Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

He didn’t speak.

Not one word.

Just nodded.


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Once.

Small.

Like scared student saying yes to angry teacher.

Like one tiny agreement to save life.


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I looked at him.

Face straight.

Eyes hard.

Then—

I burst out laughing.


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“HAHAHA—oh god…”

My hand came up.

Clapped once.

Palm to palm.

Sharp sound in kitchen.


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“You don’t have work, ah?”

I asked.

Still laughing.

Mocking.


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Still silence.

He didn’t defend.

Didn’t excuse.

Just stood.

Like wall painting.


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“You’re supposed to be at the gate,” I said.

“Watching dogs and autos.”

“Not inside my kitchen, doing this comedy.”


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Finally—

His voice came.

Soft.

“No madam… I asked Guru to cover for me.”


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I blinked.

One sharp blink.

“Oh ho!”

My head tilted.

“So Guru is now your assistant?”


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“No madam… just cover.”

“We usually do for each other.”

His voice still soft.

Still polite.

Like trying not to get another slap.


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“Hmmmmm…”

I said.

Dragging the sound.

Lips tight.

Voice flat.


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“So this is what you call ‘cover’ work?”

I raised eyebrows.

Gave full college principal look.


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He looked confused.

Head tilted slightly.

Like goat hearing English song.


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I pointed to myself.

One firm finger.

“This is your job now?”

“Come inside others home…”

“Talk with housewives…”


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“Stare at them…”

“Kiss navel…”

“Stand like hero?”


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“No madam…”

He said quickly.

“I don’t do like this anywhere…”


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“Every house in apartment, you’re doing this programme?”

“Or only mine?”

I asked.

Sharp voice.

Faster words.


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“No madam.”

He said.

“Only here. Only because—”


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“Because what?”

I snapped.

Eyebrows raised.

One step forward.


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He stopped.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t finish.

Mouth open half-inch.


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I laughed again.

“Ohhh ho ho.”

Louder this time.

“Secrets now?”


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“No secret madam…”

He said.

Quick.

Soft.

Like damage control.


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“You better not.”

I hissed.

Voice dropping.

“Otherwise I’ll cut your cock and feed it to street dogs.”


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“No madam… I’m good.”

He said.

Fast breath.

Eyes lowering.


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“Good?”

I repeated.

Tilting head.

Mocking smile.


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“Yes madam.”

He said.

“I swear.”

Voice honest.

Almost stupidly honest.


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I looked at the clock.

Wall one.

Plain round face.

Needles ticking.


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8:21.

He came at 8.

I remembered.

Sharp.

Clear.


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“Twenty minutes,” I said.

Eyes still on clock.

Then on him.


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He blinked.

Small blink.

Not sure what’s coming.


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“You’ve been standing in my flat for twenty minutes.”

I said.

Each word slow.

Heavy.


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“Holding me.”

“Kissing me.”

“And you call yourself good.”


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He lowered his eyes.

“I didn’t mean…”

He said.

Quiet.

Like boy caught with stolen ladoo.


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“Scared,” I said.

Louder.

Stronger.

“You actually think you’re innocent.”


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“No madam…”

He whispered.

Almost like breath.


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“Okay. Let’s come back.”

I said.

Brisk tone.

Like teacher starting fresh topic.


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He looked up.

Eyes wider now.

More alert.


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“That question I asked you earlier.”

I said.

Voice low.

Controlled.

“What will you do if I don’t say anything, hmm?”


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He didn’t reply.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just stood.


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Like statue.

Like stone.

Like no voice inside body.


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I laughed.

Light one.

Mocking.

“Ahhh… so you’re not a talker.”

“You’re just a doer, ah?”


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Still silent.

Still breathless.

Still mute.


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I stepped one inch closer.

One soft shuffle.

Now my saree pallu was brushing his uniform.


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He didn’t move.

Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t look down.

Just steady.


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“Don’t make me laugh.”

I said.

Eyebrows narrowing.

Voice dry.


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Still no reply.

Not even flicker.

Not even blink.


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“I ask you a question, you give full drama.”

“Silent movie actor.”


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I looked at him.

Up and down.

Like scanner.

Like judge.


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That pant?

Still bulging.

Still bold.

Still standing.


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His face?

Still calm.

His mouth?

Still shut.


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“You think you’re man, ah?”

I asked.

Scoffing.

Not smiling.

Just sharp.


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He blinked.

Once.

That’s all.

Still no word.

Still no breath.


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I scoffed again.

Like air pushed through teeth.


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“You’re nothing but a dog.”

I said.

No mercy in voice.

No pity.

Just flat truth.


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He didn’t react.

Not even eyelid twitch.

But something in air tightened.

Like silent string.


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I stepped even closer.

Now just breath between us.


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Voice dropped.

Sharper now.

“But obedient dog.”


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“One slap.”

“One shout…”

“You’ll sit.”


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He breathed out.

One soft puff.

Like warm cotton air.

But still didn’t speak.


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“You can’t even come out of your own guts.”

I said.

Face close.

Words closer.


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He kept watching me.

Not flinching.

Not falling.

But not answering.


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I shook my head.

Like disappointment.

One slow shake.

“Don’t act manly.”


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He was still standing.

Same place.

Same breath.

Same stare.


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Like some security statue.

Not wood.

Not stone.

But something stiff.

Unmoving.


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He was blinking.

He was breathing.

But that’s all.

No talk.

No move.

No boldness.


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Even after all my words.

All my taunts.

All my smirks and insults.

All my finger-pointing and shouting.

Still there.


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Still not daring.

Still not stepping.

Still not proving.

Just standing.


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I tilted my head slightly.

One small angle.

Then raised one eyebrow.

Slowly.

Deliberately.


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“You really don’t have the balls, do you?”

I said.

Each word slow.

Dripping like tap.


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He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t wince.

Didn’t speak.


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“You stand here thinking you can do something,” I continued.

One sharp look.

Voice cool.

“...but deep down, you know you’re nothing.”


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Still no answer.

Still just eyes.

Still just air between us.


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I smirked.

Small curve of lips.

No joy.

Just mock.


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“Not man.”

“Not brave.”

“Just standing, watching, waiting…”

“...like one pet dog.”


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And then—

He spoke.

First time in five minutes.


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Voice quiet.

But steady.

No shake.

No apology.


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“Madam… I can do.”

That’s all.

Four words.


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I blinked.

Slow.

Like lamp flickering.

Then I spoke.


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“Oh ho ho…”

I folded my arms.

Chin raised.

“Suddenly you found your tongue?”


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He nodded once.

Small.

But confident.


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I stepped one inch closer.

Soft step.

No noise.

Just presence.


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Chin still lifted.

Eyebrows pointed.

“What can you do, ah?” I asked.

“Say it.”


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He looked at me.

Face calm.

Grounded.

Not excited.

Not proud.

Just ready.


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“Whatever you want me to do.”

He said.

Simple.

Flat.


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I stared.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Then—

Burst out laughing.


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“Oh! So clever answer, no?”

Mocking tone.

Teeth showing.

Eyes glinting.


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“No madam… just truth.”

He said again.

Plain.

No spice.


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“You’ll do anything I want?”

I asked.

Voice like test.

Like trap.


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“Yes madam.”

He said.

That same slow nod.


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I started walking.

Slow steps.

Soft footfalls.

Around him.


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One circle.

Watching him.

From side.

From back.

From other side.


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Like I was judging one bull in village fair.

Checking muscles.

Checking breath.


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“Okay…”

I said.

Voice mocking.

One eyebrow lifted.

“Then show me.”


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He looked up.

Eyes straight.

No blink.

No tilt.

Just full attention.


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“Be a man,” I said sharply.

One sentence.

Strong.

Like slap.


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“Don’t stand like spoon.”

“Show me what you can do.”


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He hesitated.

One second.

One pause.

Then he asked—


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“Madam… are you sure?”

Soft voice.

But full.

No joke.

No shake.


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I paused.

Turned.

Faced him.

Body straight.

Eyes locked.


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“Am I sure?”

I repeated.

Flat voice.

One echo.


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He nodded.

That same low tone.

Like one respectful criminal.

Asking permission.

Before robbing temple.


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I grinned.

Mouth tilted.

Eyes flashing.

“Why won’t I be sure?”


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Still silent.

His face didn’t shift.

Just focus.


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“You think I’m scared of you?”

I asked.

Teeth showing.

Mocking.


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“No madam…”

He said.

Still honest.

Still soft.

Still strong.


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“Don’t act like cocky fellow…”

“...just because your pants are bulging.”


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He blinked.

Once.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t react.


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I stepped in again.

Closer.

Right up to his chest.

Saree touching cloth.


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I stared.

Right at his face.

Strong stare.

Tight jaw.


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“You think I won’t handle you?”

I asked.

No blink.

No smile.

Just sharp breath.


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No answer.

He just breathed.

Calm.

Focused.

Waiting.


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I leaned in.

Real close.

Mouth near his collar.

Voice low.

Words hot.


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“I’ll cut your tongue…”

“…and throw it in the dumpster.”


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He breathed out.

One slow puff.

Not panic.

Not power.

Just stillness.


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Then he said—

“Okay, madam.”

One line.

Simple.

Quiet.

Final.


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Then he started stepping forward.

One step.

Two steps.

Coming straight.


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At me.

Full direction.

No turn.

No stop.

No blink.


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Eyes focused.

Like he believed I was scared.

Like he thought he had upper hand.


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But I stood.

Still.

Straight.

Unmoving.


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Because only I knew—

I was the one provoking.

I was the one pressing his buttons.

I was the one testing what he could do.


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I didn’t move.

Not one step.

Not one breath out of place.

Even as he came closer.


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One step.

Then another.

Slow.

Steady.

Heavy with silence.


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His eyes — calm.

Not soft.

Not harsh.

Just calm.

Like water that’s hiding storm.


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His face — unreadable.

No smile.

No frown.

Just quiet stone.


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His body — confident.

Each movement slow.

But not shy.

Not scared.


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But me?

My body was still.

Feet planted.

Breath stuck.

Voice?

Full sharp.


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“Don’t think I’m afraid of you.”

I said.

Firm.

Cold.

Like blade.


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He didn’t reply.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t smirk.

Just kept coming.


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“Do whatever you want.”

I said again.

Louder.

Like challenge.


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Still silent.

Like he was listening to different voice.

Some internal one.

Not mine.


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“I won’t complain.”

I added.

Smirk playing on lips.


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His eyebrows lifted.

Slightly.

Tiny arch.

That’s all.


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I smirked.

“One eyebrow?”

I mocked.

“Let’s see if you have guts…”

“…or you’re just boneless inside uniform.”


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Still he stood there.

Still waiting.

Still silent.

Like he was watching for green signal.


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My heart?

Doing drum inside chest.

Not full drum.

Small one.

But steady.


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But face?

Face stayed queen.

Upper lip tight.

Eyebrows calm.

Eyes holding.


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Inside though…

Full mess.

No clarity.

No logic.


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I didn’t know what the hell was happening.

Why I was saying these things.

Why I was standing like that.


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What was I expecting?

One slap?

One kiss?

One fight?

I didn’t know.


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But one thing I knew—

One solid thing inside confusion.


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I was going to allow.

Allow and watch.

Just to see.


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How far he would go.

How much he actually dared.

How real this boldness was.


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He took one more step.

Now his breath touched me.

Hit my nose.


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Smelled like masala Boost.

And sweat.

That warm cottony male smell.


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Familiar.

Rough.

Strong.

I didn’t move.


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He looked at me.

Then sideways.

Around.

Eyes doing one full security check.


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First to window.

Curtains closed.

Latch tight.


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Then balcony door.

Locked.

Frame solid.

No gap.


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Then kitchen entrance.

Open space.

But no shadow.

No sound.

No one.


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Just silence.

Only air.

Only us.


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Inside this flat.

Inside this kitchen.

Inside this exact moment.


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Then—

He looked back at me.

Eyes meeting.

No questions left.


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And said softly—

“Okay, madam… Since you said…”


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Then one more step.

Closer.

Now—

Our bodies?

Almost touching.


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His chest was right near my bust.

I could feel the heat.

The pull.

The shape.


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I didn’t back away.

Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t adjust my blouse.

Just stood.

Watching.

Waiting.


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Then—

His hand lifted.

One slow movement.

Toward my pallu.


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That green-gold cloth.

Still tucked across my shoulder.

Still pinned to blouse lining.


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I raised my hand fast.

Palm open.

Sharp fingers.

Full slap pose.


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“Oi!” I shouted.

“What are you—”


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But before I could finish—

His other hand moved.

Caught my wrist.

Mid-air.


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Again.

Same as before.

Like routine.

Like habit.

Like training.


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Like my slaps were mosquito bites.

Like he had learned my pattern.


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I struggled slightly.

Pulled once.

Pulled twice.

“Leave my hand!”


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He didn’t.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t even look at my hand.


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Because his first hand?

It reached the pallu.

Right near my shoulder.


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Right at the pinned edge.

Two fingers.

Then full grip.

Like decision.


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I stared.

Eyeballs wide.

Jaw half open.


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“Eh… What are you doing now?”

Still no answer.

Still that same damn silence.


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He didn’t ask permission.

Didn’t check my face.

Didn’t test mood.


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Just acted.

Like his hands had more guts than his mouth.


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That safety pin.

Small one.

Still attached.

Still holding pallu in place.


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He tugged it.

Once.

Sharp.

Straight.


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Pin didn’t break.

Just bent.

Cloth stretched slightly.

Tension rising.


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I opened mouth—

“Oi! Don’t pull like—”


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But he didn’t stop.

His hand yanked it again.

Hard.

Fast.

Confident.


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And the sound—

CHHK!

That tiny metal snap.

Sharp in kitchen air.


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The pin broke open.

Pallu rushed out.

Slipped from fingers.


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Fell away from my chest.

Tumbled down.

Soft green-gold cloth sliding off me.


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And I—

Screamed.