Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Priya let go first.
 
They moved to the small dining table again, sitting diagonally this time, not directly opposite. The angle softened everything, removed the sense of confrontation. The distance felt less guarded, less formal.
 
Steam rose from the tea, curling lazily between them, drifting and folding in on itself like something alive, something that belonged to both of them now.
 
They drank in silence.
 
But it was no longer the silence of fear or uncertainty.
 
Ravi watched her over the rim of his cup, the gentle curve of her lips as they touched the edge, the way her eyes softened when she wasn’t thinking about being careful, about holding herself in place.
 
Priya felt his gaze settle on her, warm and steady, not urgent, not demanding. It wasn’t a look that asked for anything.
 
It simply stayed.
 
She didn’t look away.
 
Instead, she allowed a small smile to surface, private, unconscious, unannounced. It felt like something she hadn’t planned, something that rose from her body before her mind could intervene.
 
“He wants me,” she thought, and for the first time, the realization didn’t come with panic or tightening anxiety.
“Not with urgency. Not with confusion. But with calm certainty.”
 
And beneath that, quieter, steadier, just as true:
 
“I want him too.”
 
When the tea was finished, Priya stood first, the movement almost reluctant, as though leaving the table meant breaking a fragile spell.
 
“I’ll start dinner prep,” she said lightly, as if this were just another afternoon, as if her pulse hadn’t shifted into a slower, heavier rhythm.
 
Ravi nodded, then stood a moment later.
 
“Do you need help?”
 
She shook her head automatically, habit answering before feeling.
 
“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this for years.”
 
He smiled, not teasing, not challenging.
 
“I know. But… maybe you can teach me? So I don’t survive on outside food when I’m alone.”
 
The phrasing was careful. Practical. Safe.
An offering, not an assumption.
 
She hesitated, feeling the space open between them, feeling the quiet invitation in his words. Then she nodded.
 
“You can cut the vegetables.”
 
They stood side by side at the kitchen counter.
 
Not touching.
 
Yet.
 
Priya began mixing the chapathi dough, her hands moving confidently through flour and water, practiced and sure. The dough yielded beneath her palms, soft, responsive, alive in a way Ravi hadn’t expected. 

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