The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the Mathur Residence garden, where the gentle rustle of leaves harmonized with the distant chirping of birds. The air carried the earthy scent of freshly watered soil.
Amidst this quiet serenity, Vikrant sat on the wrought-iron bench, his posture composed yet carrying a certain weight in his shoulders. Across from him sat Shree, her gaze questioning, her brows knitted in mild confusion.
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