ππππ - π«πππππππ
ｑβ :οΎβ-π±ππ ππππ π―ππππππ ππππ ππππ ππ ππππππ ππππ.-β βοΎβ :β ｑ βΏπ΄ππππππ πππ ππππππ πππ π ππ ππππππβΏ β‘β‘β‘β‘β‘ πΊππ πππ π πππππππ πππ πππππππ. π―π πππ π πππππππππ ππ ππππππ π ππππππ. π³πππ πππππππ πππ ππππππ πππππππ πππππ πππ ππππ. β‘β‘β‘β‘β‘ "Do you love her?" "Love? Nahi. Kaise samjhau tujhe. Main uske liye jo mehsus krta hoon, jo feel krata hoon, woh alag hain. I don't want her, don't seek to claim her, don't desire her. Only venerate her. The way she is. Who she is. In fact, main to usse chhune se bhi ghabrata hoon, jaise woh koi khwab hain jo mere touch krte hi, gayab.. Mujhe sirf itna chahiye... woh mere aas-paas rahe. Dus meter ke andar. Saans bhar ki doori par. Bas itna ki main use dekh sakun... dekh kar jaan sakun ki woh theek hai. Mujhe usse kuch nhi chahiye, na uska attension, na uska affection, na hi uska pyaar. Mujhe sirf uski maujoodgi chahiye. Sirf vahi. This isn't love right?" A story of choice, fate, transformation, and undying devotion - where love dares to stand against destiny itself, or perhaps destiny is the one playing its own ruthless game with them.
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