Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Ravi moved to a chair at the corner of the dining table, giving her room, and watched silently as she continued preparing breakfast. There was a rhythm to her work, a quiet focus that made every movement purposeful. Even the slight frown as she chopped the vegetables added to her presence, it was beauty tempered with tension, grace in the face of displeasure.
 
As she worked, Ravi’s mind wandered, quietly tracing every detail. The gentle curve of her neck, the smooth sweep of hair that fell just past her shoulders, the way sunlight caught in the folds of her saree, making the gold border glow softly. Even in her silence, her emotions bled through, care mixed with disappointment, anger restrained by dignity.
 
To him, she seemed like a portrait of quiet resilience, a woman carved of calm and light, her silence heavier than words.
 
He realized that while he had admired her from the beginning, he had never truly understood her. Not the quiet strength, not the weight she carried in her calm demeanor, not the fragile yet unwavering line between anger and compassion. And now, seeing her in her everyday grace, in the midst of irritation and measured care, he felt a deep ache in his chest, a mix of longing, regret, and admiration.
 
Priya Didi finally set the breakfast tray on the table. The clinking of the plates was the only sound in the room for a few seconds. She moved with careful deliberation, not meeting his eyes. Her hands lingered on the edge of the tray, a faint sigh escaping her lips, a human sign that even anger could not erase her concern for the household, for the simple routines that tethered them to normalcy.
 
Ravi stood and helped place the cutlery, moving slowly, as if each motion needed permission. “I… I can serve. I mean, I’ll…” His voice faltered. He felt exposed, but he also needed to be present.
 
She nodded once, a small, curt gesture. “Do what you can. Just… don’t overstep.”
 
He obeyed, and for a moment, the room fell into quiet rhythm, the sound of cooking, the hum of the fan, the faint sunlight spilling across the tiles. Ravi stole glances at her, noting how her jaw was set, her lips slightly pursed, the faint redness of her cheeks, the subtle marks of anger and hurt intertwined with care.
 
It struck him again, how even in this restrained fury, she commanded presence. She didn’t need to speak to be felt; her entire being radiated something magnetic, sorrowful, and beautiful.

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