Creative Writing: Why I Love My Husband

I was waiting to see my elder sister, who had just returned from her trip to Mumbai. She had left nearly six weeks before. Her husband had returned alone to their house in Delhi, where some business required his attention. She had come to spend a few days in Lucknow with me. I was reading in the quiet drawing room at twilight, intermittently raising my eyes whenever I heard a sound.
At last, I heard the doorbell ring. My sister appeared, wrapped in a florescent green dress. My sister was nothing, but loud. Without any formal greeting we affectionately embraced each other, only desisting for a moment to give each other a hug and for my sister to take off her shoes at the entrance of the drawing room. We talked about our health, our families,

I need you to listen to me first. You know I have always loved my husband. He’s a nice man, a kind man. A man who gives me a sense of stability, and by god’s grace I would like to bear his children in the future. But he doesn’t give me the passion that we as women always desire. We want to be kissed roughly sometimes; we want our lovers to take a risk for us sometimes- to do something dangerous just for us. But my husband is always sensible and- boring. Please don’t judge me.” My sister wiped her running nose with the sleeves of her dress. She resembled a filthy little child.
I held her hands again, “We women are really silly when it comes to love. We are made like that. How can we help it?”
“I don’t know. The thought of deceiving him was so alien to me until I had done it.”
I looked into her eyes, “Do you want to be with that man?”
She removed her hands from mine and pushed back her hair into place, behind her ears, “You see, the thing is that I still love my husband, and I can’t even imagine being with anyone else but him.”
My sister continued, “I was with a man who was not my husband, and the night was absolutely magical. Has it ever happened to you that you are at the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person, but everything still feels so right? The stars, the wind- everything about that moment was so magical.”
I interrupted, “So you are feeling guilty and worried about how you would tell your husband?”
She circled the floral pattern on her dress,

All my life I wished for a fairy-tale romance, like you see in Mills and Boon books. I wanted to feel that passion, to live on the edge, and I did. I met a man who showed me passion for the night, but when I got up in the morning I only felt a great loss.”
“It’s natural for anyone who’s married, to feel guilty in that situation and experience what you felt. You are being hard on yourself,” I tried placating her.
“You are wrong. It was a loss of the concept of my deepest mystery. I realised that it’s often not a man that we love, but the love itself. We fall in love with the idea of love. We relate love with passion, when love can come slowly as well.”
I was at a loss of words. My sister was speaking words of wisdom, “What are you thinking of doing now?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to vent it all out, and I already feel so much better.” She said getting up from the sofa.
“I meant when are you going to tell your husband?” I asked, watching her stretch her body.
She turned and replied, “I am not telling him, darling. What he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And now my sister, I need a nice long shower.”
I watched my sister leave the room. Bewildered, I looked outside the window. The full moon showed itself in the middle of the sky, and the way the trees swung I knew the air was