Picked up the phone.
Called the kids.

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Their happy noise filled my ear.
Grandparents scolding them lovingly in the background.

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I smiled, nodded, laughed.
Said the usual things —
"eat well,"
"listen to paati,"

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Call ended.
House silent again.

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The clock showed 11:30.

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I put on some songs.
Tamil old melodies.
Soft SPB songs.
Ilayaraja’s slow magic.

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The fan hummed lazily.
The milk cooled quietly on the stove.

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I stretched out on the sofa.
One knee tucked under me.
Hand brushing lightly over the smooth cotton of my pant.

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Nothing to do.
Nowhere to go.
Just floating.

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Around 12 PM —
the doorbell rang.
Sharp.
Breaking the sleepy heat.

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I got up.
Adjusted my dupatta.
Opened the door.

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Raj and Radhika stood outside.

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Radhika smiled warmly, holding two cloth bags heavy with fruits and vegetables.
Raj stood slightly behind her,
a travel bag slung casually on his shoulder.

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I smiled.
Stepped back.
"Come in," I said.

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They entered.
Radhika moving first, fixing her saree.
Raj following casually, head tilting slightly to the side, eyes flicking once toward me.

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I closed the door.
Walked to the kitchen.
Brought two glasses of water.
Offered them.

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Radhika took a long sip.
Wiping her mouth with the edge of her saree pallu.

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"We're leaving today," she said casually.
"Temple festival... marriage also... lot of events."
She laughed lightly.
"Whole family called us."

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Raj said nothing.
Just took a sip of water,
watching me quietly over the rim of the glass.

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I nodded.
Smiling politely.
"Going for how long?" I asked.

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"Maybe a 2 weeks," Radhika said, adjusting her blouse.
"Too many functions... can't escape," she added, laughing again.

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She lifted the bag slightly.
"Mangoes," she said.
"Fresh from our village farm. Thought will give you some before we leave."

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I smiled genuinely this time.
Took the bag lightly.
The smell of raw mangoes strong and fresh.

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"Thank you so much," I said.
Voice warm.
Real.

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"You should have tea or coffee before going," I offered, automatically.
Old housewife habit.

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But Radhika shook her head immediately.
"No, no... getting late... cab is already waiting."
She smiled.
"Next time we’ll sit and chat properly."

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Raj set his glass down.
Slung his bag over his shoulder.

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I bent slightly to pick up their water glasses from the table.
As I took Raj’s glass,
I intentionally let my fingers brush his.

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Warm.
Rough.
Strong.

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A jolt passed between us.
Just a heartbeat.
Just a flicker.

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He looked at me once —
half-second —
a flash of something deeper.
Something waiting.

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Then he looked away quickly.
Masking it.
Wiping his hands on his jeans casually.

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Radhika didn’t notice anything.
Already adjusting her bangles, checking her mobile.

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They moved toward the door.
I followed, carrying the mangoes carefully.

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"Take care," Radhika said, smiling.
"You too," I said warmly.

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Raj gave a small casual nod.
"See you later," he said.
Voice easy.
Friendly.
But something heavy still hanging silently between us.

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I watched them walk to the lift.
Their backs disappearing slowly.
The door closing.

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I stood alone again.
Holding the bag of mangoes.
The soft smell of village summers floating up.

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And inside me...
A slow naughty thought curled.

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The man I was secretly dreaming about...
gone for a weeks.
But my heart?
Already wide open.
Already curious.
Already falling... maybe not for one.
Maybe for two.
Maybe for more.

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The day stretched silent and hot ahead.
And inside my clean chudi?
My pussy lips brushed softly together once.
A small secret smile tugged my lips.

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The house lay silent under the heavy afternoon heat.
The fan above my head spun lazily,
pushing warm air across my sticky skin.
I lay stretched on the bed,
my pink chudi clinging to my damp body,
the dupatta slipped somewhere near my waist.
The mobile lay beside me.
Dark.
Still.
The call was over.

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Kartik had called.
His voice had been soft.
Mechanical.
I had asked him gently,
"Is everything fine, Kartik?"
He said,
"Everything good here, pavi... office work done. Nothing dramatic"
A small pause.
Then again,
"Take care."
And the line had cut.

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It felt like he had just finished another item on his checklist.
Work done.
Wife checked.
Nothing else.
No hunger.
No longing.
No touch of love.
Only dry duty.

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I dropped the phone on the table with a small tired sound.
The fan above buzzed slowly.
The heat hugged my body like a wet cloth.
Sweat slid softly under my breasts.
The pink cloth of my chudi clung to my stomach and sides.
I turned my face toward the window.
The sunlight outside was burning like fire.
The road shimmered.
The trees bent under the weight of heat.
For one second, I thought —
maybe go to temple.
Maybe walk to the bakery.
But the thought died quickly.
Even standing up felt like a punishment now.

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I turned the fan speed to maximum.
The motor groaned once.
I curled into the pillow,
hugging it softly to my chest.
The smell of my own body — sweat and soap — floated around me.
Slowly, slowly, sleep dragged me down again.

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When I opened my eyes,
the house had changed its color.
The sharp white was gone.
Now the light was soft.
Golden.
Sleepy.
The clock blinked lazily.
4:00 PM.

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I sat up slowly.
My hair stuck to my forehead.
My body felt heavy.
The pink cloth peeled off my damp skin in small sticky sounds.
I wiped my face once with my dupatta.
It smelled of old sweat and air.

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My eyes drifted toward the door.
There, sitting silently —
the garbage bag.
Same place since morning.
Same duty still waiting.

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I gave a small smile.
Some things are more faithful than husbands.

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Dragging myself up,
I slipped my feet into the sandals lying near the door.
The strap rubbed lightly against my foot.
I grabbed the house keys from the hook,
cool metal against my warm palm.
Lifted the garbage bag.
The plastic stretched slightly, making a soft crinkle.

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I opened the door.
Stepped into the hot corridor.
Pulled the door shut carefully.
Turned the key.
Heard the small dry click of the lock.
Tugged the handle once.
Safe.

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The garbage bag swung lazily from my hand as I walked toward the lift.
My dupatta brushed against my chest softly.
The pink cloth clinging here and there where the sweat hadn't dried.
My body moved in lazy rhythm,
half-asleep.

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I pressed the lift button.
It lit up weakly under my thumb.
The lift came after a few seconds.
The doors opened with a slow tired sound.

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I stepped inside.
Pressed 'G'.
The lift smelled faintly of cleaning soap.
The mirror caught my reflection.
My hair messy.
Face sleepy.
Pink chudi slightly wrinkled and clinging to my body.
My nipples rubbed lightly against the inner cloth as I breathed.
My thighs brushed softly inside my pant, sticky from the heat.
The garbage bag dangled from my wrist like a forgotten weight.

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The lift moved down slowly.
Inside my head —
blankness.
No big thinking.
No big dreaming.
Just the slow weight of body and heat.

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The lift dinged softly.
Ground floor.
The doors slid open.

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I stepped out.
Immediately, hot air rushed into my face.
My skin burned slightly where the sweat was still wet.
I adjusted my dupatta neatly over my chest,
feeling the cotton stick softly against my breasts.
My thighs brushed again with each step,
the sticky dampness growing slowly between them.

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Without thinking,
my eyes drifted toward the security cabin.

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Empty.
The chair stood pushed back.
The table fan turned lazily.
A steel glass sat half-drunk on the desk.
But no Prakash.
No tall figure standing stiffly.
No guilty smiles.
No burning black eyes.

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A small pinch tightened quietly inside my chest.
Only then,
as my eyes searched that empty cabin,
the memories floated up.

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One month ago,
he had started staring at me.
Bold.
Without shame.
I had caught him.
Crushed him with words.
Made him afraid.
But after that...
the lift incident,
the terrace water tank cleaning,
the moments where I had forced him to obey me,
made him naked,
made him small...

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Those moments were burning quietly under my skin even now.
I had controlled him.
Humiliated him.
But somewhere,
deep in my hidden body,
something else had started.
Something slow.
Something dirty.
Curiosity.
Hunger.

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I had thought I crushed him.
But maybe,
he had left something behind inside me.
A slow, wicked thirst.

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I pulled my eyes away from the empty cabin.
Shook my head once softly.
Foolish Pavitra.
Foolish body.

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I shifted the garbage bag to my left hand.
Started walking toward the garbage disposal corner.

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The sun outside was brutal.
The cement under my sandals burned lightly.
Sweat rolled down my back slowly.
The pink chudi stuck tightly to my thighs,
wrapping me inside a slow, warm stickiness.
My chest rose and fell heavily as I moved.

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I reached the broken wall where the flats dumped their waste.
The ground was dirty.
The smell of old plastic and wet garbage hung in the air.
Flies buzzed lazily.
I didn’t waste time.
I lifted the garbage bag with both hands.
Dropped it inside the bin.
It landed with a tired dull sound.
Thud.

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