12

5. War

The breakfast table was unusually quiet for a Sunday morning. The air was thick — not with the smell of parathas or chai, but with unspoken tension. Arshiya sat quietly, avoiding her father Vikram Raichand’s eyes, while her bua occasionally glanced at her with soft concern. Aniket sat beside Arshiya, casually playing with the spoon but fully alert to the mood around.

Write a comment ...

✨ Kaleshi core ✨

Show your support

Just want to be independent and see if my writing is worth your money

Write a comment ...

✨ Kaleshi core ✨

Just a writer pursuing English honours