The monsoon clouds rolled in heavier that night, drenching Tulsipur in a steady curtain of rain. Thunder growled in the distance, but inside the Roy Choudhary haveli, there was only a profound, hushed stillness.
Bondita sat by the fireplace, absently running her fingers over the cover of Anirudh’s old diary—the same one she had once found in the study so many years ago, the same one that had revealed his hidden feelings, his confusion, his regrets.
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