Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Priya had heard him, yes, but she hadn’t responded in the way he’d hoped. There was no softness in her words. No return of the old warmth.
 
The weekends had become his only escape, though they offered no real relief. Every Saturday and Sunday, Ravi would drive to the renovation site with Amit.
 
The work on the old platform had been a distraction, but it was never enough to make him forget. As they worked, he would focus on the task at hand, his hands busy with the physical labor, the dust, the sweat.
 
The noise of the site and his conversation with Amit, it was louder than the silence at home, but it never made the ache go away.
 
He would return to the flat on Sunday evenings, his body exhausted but his mind still restless. The house would be still, the silence more oppressive than ever.
 
This Thursday morning, it felt as if the weight of the silence had only grown since the weekend.
 
Ravi stood in the kitchen, his coffee now cold, watching Priya Didi move around the room with the same precise, quiet grace.
 
She was still beautiful, still composed. Her presence was everywhere, but her absence felt like it was everywhere too.
 
She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak, just continued with her routine, the small, deliberate motions that had become so familiar to him. Each movement was a reminder of what he had lost.
 
He tried again, as he did every day, to speak to her.
“Good morning.”
 
She responded in her usual, neutral tone.
“Morning.”
 
It was always the same, the polite exchange, the polite distance. The gulf between them was so wide that even these small words seemed to carry a weight.
 
Ravi’s throat tightened. He wanted to say more, wanted to break the silence, but the fear of saying the wrong thing kept him paralyzed.
 
He glanced at her, his gaze lingering on the way the golden trim of her saree shimmered in the light.
 
She looked effortlessly elegant in her saree, a simple cotton weave in soft tones, dbangd with the kind of ease that spoke more of comfort than display.
 
There was nothing ornamental about her, and yet every fold, every movement of the fabric seemed deliberate, as though it knew how to flow with her rhythm.
 
The golden border caught the morning light in gentle flashes, a shimmer that came and went like thought itself.

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