15-06-2025, 02:11 AM
Meghana’s Day – A Quiet Restlessness
The apartment door shut softly behind her, and for a long moment Meghana just stood there, hand still on the knob, eyes closed.
The early morning light had shifted into a warm afternoon glow that filtered through the sheer curtains, washing the living room in amber stillness.
She dropped her yoga mat beside the console, kicked off her sandals, and let out a slow, controlled breath.
But nothing about her felt controlled.
Her entire body still hummed with a strange tension—not from the yoga postures, but from him.
His breath brushing her cheek as he reached forward in that final pose.
His torso leaning into hers, just enough that she could feel the heat through the thin barrier of fabric.
The faint scent of citrus and something deeper.
The stillness in the air when he looked at her after she said “My husband’s out of town.”
And the way he had smiled.
I'll bring dessert, he’d said.
That wasn’t a line. It was a promise.
She pressed a hand to her chest and walked toward the bedroom.
The moment she stepped into the room, she paused and looked around.
This wasn’t just about making the place look nice anymore—it was about feeling ready.
Everything she did today carried a quiet weight, a secret anticipation coiled like silk thread through her breath.
She stood in front of the wardrobe and opened it slowly, her eyes scanning the familiar colors.
Today, she didn’t reach for convenience.
Her fingers lingered—touching, considering.
She finally pulled out a navy-blue cotton dress—soft and subtle, with a deep, clean neckline and a hem that teased just above her knees.
It was something she hadn’t worn in over a year.
Not to work.
Not to dinner with her husband.
Not to... anyone.
The apartment door shut softly behind her, and for a long moment Meghana just stood there, hand still on the knob, eyes closed.
The early morning light had shifted into a warm afternoon glow that filtered through the sheer curtains, washing the living room in amber stillness.
She dropped her yoga mat beside the console, kicked off her sandals, and let out a slow, controlled breath.
But nothing about her felt controlled.
Her entire body still hummed with a strange tension—not from the yoga postures, but from him.
His breath brushing her cheek as he reached forward in that final pose.
His torso leaning into hers, just enough that she could feel the heat through the thin barrier of fabric.
The faint scent of citrus and something deeper.
The stillness in the air when he looked at her after she said “My husband’s out of town.”
And the way he had smiled.
I'll bring dessert, he’d said.
That wasn’t a line. It was a promise.
She pressed a hand to her chest and walked toward the bedroom.
The moment she stepped into the room, she paused and looked around.
This wasn’t just about making the place look nice anymore—it was about feeling ready.
Everything she did today carried a quiet weight, a secret anticipation coiled like silk thread through her breath.
She stood in front of the wardrobe and opened it slowly, her eyes scanning the familiar colors.
Today, she didn’t reach for convenience.
Her fingers lingered—touching, considering.
She finally pulled out a navy-blue cotton dress—soft and subtle, with a deep, clean neckline and a hem that teased just above her knees.
It was something she hadn’t worn in over a year.
Not to work.
Not to dinner with her husband.
Not to... anyone.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)