Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

Morning Without Names (Sunday Morning)
 
Morning came softly, almost apologetically.
 
A thin ribbon of light slipped through the gap in the curtains of Flat 205, brushing the edge of Ravi’s bed like an intrusion he hadn’t invited. The ceiling fan above him turned at its usual lazy pace, indifferent to the night it had just replaced.
 
In the other room, Priya lay awake.
 
She had been awake long before the light arrived.
 
Her eyes were open, unfocused, fixed on the ceiling as though it might offer answers it never had before. Her body remained still beneath the blanket, but her mind refused rest. Sleep had come only in fragments, thin, unsatisfying pauses where thought dulled but never disappeared.
 
“Morning already,” she thought.
“I didn’t even notice the night ending.”
 
The words from the previous evening surfaced again, stripped now of their certainty.
 
“This should not have happened.”
“You crossed a line.”
 
At the time, they had felt necessary. Protective. Like drawing a boundary fast enough might undo what had already occurred.
 
Now, in the quiet of morning, they felt too absolute.
 
“I sounded so sure,” she realized.
“But I wasn’t.”
 
She turned slightly, the mattress shifting beneath her.
 
“I was scared,” she admitted.
“And fear always pretends to be clarity.”
 
The apartment was silent. Ravi’s door remained closed. Amit’s breathing drifted steadily from the other room, peaceful and unaware.
 
“He doesn’t know,” she thought.
“And Ravi knows too much.”
 
Her chest tightened.
 
“Did I make him feel like he did something unforgivable?”
 
She sat up slowly, placing her feet on the cool floor. The chill grounded her. She wrapped her dupatta around herself out of habit.
 
“I didn’t stop it,” the thought returned.
“I didn’t say no.”
 
She stood there for a moment, unmoving.
 
“I let it exist,” she continued inwardly.
“And then I punished him for it.”
 
The guilt didn’t arrive all at once. It settled quietly, threading itself through memory.
 
She moved into the kitchen and turned on the light. The familiar space greeted her, the counter, the stove, the cups aligned neatly. Routine had always been her refuge.
 
“Just be normal,” she told herself.
“Control what you can.”
 
The kettle went on. A cupboard opened. A vessel was placed down gently.
 
Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if precision were the only thing holding everything else together.
 
From the living room came a faint sound.
 
Footsteps.
 
The soft, familiar rhythm of bangles brushing against skin.

.