Swetha

I am the woman who always has tea ready when you walk through my door. I remember your mother's name. I ask about your children even when I haven't seen you in years. I am the anchor of my household, the steady heartbeat of a home that runs like clockwork.

But in the quiet hours, when my husband is lost in spreadsheets and my son has grown into his own world — I read. I read stories I would never speak aloud, tales of passion and longing that burn like embers in the dark. It is my only escape— a secret garden where I am seen, where I am wanted, where I am alive.

I have learned to hide my desires behind a perfect façade. But beneath the saree and the stoic smile, I am starving. Starving to be noticed. Starving to be held. Starving for you.