The morning sun poured into the room in soft streams, painting the bedroom in a golden haze. Aadhya stirred beneath the covers, her limbs stretching languidly, every muscle deliciously sore from the night they'd shared. The warmth beside her was not just physical — it was emotional, protective, intoxicating. She turned her head slightly, and there he was.
Rudra lay there, half-propped on his elbow, gazing at her with that maddeningly unreadable smirk — but his eyes betrayed the tenderness he tried so hard to hide. She caught a glimpse of it, raw and unguarded, and her heart gave a little flutter.
Each story I write is a quiet labor of love — built word by word, heart to heart. Your support not only honors the effort behind every chapter but also empowers me to create more deeply, more often. If my writing has lingered in your thoughts, moved your heart, or brought you joy, consider becoming a part of this journey. Every contribution is a silent applause that helps the next story come to life.
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