LIKE AND COMMENT 🧡

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window of their secluded home, casting a warm glow over the earthen counters and the clay pots simmering on the wood-fired stove. Veda stood at the stove, her saree draped loosely around her form, the pallu slipping slightly off one shoulder as she stirred the bubbling dal with a wooden ladle. Her hands trembled, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, blurring the steam rising from the pan. The emotional weight of the past few days pressed on her—Rajveer's increasing busyness with village affairs, the pottery sales that kept him out longer, and the aching void of his touch for two whole nights. She felt neglected, unloved, her body craving the dominance that made her feel alive, cherished in its twisted way. A sob escaped her lips, soft at first, then building as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, the salt of her tears mixing with the spices in the air.