The morning sun filtered in like lazy golden ribbons, pooling across soft pillows and tiny limbs. In the middle of the bed, Aadhya lay with her saree pallu slightly tugged to the side, her hand gently cupping the small of Ivaan’s back as he nursed contentedly, half-asleep, half-smiling.
His tiny legs were tangled with hers, his thumb gripping the edge of her blouse like it was a treasure map.
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.
Write a comment ...