The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the burnflower, casting a dappled, shifting pattern on the grass beneath. Vividh lay with his head pillowed in Adhishree's lap, the world reduced to this: the scent of hydrangeas from the garden, the distant chatter of a seven-year-old and a cat in the treehouse above, and the gentle, rhythmic stroke of her fingers through his hair.
Two years. It felt like a lifetime, and yet it had passed in a blink. A blink filled with so much.
I'm an author with lots of love and flaws, and I write books where women know their worth and men know how to be men. You won't find alpha or sigma males in my stories, but rather human beings who have been misunderstood by society. I don't write villains or heroes; I write those who deserve to be written.
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