Adultery The Ashram: The Desire for the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

.

They stepped out of their rooms one by one, five new recruits, their youth and uncertainty wrapped in a delicate aura of hope.
 
Ahalya was the first to move. She didn’t stride, nor did she linger. Her steps were poised, effortless, like a dancer who had practiced every motion for years, but with none of the tension of someone who was aware of how carefully their body had been honed.
 
She wasn’t just tall, she was elegant, her figure perfectly proportioned, like a sculpture still in the process of being admired by the world.
 
The curve of her neck, the delicate arch of her back, the grace in every step, she moved with a kind of natural beauty that made everything around her seem to pause. She wasn’t self-conscious, nor did she need to be.
 
She was simply Ahalya, the embodiment of youthful beauty and confidence at eighteen, unblemished and full of promise.
 
The others followed her, their steps more uncertain. Kavya, a girl with wide eyes and delicate features, kept glancing nervously at Ahalya, as if she couldn’t quite understand why this tall, radiant girl seemed so completely at ease.
 
The others moved with the awkwardness of girls who were new to this world, their shoulders stiff, their gazes darting between the stone path, the gardens, and the towering buildings.
 
Ahalya moved ahead, not because she sought attention, but because it came to her, drawn to her the way the sun is drawn to the horizon, natural, inevitable.
 
Her grace stood out amidst the quiet chaos of the newcomers, and the older Sevakis, women who had lived through countless routines in this space, watched her with barely concealed interest.
 
There was something about the way she carried herself that made her stand taller than her years.
 
Her skin seemed to glow under the fading light, and her eyes, deep, almond-shaped, with a wisdom she hadn’t yet earned, held an aura of someone destined for something greater than herself.
 
As they entered the hall, the simplicity of the space seemed to fold around them, heavy with history and ritual. Long rows of thin mats covered the floor, brass plates placed in perfect symmetry.
 
The air was charged with the stillness that only true ritual could evoke. The Sevakis moved with quiet precision, their bodies slipping into place with a seamless rhythm. Ahalya took her place at the edge of the back row, not out of humility, but because it felt right in the order of things.