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Bahe naina Bhare moreyNaina

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Bahe naina Bhare morey
Naina

Jhare morey naina

Mohe naina sune naahi kehna, bahe morey naina

Bahe naina Bhare morey Naina
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Happy reading 💗
Target - 100 votes

Bahe naina Bhare morey Naina-----------------------------------------------------------Happy reading 💗Target - 100 votes

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


The shrill beep of my alarm pierces through the fog of sleep, jolting me awake. I stretch my arms, feeling the cool silk of my dupatta against my skin, and reach out to silence the relentless noise. Glancing at the clock, I see it's 5 AM. The early morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across my small room in the guesthouse. It’s a modest space, far removed from the opulence of the main mansion where my family resides. A simple bed, a worn desk, a tiny kitchenette, and a bathroom—this is where I live, alone, away from them all.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath my feet. My eyes scan the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. Outside, beyond the window, I can see the small garden where I tend to my plants. A peaceful escape from the chaos that often envelops me within the mansion walls.

A quick shower invigorates me, and I dress in a plain salwar suit, combing my hair into a messy bun. Completing my prayers, I glance at the clock again; it’s 6 AM. Time to make breakfast for the family. I grab my bag and head towards the mansion, my footsteps echoing in the early morning stillness.

As I approach the grand entrance, the massive oak doors looming before me, I pause for a moment. The mansion is a testament to my father’s wealth, a sprawling structure that seems almost alive with its intricate architecture and towering columns. Maids are already hard at work, their whispers and the sound of cleaning brushes filling the air as they go about their duties. Their eyes flicker toward me briefly but quickly look away, as if acknowledging my presence would invite trouble.

I push open the heavy door and step inside, the cool marble floor sending a chill up my spine. The vastness of the foyer dwarfs me, reminding me once again of my place here. Making my way to the kitchen, I feel a sense of purpose. I set to work, preparing breakfast with practiced efficiency. Black coffee for Dad, green tea for my little sister Zara. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the kitchen, a comforting scent that contrasts sharply with the tension that often hangs in the air here.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 [ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝟐 ] Where stories live. Discover now