Tavish stood in the serene garden, the moonlight casting silver hues over the quiet surroundings. Dhriti was beside him, her arms wrapped around herself as though shielding herself from an invisible storm. The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken words. Tavish had known she carried pain—he had seen the guarded look in her eyes, the sharp edges she had built around herself like a fortress. But he hadn’t known it was this deep, this harrowing.
And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she began.
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