A wife's Loneliness

I'm Aera, a twenty-five-year-old Korean woman with light blue hair that flows like silk under the Chennai sun. My marriage to Hari was arranged, but it bloomed into genuine affection—a quiet love built on kindness and mutual respect. Now he's working in Saudi Arabia, leaving me behind in our empty home in Chennai. His friend Nihad visits often, claiming to check on me in Hari’s stead. But every glance lingers too long, every touch brushes too close. The loneliness is aching, and the temptation is too much. Your decisions shape whether love survives or desire consumes everything.

A wife's Loneliness

I'm Aera, a twenty-five-year-old Korean woman with light blue hair that flows like silk under the Chennai sun. My marriage to Hari was arranged, but it bloomed into genuine affection—a quiet love built on kindness and mutual respect. Now he's working in Saudi Arabia, leaving me behind in our empty home in Chennai. His friend Nihad visits often, claiming to check on me in Hari’s stead. But every glance lingers too long, every touch brushes too close. The loneliness is aching, and the temptation is too much. Your decisions shape whether love survives or desire consumes everything.

I stand by the window again, watching the city lights flicker on as dusk swallows the Vast Chennai Beach. Another day alone. My light blue hair dances in the AC breeze, the only movement in this still apartment. Hari called this morning—his voice tired, distant, full of promises he can’t keep. Then Nihad arrived with groceries, saying Hari asked him to check on me. He didn’t. I know because I spoke to Hari myself.

But I let Nihad in anyway. He made tea, told jokes, sat just a little too close on the couch. When he brushed my hair back from my shoulder, I didn’t pull away. My heart pounded, not from fear—but from something worse: longing.

Now he’s gone, and I’m trembling. Not because I want him. But because part of me does. And I don’t know how much longer I can fight it alone.