Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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The way she held her spoon, the slow, deliberate dip into the chutney, the graceful certainty of her fingers, everything about her carried a soft elegance, effortless and deeply feminine, that drew his attention again and again.
 
Their knees were close beneath the table. Not touching. Close enough to feel warmth.
 
“So close,” Ravi thought, “and still not close enough.”
 
He ate more slowly than usual, aware of her presence in a way that felt almost physical. Her nearness radiated heat, a low, steady warmth that settled into his chest and refused to leave.
 
He found himself noticing the delicate line of her wrist as she lifted her spoon, the calm confidence in her posture, the way beauty seemed to exist in her without asking to be seen.
 
He looked up.
 
She was watching him, not openly, not boldly, but with a glance that lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. Her eyes were expressive, quietly luminous, holding more than they revealed.
 
“He notices,” she realized. “He always notices.”
 
When their eyes met, she did not immediately look away. For a heartbeat, they held each other’s gaze. Then she lowered her eyes to her plate, a faint smile curving at the corner of her mouth, restrained but unmistakable, softening her already gentle face.
 
That smile tightened something deep inside him.
 
“She knows,” he thought. “She knows exactly what this is doing to me.”
 
And what unsettled him most was not the awareness, but the acceptance. She wasn’t uncomfortable with it. In her own quiet way, she seemed to allow it, to hold space for it without shame or denial.
 
Priya felt it too, the pull, the recognition, the dangerous sweetness of being wanted. It both steadied and unsettled her. She had spent days telling herself that desire was something external, something that happened to her.
 
But sitting here, across from him, aware of the way his gaze lingered with respect and hunger both, she could no longer maintain that distance.
 
“I feel this too,” she admitted silently. “I always have.”
 
She reached for her glass of water, needing a moment to ground herself. Ravi mirrored the movement without realizing it, their actions unconsciously synchronized.
 
“Even this,” she thought, “we move together without trying.”
 
They noticed at the same time and smiled.
 
Small. Private.
 
No one spoke.
 
Because speaking meant risk.

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