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29. ๐“๐ก๐ž ๐๐š๐ฌ๐ญ ๐‘๐ž๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ง๐ฌ

The mid-day sun beat down relentlessly on the concrete rooftops of the city, but inside the bedroom, the air remained trapped in a quiet, heavy stillness.

Sritama stood before the towering wooden wardrobe, her hands moving with mechanical precision.

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Chandiniwrits

Imperfectly perfect!