The house was finally quiet. The laughter of the day had faded into silence, and only the occasional chime of temple bells drifted on the night breeze.
Aadhya stood at the balcony, her dupatta slipping off her shoulder as she leaned against the railing. The moonlight traced her profile—soft, glowing, almost ethereal. Rudra’s gaze, fixed on her from the doorway, grew heavier by the second.
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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