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6. Dead

DISHA

By the time I step out of the bathroom, my damp hair clings to the sides of my face. The house greets me with a silence so heavy that it presses against my chest. There's no kettle whistling or faint clinking of bangles from the kitchen, blended by the songs my mother listens while cooking.

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Zaira

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Writing the kind of stories which will make you believe in love again.... ๐Ÿ’“๐Ÿ’“

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Zaira

"๐”—๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ข๐”ฐ ๐” ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฑ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฅ๐”ฑ'๐”ฐ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ญ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ฐ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฐ."