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10. Unfamiliar Warmth

The light had changed when Ira opened her eyes.

It wasn’t golden like the mornings she was used to at the Kapoor estate. It was soft, muted—filtered through gauzy curtains that fluttered with the breeze. Outside, she could hear the faint clang of utensils, a woman’s voice humming a bhajan, and the low murmur of city life waking up.

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Zivaah

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I write stories shaped by emotions, quiet moments, and imperfect love. If my words stay with you or make you feel something, your support helps me keep creating worlds like these. ❤️

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Zivaah

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Writing stories — one at a time ❤️