At bedtime, Rudra didn’t reach out for Aadhya’s lap like he usually did. He didn’t bury his face against her or demand her hand before lying down.
Instead, he moved quietly to Ivaan’s side, adjusting the blanket around the sleepy little boy with careful hands. His touch was gentle—almost reverent—as he brushed Ivaan’s curls off his forehead and bent to kiss him softly.
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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