The warm rhythm of their life pulsed so comfortably, so… safe, a cocoon of simmering desire, that the first discord struck like a whip's crack on bare skin, loud and stinging in its disruption.
It unfolded on a Friday. Meena, buoyant with joy all week from her promotion to 'Senior Professor'-not a corner office triumph like Vijay's potential, but her validation, a raise sparking fantasies of splurging on lingerie to tease him-craved celebration. With him, bodies entwined in feast and fuck.
She ditched work early, market-bound, procuring his favorites, planning a 'Tiruvannamalai-style' dinner-sambar his mom's way, rich and spicy like her arousal; rasam to tingle the tongue; brinjal poriyal glistening like oiled skin. She attempted medhu vada, first batch sinking like failed thrusts, but second… adequate, golden orbs begging to be devoured. The apartment swelled with festive aromas of ghee and asafoetida, heady as pheromones, her humming tunes of seduction as she cooked, slipping into a new-ish silk-cotton saree, deep peacock blue clinging to her curves like a lover's grasp, jasmine woven in her hair like crowns for conquest, pottu and eyeliner accentuating her eyes' sultry promise. She felt pretty, wifely, desirable, her pussy damp with anticipation of his gaze ravishing her, not as partner but woman, excited for his face when he claimed her on the table amid the feast.
7:00 PM. He should arrive soon, hands on her hips, cock pressing insistent.
7:30 PM. She sealed appalams in hot-pack, imagining sealing lips in heated kiss.
8:00 PM. His typical late hour; a cold knot coiled in her stomach, twisting like denied orgasm.
8:30 PM. She texted: "Everything okay? :) Craving you." Single grey tick-no delivery, no response.
9:00 PM. Food chilled; excitement soured to disappointment, her arousal fading.
9:30 PM. Anxiety gnawed-what if accident, his body broken? She called; rang to voicemail, her voice pleading, "Vijay, where are you? I need you inside me."
10:00 PM. Called again-straight voicemail. Phone dead or off, her mind racing to dark fantasies of loss.
Now, hurt and rage boiled, he fine, just working, forgetting her, the vadas hardened like rejected erections, jasmine in hair foolish as unrequited lust.
At 10:45 PM, key scraped lock like teasing entry. He entered, annihilated-tie yanked loose (her knot messed), shoulders slumped, face grey. Not hurt, just drained.
"Vijay?" she whispered, by the table set for two, voice small, body in saree a offering ignored.
He startled, brain fumbling. "Meena? Why awake? Dressed like that, silk hugging your curves like I ache to?"
The cold "dressed like that" slapped like rejection, not "you look beautiful, fuckable," dismissing her sensual gift.
"I… waited for you," voice wobbling, tears pricking. "Cooked. To celebrate my promotion, to seduce you with flavors and flesh."
"Promotion? Oh. Right," he fumbled, exhaustion dulling. "That's… great, Meena. Really." Bag dropped. "Look, exhausted. Can't. Not tonight, not fuck you senseless as you deserve."
"Couldn't call?" voice rising, pussy aching with frustration. "Or text? One text! I called! Worried, imagining you hurt while I throbbed for you."
"Phone died. Nine-hour review," snapped, sharp as whip. "Nightmare, system crashed like my control. No time to 'check in.' Not a kid, Meena, don't need babysitting while I ache to dominate you."
"This… wasn't 'checking in'!" cried, tears stinging like denied release. "Made dinner! Waited, dressed to tempt, pussy wet for you!"
"And I'm not hungry!" weary retort, worse than yell. "Ate cold sandwich at desk. Can't deal with this, your needs pounding like rain."
He dismissed her-food, celebration, worry, her essence. Called it "this," reducing her passion to inconvenience.
She stared, light in eyes extinguishing like quenched fire. Didn't cry, yell-just shut down, walls rising like chastity belts.
"Oh," flat voice. "Okay." Turned, kitchen-bound, stowing food mechanically, clatter violent as suppressed moans.
"Meena… didn't mean…" he started, registering ice, "won," but wrong.
"Don't," not looking. "Fine. Tired. Sleep." Saree whispered past, bedroom door locking with click-steel wall reinstated.
He stood amid wasted aromas, awful regret churning. Hadn't meant, but had-dismissed her as "demand." No system to mend. Slept on sofa, lumpy as unfulfilled lust, miserable, waking to stiff neck, cold sambar scent haunting like her untouched body. Ashamed, the planner miscalculated gravely.