Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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The kitchen no longer felt innocent.
 
Every sound, the knife against the board, the sizzle of oil, felt amplified, as if the house itself were aware of what had almost happened, of the boundary they had both felt and respected. Priya could sense it in the air around them.
The space between them was no longer neutral; it was charged with something fragile and potent, something that demanded attention even in silence.
 
Priya rolled the dough into neat portions, her movements steady again, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to them, a trembling awareness beneath her control. Her hands, precise on the dough, betrayed her thoughts.
 
I wanted him to stay there, she admitted to herself, shaping the dough with care, as though focusing on the task would quiet the storm brewing inside her. I didn’t pull away because it was wrong.
I pulled away because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t.
 
That distinction mattered.
 
She understood it now in a way she hadn’t before. She had always believed boundaries were about morality, right versus wrong. But this wasn’t about right or wrong.
 
This was about consequences.
 
If she let this continue...
If she let herself lean back again...
 
There would be no pretending afterward.
No safe anger.
No clean blame.
No easy return to “normal.”
 
She glanced at Ravi.
 
He was focused on his task, jaw set, shoulders relaxed but alert. He looked like a man holding himself still on purpose, like someone balancing on the edge of a precipice.
Every part of him was stretched taut with restraint, though there was nothing obvious in his posture to give it away. He seemed present, anchored, but also distant, like a man willing to wait, no matter how long it took.
 
He would stop if I asked, she realized.
 
And that makes this harder, not easier.
 
Because restraint chosen freely was far more dangerous than desire taken.
 
For Ravi, the fight was quieter, but no less consuming.
 
He stood there, chopping the vegetables with methodical precision, the repetitive motion giving his hands something to do while his thoughts tangled inward.
Every fiber of his being wanted to move closer, to erase the space between them, to feel her warmth again where it still lingered like a ghost against his skin.
 
His body remembered her weight against him.
His hands remembered the warmth of hers.
 
But louder than all of that was a single, steady thought:
 
She trusted me again.
 
And he would not betray that...
 
Not for relief.
Not for longing.
Not even for love, if it came to that.
 
This was the real test.
 
Not whether he wanted her.
But whether he could wait.

-- oOo --

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