21

Devar

Parth sat motionless as Siddharth’s words settled over him. For the first time in months, a tiny, brilliant spark of real hope ignited in his chest. Her voice wasn't dead; it was just sleeping behind the trauma.

Yet, as he looked at Mrinalini walking back into the lounge carrying the tea tray, her silver anklets chiming softly with every step, Parth made a silent, unyielding vow to himself.

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