> Widows are meant to mourn.

But I wanted to be ruined.

He came the day after the funeral.

Black sherwani.

Gold cufflinks.

Eyes so unreadable, I forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t offer condolences.

He didn’t speak my name.

He only leaned down, placed a box of sindoor on the table…

And whispered:

> “Your husband owed me everything.

Now, I’ll take what’s mine.

You.”

I should’ve screamed.

Run.

Fought.

But instead…

I burned.

Because for the first time in my life—

I felt wanted.

Not for l

ove.

Not for pity.

But for sin.

This is new novel.

I will update here soon, if interested commented.