Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Ravi focused on chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife steady and grounding, filling the kitchen with a quiet cadence that matched their breathing.
 
Their elbows brushed once.
 
Neither reacted.
 
Then again.
 
Still no withdrawal.
 
The kitchen felt warmer now, not from the stove, but from shared space, from the quiet acceptance of closeness.
 
Ravi glanced at her hands, dusted with flour, strong and gentle all at once, capable, intimate in their familiarity. There was something deeply affecting in watching her work without self-consciousness, in seeing how naturally her body knew what to do.
 
“You do this without thinking,” he said softly, almost to himself.
 
She smiled.
 
“Some things become instinct.”
 
He nodded, understanding more than she had said, understanding that instinct came from repetition, and trust.
 
Their hands reached for the same bowl.
 
This time, the touch lingered.
 
Her fingers rested lightly against his knuckles, the contact unhurried, unmistakable. His hand adjusted, not away, but closer, as though guided by something quieter than thought.
 
They both paused, aware of the choice unfolding between them, suspended in that fraction of a second where everything could still change.
 
Neither moved back.
 
Priya’s smile deepened, just a fraction. Ravi’s breath slowed, his body responding before his mind could interfere, before caution could step in.
 
When the dough was ready, Priya went to the sink, turning on the tap. Flour clung stubbornly to her fingers, caught in the fine lines of her skin.
 
The warmth of her hands seemed to hold the essence of the kitchen, heat, scent, familiarity.
 
Steam rose from the stove. The fan hummed softly above them. Everything else seemed to quiet, as though the world outside had paused.
 
“You go first,” she said casually, shifting to make space.
“It takes time to wash this off.”
 
Ravi stepped forward, standing close, closer than necessary.
 
Their arms brushed. Their shoulders aligned. He could feel the quiet pulse of energy between them, the kind that exists only when two people occupy the same space with awareness, neither willing to move too quickly, neither wanting to move away.
 
“She’s standing so close,” Ravi thought. “I can feel the warmth of her just beside me.”
It was almost magnetic. “Why does everything feel different now?” His pulse quickened, yet beneath it was a strange calm, a steadiness that surprised him.
 
The proximity was no longer something to fear.
It was a comfort.

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