Devraj paused outside the room. For a long moment he simply stood there, staring through the slightly open door. Devansh rested against the headboard inside, awake, pale, exhausted, and somehow older. That last realization lingered.
Somewhere over the years, Devraj had stopped looking closely. It had been easier that way. Easier to carry anger. Easier to carry blame. Easier than acknowledging that grief had never belonged to only one side. Exhaling slowly, he pushed the door open. The sound made Devansh look up and immediately freeze. Genuine surprise flashed across his face.
For the Flame to Burn, It Needs a Spark These words—these poems, musings, echoes of soul—they are pieces of me, offered to the void. If they’ve ever stirred something in you, made silence feel understood or chaos feel poetic… Then let your support be the wind beneath this fire. A small gesture. A mighty impact. Because art survives on love—and the occasional coffee. ☕✨
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