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When he finally confessed his love to her, she laughed. Threw her head back and gave a throaty laughter, almost as if mocking him. He had been hurt. He had been prepared for her anger, her rejection even. After all, he had nothing to offer her other than his love. But he was not ready for her scorn. The hurt must have shown on his face, for when he looked down she gently placed her hand over his. His soul soared. Here was his woman, yes, he felt she belonged to him, holding his hand in the office canteen.
That was just the beginning. What started as an innocent friendship soon crossed the boundaries and turned into a full fledged affair. They began to meet in secret. Not wanting to cause suspicion to those around them. Late night messages and calls that sometimes stretched all the way into the early hours of morning. Few hours of stolen time. Passionate kisses. Each time he kissed her like it was the last. He did not want to lose her. Ever. She was his obsession, his only passion.
Each time they met, she came dressed in a saree. Though he knew that she did not like wearing the 7 yard long garment to work, the fact that she wore it to please him made him ecstatic. He loved to see her in it. The saree flattered her curves. She appeared more confident. Perhaps because she knew the effect it had on him. He would follow her with his eyes all day long at the office, waiting for that moment when he would be able to unravel the saree with his hands. He had never desired a woman as he did her. She was like a bad habit that was difficult to break.
Two years later
She adjusted her saree so as to hide the love marks on her body. Not that her husband would notice her debauchery. But she did not want to take any chances to rock her steady marriage. As for him, he still continued to desire her. He smiled at the irony while pouring himself a shot of whisky, as she went home to her husband, reeking of another man.