The doors swung shut. The echo lingered through the council chamber long after Rishikesh had disappeared. No one spoke. No one seemed capable of it. The silence that remained felt heavier than every word that had been spoken. Aaradhya's eyes remained fixed on the closed doors before slowly shifting to Aksh.
He hadn't moved. He still stood exactly where Rishikesh had left him. His kurta remained crumpled where his brother's fist had gripped it. His gaze rested somewhere on the marble floor, unfocused, empty. She looked at him for one long moment. Then, without a word, she turned and hurried out of the chamber after her husband. She knew him. Beneath the anger, beneath the accusations, Rishikesh was breaking.
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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