There was a girl in his mother’s private parlour.

Seated on the old, antique carpet with her legs tucked under herself, she seemed to fit perfectly into the picture. And Arnav stared at her with widened eyes, startled by her presence and captivated by her persona. 

Surrounded by ornate armchairs and cushioned footstools in varying shades of orange, red and shiny brown with freshly polished wooden edges, she complemented the traditional Indian feel of the room in her own little outfit of red chudidar leggings and white kurti, complete with a fluttery red dupatta….

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