Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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It struck him then, sharply, that this was the woman he had unsettled. Not because she was fragile, but because she was strong enough to feel the weight of what had happened and still stand upright beneath it.
 
“I didn’t just cross a line,” he thought.
“I disrupted her calm.”
 
And watching her now, poised, restrained, painfully graceful, Ravi understood something he hadn’t allowed himself to before.
 
Her beauty was not in how she looked at him.
It was in how she held herself away.
 
Amit’s voice broke the moment easily. “Good morning, Ravi. Early today.”
 
Ravi nodded. “Yeah.”
 
His voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears.
 
Priya didn’t turn around.
 
She didn’t need to.
 
Ravi felt the exact moment she became aware of him, the subtle stillness in her shoulders, the fraction of a pause in her stirring. It lasted only a second, but it changed the room.
 
“Tea is almost ready,” she repeated, her voice even.
 
No warmth.
No distance.
 
Just careful.
 
They existed in the same space now, but not together. The kitchen felt smaller, the air denser. Ravi moved to the sink, washing his hands slowly.
 
Water.
Soap.
Breath.
 
Amit stretched and yawned. “Sunday, man. Best day. Priya, after breakfast we’ll go out, haan?”
 
“Yes,” she replied immediately.
 
Ravi flinched internally.
 
“She’s choosing normal,” he realized.
“Even if it costs her something.”
 
She poured the tea into cups. When she reached for Ravi’s, her hand hesitated, just slightly, before setting it down.
 
Not close. Not far. Perfectly neutral.
 
Ravi picked it up. “Thanks.”
 
She didn’t respond.
 
They sat together.
 
Three chairs. Three cups. One table.
 
Amit spoke freely. Ravi answered carefully. Priya listened, nodding occasionally, eyes lowered to the steam rising from her cup.
 
“I’m the one who changed this,” Priya thought.
“Not him alone.”
 
Ravi watched her without meaning to.
 
The way her fingers tightened around the cup.
The way she took smaller sips.
The way she leaned just slightly away.
 
“She feels exposed,” he realized.
“Even sitting here.”
 
Amit laughed. Priya smiled politely. Ravi looked away.
 
“I made her guard herself,” he thought.
 
When the tea was finished, Priya stood to clear the cups. Ravi rose instantly.
 
“I’ll help.”
 
“No, it’s fine.”
 
Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was final.
 
Their eyes met.
 
In that glance, Priya saw confusion layered with remorse. Ravi saw exhaustion bound tightly by control.
 
“He’s waiting to understand,” she thought.
“And I never explained.”
 
“I’ll… go wash my face,” Ravi said quietly.
 
She nodded.
 
Back in his room, Ravi leaned against the door.
 
“This is worse than being asked to leave,” he thought.
“This half-belonging.”
 
Breakfast followed. Plates aligned. Movements precise.
 
They ate quietly.
 
Once, their hands reached for the same dish.
 
Both withdrew.
 
“I’m sorry,” Ravi said.
 
“It’s okay,” she replied.
 
Still no name.
 
The absence echoed.
 
By late morning, sunlight filled the room, illuminating everything except what mattered.
 
They were close.
They were careful.
They were broken without spectacle.
 
And both understood, in different ways:
 
This morning was not about what had happened.
 
It was about what could no longer happen again.
 
And Sunday stretched on, measured not by time, but by the careful distance they maintained, breath by breath, word by word.

-- oOo --

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