Morning arrived in the Rathore household with slightly less chaos than usual—only slightly.
Aadhya stirred beneath the blanket, her hand instinctively reaching out, but finding only empty space where Ivaan usually curled up. She blinked sleepily, lifting her head—only to spot Rudra at the edge of the bed, cross-legged and frowning in fierce concentration.
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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