Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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She remembered the awareness, not shock, not fear, but recognition.
 
The slow, dangerous realization that she was not pulling away.
 
“I showed interest.
I responded.
I consented, without words.”
 
That truth burned more than anger ever had.
 
Her shame wasn’t only about desire.
 
It was about blame.
 
“I blamed him because it was easier,” she realized.
“Easier than admitting I wanted it too.”
 
The water kept running.
 
Behind her, Ravi shifted slightly in his seat.
 
The sound was minimal.
But she felt it.
 
Her body reacted before her mind could intervene, muscles tightening, breath hitching slightly.
 
Even now, she thought bitterly,
 
“my body remembers him.”
 
That scared her.
 
She turned off the tap and dried her hands slowly, aligning the towel carefully along the edge of the counter. The steel surface reflected her face back at her.
 
Composed.
Normal.
Controlled.
 
A lie.
 
“You look fine… so why does it feel like you’re about to break something just by speaking?”
 
She inhaled.
 
Then turned.
 
Ravi noticed immediately.
 
“He always does,” he thought.
 
Their eyes met, not by accident, not in passing, but fully, deliberately. The air between them tightened, heavy with everything they had avoided saying since morning.
 
“Ravi,” she said.
 
Just his name.
Not beta.
Not Ravi beta.
 
The sound of it landed differently, stripped of protection.
 
He straightened at once. “Yes?”
 
The word came out too fast.
Too eager.
 
“He’s still careful… even now. Especially now,” she thought.
 
She hesitated. That hesitation, the smallest pause, undid her more than any argument could have.
 
“If you don’t say it now… you never will,” she thought.
 
“I, ” she began, then stopped. Her fingers curled lightly at her side.
 
“How do you apologize… without reopening what you’re trying so desperately to close?”
 
Ravi waited. He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t step closer. His stillness felt like permission, and pressure, at the same time.
 
“I could watch her forever… even standing at the counter, just drying her hands. Every little motion… she’s perfect. The way her dark saree catches the light, the softness of her skin against the plain fabric, the quiet strength in her calm… she’s impossible to look away from. Even the way her fingers curl slightly, the subtle rise of her shoulders when she exhales… I can’t… she’s… I’m afraid to breathe around her.”
 
The sun through the window caught the folds of her saree, revealing subtle shadows that emphasized the elegance of her form. 

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