The night had draped its silver veil over the Aishwarya Palace rooftop, and in that cold, celestial glow, two shadows had begun to merge—like the moon itself had whispered a forgotten lullaby for them to hear.
Aaravi stood under the pale shimmer, her breath dancing in soft wisps as if her soul had momentarily stepped outside her body to witness the moment unfold. That innocent smile still lingered on her lips—a victorious, childlike sparkle that came not from ego, but pure-hearted glee. The kind only a girl in love with her first real emotion could wear.
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