The week after that third Sunday felt different. Payal was quieter than ever, but it wasn’t just fear anymore — it was confusion mixed with a shame she couldn’t hide from herself.

On Monday she avoided me completely during the day. At night she lay on her side facing the wall. Around 2 a.m. I heard her breathing change. She was touching herself again. This time she didn’t stop after a few minutes. She kept going, two fingers moving faster, then three. I heard a tiny, desperate whimper. Then she suddenly pulled her hand away, rolled onto her stomach, and cried into the pillow for nearly half an hour. When I finally “woke up” and held her, she whispered, “I dreamt he was fucking me and I was begging him to cum inside me. I woke up so wet I couldn’t stop touching myself. I’m becoming disgusting, Sameer.”