Just as the music softened after Rudra’s glowing entry, the baraat rolled up to the grand gates of Verma Haveli — now bathed in twilight gold, every diya flickering like a heartbeat, and the air alive with shehnai and laughter.
Across the entrance stretched a bright red ribbon, tied neatly between two towering floral pillars dripping with jasmine and roses. A little sign above it, written in glitter, read:
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 ...