The morning air was crisp, but Aadhya felt none of its chill as she stood on the balcony of her temporary room, watching the sunlight creep over the city skyline. Her hands curled around a lukewarm cup of tea, untouched. Her mind, however, was anything but still.
Rudra’s words from the night before replayed in her head, each syllable cutting deeper than she expected.
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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