The dust of the village lanes still clung to my bare feet as I pushed open the heavy wooden door of our small hut. Sunlight, thick and golden, slanted through the single window, illuminating motes dancing in the air—a silent, familiar ballet. My sari, a cheap crimson cotton, felt heavy with the heat of the midday sun, the sweat pooling warm beneath the fabric.
"Arjun?" My voice was low, a soft murmur against the quiet hum of the afternoon.
Show your support
Your support means everything to me—it inspires me to keep creating, growing, and sharing more with you. Every bit of encouragement helps me reach new heights, and I’d be truly grateful if you continue standing with me on this journey.
Write a comment ...