Her saree, His sin

The sky smelled of rain that day,
the kind that drips slowly from tiled roofs
and settles into the bones of old houses.
Meena stood barefoot on the mud-wet floor,
a brush in one hand,
and a memory she'd spent years burying in the other.

Her saree clung to her like a secret,
and the tulasi leaves in the backyard rustled like they knew.
That he had returned.

Arjun.

The boy who once chased dragonflies with her.
The man who left with cold promises
and came back with a storm tucked in his chest.
She had loved him like a fool once.
And hated him harder.

But some stories don't end when the heart breaks.
Some only begin there.

picture credits: pintrest