Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Ravi hesitated near the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to move closer, unsure how to breach the space between them without overstepping.
“Good morning,” he ventured, voice low, careful.
 
Priya Didi didn’t look at him immediately, her hands busy with the ladle, stirring the upma with rhythmic precision. “Morning,” she said at last, her voice steady, neutral. There was no warmth yet, but neither was there bitterness. Just… distance.
 
Ravi moved slowly, letting his gaze linger on the simple grace of her movements, the way her saree shimmered subtly as she shifted, the delicate bangles that chimed faintly with each motion, the quiet way she maintained her poise even in displeasure, it all struck him.
 
People often said women were most beautiful when angry. He never truly understood it until now. It wasn’t the anger itself, but the clarity and strength it revealed, combined with vulnerability. Priya Didi was that rare combination.
 
He cleared his throat. “I… I wanted to say… yesterday, I’m sorry. For everything. For upsetting you, for crossing lines… for everything that I’ve done that hurt you.” His voice was quieter now, more sincere than he had dared before. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I needed you to know I regret it. Every day.”
 
She paused mid-stir, her eyes catching his for a fleeting second. That brief glance held a sharp clarity, a judgment he could feel like a weight pressing against him, then she looked away, back to the cooking, exhaling softly. She was not ready to forgive, and he knew it. The moment was not about absolution. It was about acknowledgment, his, and hers.
 
Ravi stepped a little closer, careful to give her space. “I know you can’t… and I don’t expect it. But… I just want you to know, I… I understand the hurt I’ve caused. And I’m sorry.”
 
Her movements resumed, slow and deliberate, but he noticed subtle signs of emotion, a slight tremor of her hand as she set the ladle down, the soft crease at the corner of her brow. She was angry, yes, but also human, capable of empathy, even when she did not wish to show it openly.
 
“You… you don’t need to say more,” she said finally, still not looking at him directly. “Just… keep out of my way this morning.” Her tone was measured, firm, but it wasn’t cruel. It was a boundary, a reminder that while she acknowledged his remorse, she was not yet willing to let him back in.
 
Ravi nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I… I understand. I’ll just… sit.”

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