The affair between Priya and Vijay settled into a dangerous, addictive routine. Every stolen moment carried the sharp edge of risk—Rohan’s unpredictable schedule, the thin walls of the Andheri flat, the constant fear of a sudden key in the lock—but they never crossed into actual discovery. That razor-thin line of almost-getting-caught became the fuel that made every encounter burn hotter.

One humid Tuesday evening, Rohan texted he’d be home by 9 PM. Priya glanced at the clock: 7:15. Plenty of time, she told herself. Vijay was already in the living room, pretending to read the newspaper, but his eyes followed her as she walked past in a thin cotton nightie that clung to her sweat-damp skin.