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10. For her Child

The tap had been turned off minutes ago, but the sound of water still echoed faintly in Vaidehi’s ears.

She stood in front of the mirror, palms resting lightly on the marble counter, shoulders slightly hunched as if holding herself together required physical effort. The fluorescent light above her felt harsher than usual, unforgiving. It illuminated everything — the faint tremble in her fingers, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the redness gathering at the rims of her eyes.

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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 ❤️